Bruno stared back at his own eyes through the washstand mirror; bright and piercing, thick and full locs fell in a cascade around his face, uniformly coiled and well-maintained as even the sudden festivities proved less important than lookin' like the ace in a deck of jokers. He gently traced his jawline and could even feel faint stubble creepin' around his chin. Finally he was the Master of spirits; long time comin' if you ask him, 'course if you ask almost anybody else they'll have a difference of opinion. Good fuckin' thing ain't no one askin' for their opinion; Laveau had said it was time, and so it was. Bruno may not have absorbed all of what she taught him but he wasn't exactly an idiot neither, when someone offers you all you been dreamin' about for the last 19 years, you shut the fuck up, ask as few questions as possible and take the job.
So here he was, Master of spirits in the Baron Samedi gang. He attempted to flex his muscles, but the new astonishingly black tailcoat he had on must have obscured his strapping physique. The wick of the kerosene lamp sputtered, throwing an uneven illumination around his quarters. Now filled with letters, gifts, and offerings from the other Loa Syndicate Kingpins, eager to wish him the best of luck in his new position.
The Papa Legba gang had sent a passably standard-looking key Inscribed with the Veve of Papa Legba on one side and the Barons on the other. It had a long, spindly twine attached to a ring at the top, suggesting it should be worn as jewelry of some sort. Bruno couldn't fathom willingly wearing this thing out for a night in the Quivira brothels but having the best fencers in the syndicate on your side wasn't nothin' neither. No letter or note was attached, so Bruno assumed the Legbas were upholding their usual cryptic bullshit and accepted the gift regardless.
Now the Ogun gang sent somethin' a little more useful than a key leadin' nowhere. Handle wrapped in supple, dark leather, a comfortable yet firm grip. The barrel was blued to a near-black hue, a rich darkness that seemed to swallow the lamplight altogether. Each cylinder chamber was carved with a tiny skull, and the hammer was molded into a top hat, an intricacy that only an Ogun could accomplish. He twiddled with the custom iron. It was nothin' short of a masterpiece.
Bruno wasn't exactly the best shot in Quivira, nor did he fire a revolver all too often (the majority of corpses he's seen in his life were right here at Samedi's Mortuary & Spirits). Still, all Loa Syndicate Kingpin worth their bounty have a gaudy piece o' hip iron strapped to their side regardless if they do the shootin' or not. The Ogun's actually did attach a small note with the iron, simply reading
"May the iron bring you Ogun's power and Samedi's fear. Congratulations on your new reign."
Bruno gawked at the letter like a miner gazing at a fresh vein of gold .... "Reign"..... huh, he paced around his room, tracing the edges of the plain white note with his fingers. Strange how much confidence a single word can instill.
Erzulie's offered somethin' a little different than the others but a lot more familiar to Bruno. An exoneration from the lifetime ban placed on him and the rest of the Samedi gang from all Erzulie brothels in Quivira, as well as a private luxury suite on this blessed night. Might not seem as slick as a new custom hip-iron but this wasn't just a gift to him. Ever since he got the letter, the gang haven't been able to stop talkin' about their triumphant return to Erzulies Embrace. This time, Tatanka would win so much cash he wouldn't be able to carry it out the front parlor, and Freya would order the Chateaubriand Steak with peppercorn sauce. Bruno wasn't exactly sure either of these things would end up happenin', but who is he to spoil a party.
He tidied up the finishing touches on his new outfit. A dark black tailcoat accompanied by a deep purple vest and stark white dress shirt, a gift straight from Laveau. Also enclosed was a simple purple top hat and cane; after much wrestling, Bruno donned the ensemble and mentally prepared himself to display it to his family. Already, he could imagine Freya's reaction and wasn't eager to let her get one on him, but for whatever reason, Laveau wanted him to wear it, and a good Kingpin always chooses their battles wisely.
