He really didn’t have to give me coordinates. I swear he did it because it was the most irritating way to give me the directions. We met up at a diner, about an hour away from the scene of the crime. The sign outside had someone’s name on it — Pam’s, or Tom’s, or Sam’s, or some shit like that. It was one of those places that had been kept afloat by the same twenty people coming in to eat for the last fifty years. Mickey and I sat sandwiched between them, crammed into a booth, talking about the asshole-ripping we were about to receive.
Mickey sipped on a mug of shitty coffee and leaned back in his seat.
“I sent a couple of guys to scout the church,” he said. “The one that I stole the elixir from. They didn’t make it back, but I got some good info before their heads were blown off. First, that’s not their only location. They have churches all along the east coast. Second, most of them don’t have the marks. It’s saved for the highest ranking members only. Third, there are a shitload of these high ranking members, and an even bigger shitload of non-juiced up church members that will do just about anything this Reverend Alec motherfucker tells them to.”
“How many exactly? You get any solid numbers?” I said. Mickey ordered me a roast beef sandwich and a beer, but I hadn’t touched it. After seeing Freddie’s mutilated corpse, I didn’t have much of an appetite. My hatred of this son of a bitch had returned in full force, just as fresh as the day this whole shitshow started. But if he knew something, I needed to know it too.
“No exact numbers, but there are a couple of marked men at each church, so about a hundred, minimum. But you saw how that old lady was — she wasn’t any stronger than either of us, and that was a while back. I reckon there are only a few that are stronger than I am. As for the regular members, shit, I have no clue. It’s gotta be at least a thousand though. Those churches are not small.”
“Shit.”
Mickey was not the same as he was when he left. His mark had spread to the other side of his chest and down his left arm as well. I didn’t ask, but he had to have progressed at least two starters since I last saw him. I had been taking out one or two petty criminals at a time and getting nowhere, while this man was waging war against Alec’s men.
“How many marked men have you killed since we parted ways?” I asked.
“Shit, not too many. At first, they just sent waves and waves of regular guys. Tore through about a hundred of them before they realized it was pointless. I can feel ‘em coming ten miles away, and by the time any of them saw me, it was too late for ‘em.” He took another arrogant sip of his coffee, and took half a sandwich off my plate. “By the time they started sending tougher sonsabitches after me, my mark was already halfway down my left arm, and they were caught by surprise. I think it likes me or somethin’.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“It?”
“My mark. It seems to like me better than their marks like them. Compared to them, seems I’m movin’ up fast. Compared to you too, by the looks of it.” He flashed that shit-eating smile, his teeth yellow from the coffee and peppered with little bits of roast beef dangling above his purple gums.
“Yeah, seems like it,” I said. “Probably because you don’t care if it controls you. Y’all seem to want the same thing anyway: senseless violence.”
He stopped smiling and put the sandwich down.
“Ain’t nothin’ senseless about it, Gus. The violence has been very sensible, actually. I’ve been over here goin’ head to head with the crazy motherfuckers who want us dead, while you’ve been prancin’ around Texas doing fuck knows what. You were out there looking for ways to get stronger without losing your ‘humanity’ while I’ve been doing the real goddamn work. Well, the high road was too slow. The shitstorm’s coming, and you’re too weak to weather it. You need my help, and I wouldn’t mind your help. What do you say?”
“My tattoo isn’t as big as yours, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak or unprepared.” I said calmly. The worst thing you could do in front of Mickey was let him know that his bullshit was actually getting to you. I took a sip of my beer for the first time, which was flat as hell by now. “I bet you have a lot of shooters now, slinging all of those drugs and whatnot, but you and I both know they’re gonna last about ten seconds against a marked man. I don’t know if your scouts told you this or not, but I got some men of my own now. They’re mostly useless sacks of shit at the moment, I’ll admit, but soon, one of ‘em could be worth a hundred of your shooters. I got ‘em learning dark magic and shit.” It was my turn to flash an arrogant smile. I couldn’t help it, in front of him. This piqued his curiosity.
“You figure out a way to give them marks too?” he asked.
“Nah, turns out Mother Dora has a natural proclivity for the dark arts. She’s much better at it than she was at tellin’ futures — about as good at it as she was at smokin’ hookah. She’s my new headmaster at Hogwarts School of Fucked Up Blood Magic and Other Nasty Shit. We’re hoping to have at least fifty dirty heretics ready in the next few months.”
“Gus, fuck dude, haven’t you been listening to me? We don’t have a few months. They’re gearing up for a huge, decisive assault against me real soon. We have a month at most. One. How many fuckin’ Slytherins can you have ready by then?”
“Hard to say, really. Not fifty, but I think we can have some ready.”
Mickey let out a wet burp and then a deep sigh. He slunk into his seat a little.
“Alright, I hope it’s enough,” he said. “Keep on training your little heathens, and I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on back east. Let’s meet back here in two weeks though to get a real plan goin’. We’re gonna need one.”
He reached out to shake my hand, but I didn’t return the gesture.
“Nice try,” I said. “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m ever gonna let you lay a finger on me again.”
Air shot from his nose in something resembling a laugh. “Alright, Gus. Good seein’ you. Talk to you soon.”
We left some cash on the table and walked out the door. I got in the van, and Mickey hopped on a light blue motorcycle that I couldn’t help but think was supposed to resemble my old shitmobile. We went our separate ways again.
Driving home, a smile involuntarily spread across my face. Shit was about to finally go down, and that was a huge relief. Not knowing when they’d show up was killing me inside. It felt impossible to plan, to really be prepared in any way. Now, things were simple. I had a month until I took on Reverend Alec and his buddies, and I had a month and a day until I killed that motherfucker Mickey Torke.