Foreigner was led by Rosko up the stairs, watching Foxtail descend into the smoke and violence below.
“Relax, friendo. Ya friend there looks like she can handle herself in front of a couple of brutes down in da pit. My worries for you handlin’ yourself nice like in front of the boss.” Rosko leaned over to Foreigner, patting him on the back before ascending past him up the stairs, a dim light hanging above a singular door with the word “House” scrawled on a piece of sheet metal. Rosko opened the door for Foreigner, waving him into an unknown danger.
Foreigner took a moment to have his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of fluorescent lighting. The room was overly lit in comparison to the rest of the establishment. The smell was equally pungent, an odorous mix of cheap cologne and cooked meat. A portly man with pink skin that glistened under the light was in the center of the room, his hand caressing the head of a small girl, the two sitting next to one another on a sleek black lounging couch. The girls eyes were vacant and clouded a milky blue color, an expression of joy on her face as she muttered under her breath words too faint to be caught by Foreigner on the other side of the room. There was another small child with similar eyes observing a multitude of screens at the end of the room, their clothes a mere cloth sack compared to the black and gold threads the portly man was wearing.
“Have you taken in enough?” The portly man asked, his eyebrow raised as he crossed both arms, revealing a swath of golden bracelets and watches and other trinkets on his person. “Its rude to come into someone’s house and ogle at their things before introducing oneself.” He turned over to Rosko, “Where did you pick this schmuck up from, the bargain bin? Kids looking crustier than the regular junkies we bring in.”
Rosko cleared his throat, elbowing Foreigner, “My friends just new to da scene is all. Just like everythin’ else, he can change outta those crusty garments and into something nicer if it’d appease ya. I’m sure he’ll pick up da operatin’ procedures once he gets acclimated.” Rosko gave Foreigner a facial cue to step in. Foreigner took a step forward and maintained eye contact with who he assumed was the Boss.
“Hello. I’m Foreigner. I was informed you’d be willing to provide us assistance.” Foreigner extended his hand for a handshake, a sign of a respectful greeting from what he remembered. The portly man began to smile widely, his eyes looking at the outstretched hand and then Foreigner. “The names Mr. Biggs, for one. You best get used to the Boss around here. For two, I know you’re a foreigner. I’m lookin’ atcha. Give me your real fuckin’ name, pal.” Before Foreigner could interject, Biggs pointed a singular sausage finger at him and raised his voice, “And THREE! I ain’t providin’ you jack all. What’s happening right now is a negotiation on the terms of our gamble, here; my resources spent towards these two requests up against that special girl you’ve acquainted yourself with.” Foreigner frowned, his mind puzzled by the hostility and the conditions of assistance. He retracted his hand and looked to Rosko, his face a hollow smile.
“There’s a couple of misunderstandings here, Mr. Biggs. I was informed that our participation towards this gladiatorial game was enough to meet the conditions of our request. As for the second misunderstanding, I have been going by Foreigner as a result of-” Mr. Biggs launched himself up from the couch, his rolls making a muted squelching sound from within the suit, his finger much closer to Foreigner now that he could see the yellow and bluish undertones within the nail.
“You’re one hopeless charity case, kid. I don’t give a flying fuck if you’ve crawled out from under a rock; while you’re in my house, you better learn my damn rules! I asked you for your name, not a sob story about what you’ve been callin’ yourself.” Mr. Biggs jabbed his meaty finger into Foreigner, the glossy residue leaving a globby oil stain on his shirt. “As for your other statement, let me make it plain for ya; I’m not GIVING you jack. You’re TAKING my stuff if you win and I’m TAKING your stuff if you lose. What I’m TAKING from you is that Distorted girl you’ve been palling around with and what you’re TAKING from me is whatever the fuck you’ve place on my negotiating table. Now, if you don’t want me to fling you out of my office and take everything you’ve got, I better hear some short replies.” Foreigner could feel a collective number of eyes land on him at that moment but he dared not look away from Mr. Biggs glare.
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“I have no name. Call me what you’d like. I want men to help fight a Fixer. I also want access to your network to get on top of a kidnapping of one of my friends.” Foreigner replied in a stilted robotic manner, a seething anger boiling within him. Mr. Biggs nodded once before letting gravity bring his form back down onto the couch, the wood creaking at the impact.
“Good little No-Name. I like quick learners.” Mr. Biggs gave him a smug smile, petting the child on the couch like a domesticated animal. Rosko cleared his throat again, inserting himself into the current situation if only for a moment.
“Don’t mean ta insult your intelligence, Boss, but shouldn’t we learn what kinda Fixer we’s bein’ sent to take care of? We ain’t exactly the Shi’s round here.” Foreigner made a mental note to leave Rosko as a stain on the wall when he got out of here. Biggs stroked his chin.
“I was just gettin’ to that, Rosko,” Biggs turned to Foreigner, “And who exactly am I sendin’ my resources towards? The price of the request’ll change dependin’ on the severity of the job.” Foreigner smiled, recollecting a piece of knowledge from his conversation earlier with Mal-Chin Ma.
“I need help taking down a woman in a purple cloak, wielding a black cross as a weapon. I heard from one of our mutuals that you had a problem with this individual?” Mr. Biggs gave Foreigner the side eye before leaning in, motioning with his hand for him to go on. “From what they told me, they did some business on your property that’s leaving your patrons to question the safety of this institution. You’ve got to recover the faith of your gamblers and gladiators and I’m your ticket to that.”
“You’re telling me you know the broad who came into my house and slaughtered one of our regulars in cold blood?”
“I’m telling you I know where she’s going to be and have been informed by her that if I don’t meet her alone by tomorrow’s Evening Bell, she’ll kill my friend. Ideally, I’d like to get your help on this because I know offering you a surefire way to redeem confidence in your establishment should be worth something to someone of your… caliber.” Foreigner scanned his face for tells or signs but his face was stoic and lost in thought. His eyes came to with a sinister gleam in them.
“Well it looks like No-Names got something more to offer than the girl after all. I’ll throw in the best we’ve got in House for this job and the recon service too, contingent on the results of the match. A win for me is your friend within an inch from death and my guy declared the winner or your friend surrenderin’ for whatever reason. A win for you is your friend bestin’ mine and being declared the winner or my guy surrenderin’ for whatever reason. Do we got ourselves a deal?” His final comment came out like a hiss, a noxious odor wafting in Foreigners direction.
Foreigner placed his faith in Foxtail and extended his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Biggs.” The boss snatched his hand for the shake, a puff of green flame lighting up beneath Mr. Biggs eyes before flickering out.
“Tsk. Guess we’ve got to do this the old fashion ways. Rosko, lead our guest down to the Thorn Bed. Give him my viewing spot. I’ll be joining him shortly.” Mr. Biggs waved the two of them off, his eyes suddenly disinterested with the current situation. Rosko pulled Foreigner from behind and dragged him out of the room, gently closing the door behind him before briskly walking him down the stairs.
Foreigner mulled over his questions, waiting for the two to get just out of earshot to begin his own inquiries to what had just occurred.