Emerging from his quarters for the first time, a king. This was the start of something exciting; his usual fervor didn't hold a candle to what was brewing inside as he strode down the hallways of Samedis Mortuary. The new polished black leather boots made walkin' harder than it needed to be, and the number of layers made him feel as if he was a calf bound for market, trussed up and stifling. He's traipsed these hallways thousands of times, their dark wood furniture upholstered with deep purples and crimson reds. Passing the viewing room, the Veve of Baron Samedi stood tall above the raised platform where the casket would sit. The Veve was made of wrought-iron fence twisted to shape into the familiar symbol; Bruno tipped his purple top hat as he passed; he wasn't exactly sure he could attribute all of his newfound luck to the Baron, but some undoubtedly were.
He could hear his family in the parlor now, rowdy as they always been. The faint smell of arsenic that Tatanka used to embalm the finished souls was brawling with the incense Percy promised would work to cover it up, clearly failing to prevail. The mortuary felt other-worldly even to Bruno, who had known nothing but here. It felt like a space between life and death. A place mourners come to say their final goodbye as The Baron guides their loved one for the last time. A place where families come together under a bottle of spiced rum, tellin' tales of the deceased as if they were some notorious outlaw like Oswald Blackett or Morgan Morrisson. Stories mostly bullshit anyway, but do good for the still livin', and Bruno has found the dead rarely seem to care what stories you cook up for em' after they meet The Baron.
This was the moment, after nineteen excruciating years of waiting, his gang and his family would finally see their new Master of spirits. They all watched as Bruno descended the parlor steps as nonchalantly as possible, boots assuredly not helpin'. After clamberin' to the bottom, Freya was the first to crack, her face twisted in what could only be described as a contortionist act, failing to contain the small bouts of laughter that were repeatedly escapin'.
"YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS BOY" she bellowed "How you spos'd to enjoy Erzulies if it takes four whores just to unwrap ya!"
She was standing in front of him, but it felt more like she was above him if he was bein' truthful. Freya had the sinewy strength of a wild stallion, untamed and formidable. Her arms were as thick as the ropes for mooring riverboats, coiled power ready to be unleashed. He had to crane his neck straight up to even meet her gaze.
"Took me an hour just to figure out how to put the fuckin' vest on," Bruno bantered. "Check out what our new friends over at Oguns offered me, though." he unveiled the inky iron from his concealed side holster and held it up high above his head so the whole gang could see.
"The Oguns seriously offered authentic iron?!" Tatanka's indifference waned; Bruno knew this would be of interest or at least take the attention off his easily mocked outfit. "heard they crafted each piece from pure soul-forged iron with etchings that could---"
"Ye know all those offerin's are complete shite, don't ye?" Percy interjected "They're jus' tryin' to butter ye up with gifts so when the time comes to take us out, we won't be expectin' it."
"Why dont'chu shut that fuckin mouth o' yours Perce, ain't no one gonna be takin anyone out. They excited about the change just as much as we are."
"Ah, ye're spot on, Frey. We may as well send all them gangs a feckin' invite, sayin', 'come gut us like fish 'cause we all know we sittin' ducks without a proper seer."
The two were glarin' at each other somethin' fierce; Bruno waited for Laveau to break em' up but soon realized that the job fell to him now. Guess bein' a king ain't all free gifts and private brothel suites.
"Ease up, fellas; ain't no reason to ruin the party before it's even started, right?" He tried to channel Laveau's voice—measured and insightful, a serene cadence underscored by unwavering authority. It was as if every syllable she spoke was woven from wisdom and warmth. Even giving stern advice sounded like a lullaby.
All three of his family members broke out into merciless laughter, guessin' he lacked Laveau's real strength, Bite behind all that barkin'.
"I know the prick in the purple top hat ain't tellin' me to break it up now!" howled Freya; she could barely get each word out between the boisterous belly laughs that made her chest rise and fall like the heaving of prairie winds.
"Awww, c'mon now, yer tellin' me that the Master of spirits don't often go out with trousers so tight their bits turn blue, is it?"
Even Tatanka's typical stony visage was snickerin' now. Prolly hard to take your new kingpin seriously wearin' a purple vest and waddlin' around like a kid fresh learnin' to walk.
With a swift *Whoosh*, Bruno heaved the cursed top hat from his head, aimin' directly at Percy's mockin' skull. The blasted thing wavered in the air and tumbled unceremoniously to the mortuary's polished redwood floor. Maybe not as neat as Laveau, but they ain't arguing anymore, and all it cost was a bit of dignity.
"You two wouldn't know style if it waltzed up and slapped you across the face! 'Sides, the suit's straight from Laveau herself, and if she catches wind I was in anything else tonight, I might as well pack up and run like a card cheat caught bluffing."
"Hey, it's your party, and if you wanna dress....." One eyebrow furrowed as she scanned his body head to toe, her head wiggling with uncertainty. "like a clown, be my guest. 'Sides, I got a job before our little blowout. Be seein' y'all there!"
"Got a job? If I'm rememberin' proper, I ain't sendin' you on any jobs yet. Where you really goin', girl?"
Freya was already halfway out the front door by the time Bruno finished the question. He doubted he coulda stopped her even if he tried to. She was never all that good at listening to Laveau, either. Part of the reason Bruno chose her as his newly appointed number two.
"Let's jus' make sure we're on our best behavior tonight, aye? I ain't lookin' to be barred again from the only brothels in Quivira that don't leave ya with a rotten pecker, all 'cause you lot can't help but wreak havoc wherever ya roam.
Percy couldn't help but end the conversation with a taunt. He was always talkin' about how much work he had to do and how busy he was, but they ain't scorin' any big heists since Laveau left, and Bruno reckoned Perce already counted the gang's treasury more'n ten times since the ledger been edited. Seems like everyone keepin' a few secrets from their new king.
"Remember when Laveau wouldn't let us leave until she formally concluded the service? Wonder why she had rules like that in place," Tatanka said, smirkin'. He was the only one left in the mortuary's ethereal parlor. Sat relaxed, rockin' back and forth on a dark wooden chair that Laveau almost certainly would have scolded him for.
"Spose' you next to go then? C'mon Tanka, let's hear what witty comeback you got fore' leavin' your brother on the most important day of his life." Bruno attempted to mime cryin', but the getup made him feel more like an escaped sideshow performer.
"Leaving? Why don't you take a walk with me, brother? You haven't seen what I'm offering yet."
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They didn't stop till they got to the embalming room, didn't say a word to each other neither. Bruno usually felt the need to cover up awkward silences with what others called "incessant rambling" but that feeling quickly faded with Tatanka. Somethin' about his brothers effortless nature let him fall back to silence. He had nothing to prove; no big successful bank heist would change how his brother looked at him.
The embalming room was dimly lit; oil lamps made shadows dance off the cabinets in a flickering performance. The walls were adorned with rows and rows of shelves, housing both small jars of mysteriously colorful liquids and what Bruno hoped were animal bones.
The acrid scent of unknown chemicals complimented the stench of the deceased and filled every inch of the room. Whatever incense Perce had hoped to cover up the stench was bein' greatly missed. Felt like every time you took a breath, a bit of his nose hair would singe off.
The center of the room housed six simple wooden tables, five covered in purple cloth with an unmistakable lump underneath. The floor had a large etching of the Barons Veve in an effort to invoke his presence, in case the altar in the corner wasn't to his liking.
Tanka wasted no time gettin' to work soon as they entered. He had already donned his thick apron and forearm-length gloves and was hard at work taming his hair, usually a thick mane of obsidian strands, now tied up, revealin' an angular, chiseled cheekbone underneath. He started pokin' at a patron with the same meticulousness that he shuffled cards with. Tanka always preferred to be working while discussin' business; Bruno wasn't really sure why, but the info was good, and so was the embalmin', so he never made a fuss.
"You drag me all the way down here so you can look a fool with company?" Bruno pulled at the back hem of his pants to emphasize the tightness and bowed the rim of his, somehow growing on him top hat.
Tanka barely glanced up from his work, his hands moving like machinery, fast and determined. "....Only one of us looks a fool, brother, and I can assure you even the dead here can ascertain who."
He was smirkin' into the cadaver now. Well, they both were, but he hides it a hell of a lot better than Bruno has ever been able to. Tanka extracted the metal instrument from the patron's newly formin' neck hole and waved it up and down, tracing Bruno's height. "Look at you, huh? Grown and ready to lead."
Bruno could feel his eyes roll. "Oh god, Tanka, if you seriously plannin' on givin' me a responsibility and care lecture again, you might as well make me like your friends here and make me meet the Baron because I don't think I got another one in me."
He was lookin' at Bruno all intense like again, like he does when he's all-in and clearly bluffin' but makes you buy his cards anyway.
"We both know my wisdom falls on deaf ears when it comes to you, Bruno, so no, I am not about to waste my breath." He started squeezin' a hand pump, and a thick liquid invaded the patron's body. "If Laveau thinks you are ready, so do I, Brother; you know that well. Besides your very first day, and you get us unbanned from Erzulies, that's a better reward than any job Laveau had us working right."
"Well, I'm just peached that you and Laveau think I'm ready, but that doesn't change the fact that the entire Syndicate thinks I'm some wet-behind-the-ears mama's boy who's only good for polishin' boots, not fillin' 'em." His voice was gettin' loud now, especially in a room full of people talkin' to the Baron." Hell, Perce doesn't even fuckin' think so; Guy takes every chance to tear me down. Tell me you got somethin' big Tanka, somethin' that'll put my name in every goddamn Kingpings mouth!"
Tatanka was puttin' the finishing touches on the patron he was workin' on, barely even looked up. Bruno's yellin' didn't seem to interrupt his work much, and if it did, he couldn't tell. Yellin' at a room full of dead bodies didn't help much neither but it felt nice to let your rage out into the world instead of keepin' it up inside you.
Wasn't only dead bodies in the room this time though and Tanka was suddenly uninterested in the infatuating work of embalmery. He got close to Bruno just like Freya had earlier, Tanka too stood taller n' Bruno and was an uncertain age older too. All they gotta know is when Laveau found Tanka he already stood 2 heads taller n' Bruno, so older he always been.
"Listen, Brother. You're an omen to these people; Laveau packs up shop and hands the reins to you, which means all the folks who built this whole thing with her ain't too far behind. But don't forget, those who doubt you are stuck in their yesterdays. You've got two legacies to consider: the one left for you and the one you'll leave for others. Right now, you're tangled up in what people expect because of Laveau, but that's their vision, not yours. Your path can take many turns, but it will always belong to you. And I've seen you, I've seen you breaking into banks as if you held the keys to the vault yourself. You've got the mettle of a mountain lion and the cunning of a coyote. You're ready. More than ready. But you've got to know it yourself first. Don't let their doubts become your own."
"So ya did haul me down here for a lecture then," Bruno replied, a sly smirk crept up the corners of his lips like a snake slitherin' through tall grass.
"Stow the quips, brother; I got something." He let the words linger in the airless, pungent embalmery. "...I got something so huge they'll be carving our name into history." His eyes bore into him as he spoke, deep wells of blue as if he were peering straight into his very soul, the rest of him seeming to fade away like a distant mirage.
"I got word of a train—a ghost train—passing through the Second Quivira Outpost in exactly one month's time. The area is virtually uninhabited; the closest settled town is Cedar Ridge, and even that's a day's ride by rail in the opposite direction. The only souls on that train will be corporate goons stationed on board to protect their vested interests."
"Yeah? An' where'd ya get this info, Tanka? Win it 'cause yer gamblin' friend couldn't cover his losses? Even if the info's on the level, what am I supposed to tell 'em at my first Veve Council? Listen up everyone, we hit a ghost train in the fuckin' desert an' lived to brag 'bout it!'"
Bruno's smirk faded as Tankas grew ever wider. "Nothing shameful about a safe job, Bruno; contrary to your recent endeavors, a successful job isn't always a dangerous one. Besides, I wouldn't be bringing this to my Master of spirits if it weren't worth all our attention."
He brought his voice to a near whisper as if the secrets he shared were weighty enough to rouse the patrons lying motionless on the simple wood embalming tables.
"The train is carrying Dreamer's Root, Bruno—genuine, unrefined Dreamer's Root. I've laid eyes on the shipping manifest myself. A mere two ounces are being sent directly to a fancy new government facility up in Calders Landing, courtesy of our friends at Hawthorn Industries."
Tatanka's words sat firm in the air, Bruno felt a flicker of disbelief tangle with a rising sense of awe. Dreamer's Root—the name alone reminded him of whispered tales from Laveau during their childhood. Stories filled with mysticism and danger, the kind that made you question the line between reality and the stories of old. Bruno had always imagined it a legend but here it was, not just a fable but a tangible thing, within grasp. For the first time, the promises were materializing into something real, something that could change their fortunes, their standing, their very lives. Seems the Baron was lookin' out for him after all.
"Damn, Tanka, you sure 'bout this? Ya filled in Laveau or Fisk yet? What the hell them shadowy government types want with Root? Ain't as if those power-grabbin' bastards know what to do with it."
"They won't get a chance if we make our move first. And no, I've kept this between us for now. Figured my new Master of Spirits oughta hear it first—before the whole Syndicate starts stumbling over themselves to hit that train."
Bruno paused, taking it all in. The once-cramped embalming room seemed to expand before his eyes as if the walls had retreated to make way for the enormity of the opportunity before him. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the pungent odors that once filled the air now seemed almost tolerable, a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of what could be.
"THANK YA, TANKA!" Bruno hollered, yet again, he no longer gave a damn 'bout keepin' his voice down. "If I can lay even a pinch o' that Root on Fisk's table, ain't no one in the whole damn Syndicate will question us!"
Tatanka responded, but Bruno missed whatever he was sayin' now. He had to think, not like its everyday you get a heist like this dropped into your lap. He could feel his patented smirk slithering back up his lips.
"Never had a face for playing cards, eh brother?"
"Maybe, but this ain't nothin' like cards. Hear me out, Tanka, If we can snatch even a smidge of that Root for ourselves—"
"NO, No..... absolutely not. We have a secure plan, finally, one without Laveau's direct oversight. If the Veve Council learns we've skimmed some of that Root for ourselves, trust me, our reputation will be the least of our concerns."
"Perce hit the nail on the head, Tanka. Without a seer, we're sittin' like a three-legged pup in a coyote den. Ya said they're clueless, right? So we hand 'em one measly ounce, say that's all there was, and let 'em be none the wiser. Fisk gets the send-off of a lifetime, and we fix our seer dilemma. Ain't a losin' hand in the bunch, far as I can tell."
Tanka's head sagged; he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the thick embalming gloves only exaggerating his annoyance. "Now let me get this straight, Bruno. After we put our necks on the line to swipe these two ounces of Root from the hands of the federal men and some big-time trading outfit, you're fixing to go even further and pilfer another ounce from our own kin in the Syndicate!"
Seems Tanka's lost a bit of volume control down here too, either that or hes just lettin' his frustrations out into the world, Bruno was intimately familiar with both.
"Look, Tanka, it's finders keepers in my book. Them bastards want their full two ounces, they oughta go rustle it up themselves. 'Sides, ya know we're ridin' blind without a Seer, 'specially now that Laveau ain't around. Ain't sayin' your tips ain't solid, but no one got our back if things get ugly. I'll gamble with a tussle from that decrepit ol' Council if it sets us back on the right trail."
Tanka sighed again, this time so heavy Bruno wasn't sure if the dead would get up and ask em' to stop makin' so much damn noise. "Don't lose sight of who's got your back now, brother. I get it; there's a thrill in roaming the streets of Quivira, pockets weighed down by stolen pocket watches. But every close shave with the Lawmen isn't a win, and you would do well to remember that."
"Weren't it you just sayin' if Laveau trusts me, then you do too? All I'm askin' for's a sliver of faith, brother. Been sweatin' for 19 long years for a moment like this. Just give me the reins, is all I'm sayin'."
Tanka bent forward and wrapped his arms around Bruno. The pungent smell of the room was only exasperated as his face was bein' stuffed into the embalmer's apron. "Didn't I bring this to you first? Setting aside the fact your whole master plan's built on tales we heard as kids, you're my Master of Spirits now. If this is the road we're taking, then you better believe I'll stand right beside you, ready to make some mighty, powerful enemies."
Bruno spoke muffled as an account of his whole body bein' lifted in the air and smothered in his brother's grip. "Before we dive into all that mess, you ain't thinkin' of walkin' into Erzulie's wearin' that apron soaked in gore, are ya? Don't need another ban' fore we even make it to the backroom suite."
"Don't reckon you're in any place to be commenting on folks' attire, kid," Tatanka chuckled. "You wanna tell the gang, or you want me to lay out the plan?"
"Nah, I'll let 'em know come mornin'. Tonight, we revel in our first eve as undisputed kings of Quivira. We're gonna make it one they'll fuckin' sing songs about, Tanka."
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The sun dipped below the horizon, Quivira underwent a metamorphosis that could only be described as captivatin'. The thick, oppressive heat of the bayou gave way to a more tolerable warmth, a sultry caress that encouraged the body but didn't suffocate the soul. Jazz melodies unfurled like bloomin' night flowers, spilling out of smoky bars and intimate parlors, saturating the air with a sense of celebration.
Cobblestone streets, once harsh under the scorching sun, now gleamin' invitingly, each stone meticulously outlined by the soft glow of gas-lit lanterns. The city's wrought-iron balconies overflowing with flora and facades adorned with intricate scrollwork seemed to come alive in the twilight as if each building had its own spirit just waitin' for the sun to retreat.
It wasn't just the buildings that came to life; the citizens of Quivira did, too, filling the streets in a carnival-like procession of vice. Drunkards leaned out of windows, singing slurred renditions of popular songs, occasionally tossing coins to the buskers below. So many courtesans graced each corner that turning one down almost felt impossible. Laughing groups spilled out of saloons, their voices mixing with the cacophony of horseshoes on cobblestone and the distant hum of the steamboat's horn. In the heart of Quivira, it seemed the world had paused to revel, and for this one night, the possibility of indulgence was as limitless as the bayou itself.
His family had all donned their best goin' out attire; Tanka ditched the embalmin' gloves for a suede vest over a muted plaid shirt. Freya wore a waist-cinching corset that seemed to push the already mountainous form of muscle even further up her body. Hell, even Percy was dressed for the occasion, a sleek grey waistcoat and trousers just beggin' to be peeled off by Erzulie's finest.
Bruno himself had changed into a more reasonable ensemble, now wearing his best weathered-lookin' black leather jacket and dark denim trousers. He Had kept the ridiculous purple top hat, not 'cause he had a love for it, nah, but because it riled Percy up somethin' fierce—and that alone made it worth it.
Streets so packed, you'd think it's some kinda festival or somethin'. Barely got room to breathe without some hammered fool staggerin' into ya, pissed that he's been tossed from his favorite waterin' hole. But hell, Bruno loved it. This mess of bodies and noise, it was home, and nothin' made him feel more alive than this human jungle, blessed be the Baron.
Folks here weren't strangers, not really. They weaved through the crowd, findin' them gaps where they could slip through easy. Dodgin' into alleys, dark corridors where the gaslight barely reached, all damp earth and cobblestone, the walls so close they could whisper secrets. Then they'd hop over one of them fancy wrought-iron fences, the kind with points that looked like they could bite.
Most folks would be clutchin' their pockets tight in a mob like this, worried 'bout losin' their hard-earned cash. But Bruno's own pockets were heavy with pocket watches, and ain't no one squawkin' 'bout losin' it. Bein' an Outlaw had its own kinda freedom, and tonight, that freedom felt damn near untouchable.
They were gettin' close to Erzulie's Embrace, could feel it even 'fore they saw it. If the streets were packed before, now they were damn near suffocatin', like every saint and sinner in Quivira decided to descend on this one spot. And why wouldn't they? Erzulie's was the triple threat—booze, beds, and bets. A man could lose himself and find himself in the same night, and it seemed tonight, everyone wanted a piece of that unholy trinity. Bruno smirked; after all, wasn't that what livin' was all about?
There it was, Erzulie's Embrace, stickin' out like a diamond in a coal mine. Surrounded by the grimy, worn-down façades of Quivira, the Embrace stood pristine—pure white walls, damn near glowin' under the gas-lit lanterns. It was a marvel, an oasis in a city filled with shadows. If Quivira was the underbelly of sin, then Erzulie's was its gilded navel, the center of it all.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Bruno's eyes traced the elaborate ironwork at the front—a labyrinth of swirls and spirals weavin' themselves into the unmistakable Veve of Erzulie. That symbol was more than just a pretty decoration; it was a statement, a claim of territory and power that every gang in the Syndicate recognized. You didn't mess with an Erzulie brothel, not unless you had a death wish.
And those balconies—Bruno had to chuckle. Ornate railings, finely crafted and teemin' with people, so packed it looked like they'd all tumble off if one more soul dared to squeeze in. High society mingled with lowlifes, and for a split second, distinctions blurred, unity in vice. That's what Erzulie's was—a sanctum where every kind of sinner could find refuge.
"Let's be tryin' not to get ourselves booted 'fore I've had me bits wet, aye lads?" Percy had already started unbuttoning his bottoms before they even reached the front door.
Steppin' through the grand entranceway of Erzulie's Embrace, Bruno couldn't help but be swept away by the sheer opulence that hung in the air, anchored by a massive crystal chandelier that seemed to touch both Heaven and Earth. Below it, a sea of bodies—flesh pressed against flesh—in a sweaty, thrummin' chaos that was near palpable.
The stench of raw humanity—a mix of lust, sweat, and fervor—was in the air, weakly masked by wafts of high-end perfume and the sting of cheap booze. Everythin' was electric, like a heart poundin' out a frenetic beat, and Bruno felt himself sink into that rhythm with a sense of exhilaration that only places like this could ignite within him.
His own heart was racin', thuddin' in his chest as if tryin' to match the beat of Erzulie's own pulse. He felt alive, truly alive, in this swelterin' hotbed of vice and virtue, excess and yearning. This was his element, the sort of chaos in which he thrived, the kind of frenetic energy that fueled him, that made him feel like he was touchin' the very core of life itself.
A sugary sweet voice cut through the chorus of the crowd "Welcome to Erzulie's Embrace, y'all!" Long brunette hair, hourglass figure—damn, she was a stunner. Bruno couldn't help but think, if this was the gal greetin' at the door, then the night ahead promised to be one for the books—a night none of 'em would soon forget.
The gal squinted a bit, tiltin' her head like Bruno'd be more recognizable at a different angle. "Wait! Lulu done told me 'bout y'all comin' tonight! You must be the very Bruno Bourdeaux, congrats on Master o' spirits! If y'all will follow me, The private suite is just up---"
"Ye must be new at this, lass!" Percy hissed, his voice so low it got swallowed by the crowd's din. "Don't be shoutin' our business fer all an' sundry, ye hear?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir; I didn't mean no disrespect. I can assure you there ain't no lawmen hidin' anywhere tonight, and if they are, they gonna be a little preoccupied with the girls or with the gamblin'."
"No offense taken, darlin'," Bruno shot back, tryin' to smooth over Percy's jagged energy. The last thing he wanted was to get booted before they even made it to the sanctuary of their suite. "How 'bout you lead us on up to that private paradise y'all promised, and we'll be outta your hair, huh?" She smiled, but it felt more like a workin' girl's smile and less like she was charmed by his silver tongue.
The girl led them from the lobby's heat, Bruno took a moment to soak in the grandeur of the joint. They were led up a massive staircase, each step clad in plush red velvet that seemed to caress your boots as you walked. Intricate wrought-iron railings lined the staircase, twined with little golden hearts peppered throughout.
The atmosphere grew thicker with each step they took, a blend of fragrant perfume mingling with the undercurrents of sweat. Laughter and shouted bets emanated from a room they passed, the clinking of chips and rattle of dice. Another doorway led to a bar that looked as grand as a riverboat casino's salon, bottles of every imaginable spirit almost glowing in the soft light, beckoning patrons to forget their worries and their wallets.
People of all kinds brushed past 'em. Men in crisp suits with wide grins and women in elegant gowns and less-than-elegant expressions. Hawkers with trays of exotic drinks, courtesans in scanty garments whisperin' promises in the ears of flushed patrons—every vice and virtue was on full display, and Bruno couldn't help but feel like he was in the belly of some great, beatin' heart. A heart that thrived on sin and excess, pulsing to the rhythms of lust, greed, and a dozen other sins that Bruno knew all too well. His own heart raced in his chest, fueled by the life that thrummed around him.
The door to the private suite swung open, and Bruno felt like he'd stepped into another world. Plush crimson carpets stretched out to meet elegantly crafted furniture, each piece a testament to some master carpenter's life work. A massive bed, shrouded in silken sheets and veils, promised untold comfort or sin—Bruno figured it could go either way.
The far corner of the room boasted a luxurious bath, its claw-footed tub shimmerin' in the low light, surrounded by small tables holdin' all manner of oils and fragrances. Like some hedonistic temple, the room seemed to call out, urgin' you to forget the world outside and indulge in every earthly desire.
Bruno couldn't help but feel like this was his moment, like he was finally gettin' a taste of the life he'd always felt he deserved. Sure, he'd been to plenty of fine joints in his time, but this was different. Here, amid the silk and the scent of exotic oils, he felt like royalty. The weight of that damn top hat seemed to lighten; hell, it might as well have been a crown.
Tanka didn't waste no time; feller was probably already down in the gamblin' den, throwin' dice or cards or whatever else caught his fancy. Man had a knack for games of chance, second only to his skills as an embalmer.
As for Freya, she sprawled out on that enormous bed like she was made for it. The sea of satin and plush made her herculean frame look almost normally proportioned.
Then there was Percy, already gettin' a head start on the night's bad decisions. His eyes darted back 'n forth across the drink menu like he was tryin' to decipher some ancient scripture. No doubt lookin' for the most expensive bottle to rattle the cash in his pocket.
"Ah, reckon I'll be kickin' off with the—wait a tick, would ya look at that? They've got whiskey on 'ere older than the lot of us!"
Bruno flicked a fat roll of pilfered bills onto the bed, grinnin' as they scattered across the silk sheets. "Order whatever you fancy, Perce. Tonight, the drinks are on me. We're in a celebratin' kind of mood, ain't we?"
Percy scooped up a wad of bills with his right hand, his left still clutchin' the drink menu like it was gonna fly away. "Celebratin' a victory, we've not yet earned? That's me least favorite kind o' party."
"Can't even let yerself enjoy a damn party, can ya'? Been actin' like a right prick ever since Laveau--" Bruno's eyes darted 'round the lush suite, realizin' Percy had up and vanished. Probably skedaddled down to the bar to avoid gettin' an earful from the new Master o' Spirits. Just like Percy, always slippin' away when the goin' gets tough.
"Don't let him ruin yer spirits, Top Hat," Freya drawled, lounging on the bed like a gator claimin' its stretch of bayou. "Why don't ya stretch yer legs, Bruno? Been thinkin' of invitin' the girl from the door up here for some Erzulie-style worship."
"Y'have fun, darlin'," He tipped the contentious purple top hat in Freya's direction. "I'm gonna go find Lulu. Let's see if she's got a taste for fine millinery." With a wink, he left the suite, feelin' a sense of anticipation bubble up inside him. Tonight was just gettin' started.
----------------------------------------
Hours had passed now, and tryin' to find Lulu in this mess was like tryin' to find a black cat in a coal cellar. The crowd had swelled to the point where the walls themselves seemed to be sweatin', and the once-pristine decor had started to show its wear as the night wore on. The lavish upholstery, once the epitome of class, now bore stains from spilled drinks and God knows what else. That expensive perfume tryin' to cover up the raw scent of lust? Now, it just mixed in, creating a heady brew of sweat, sex, and spirits. The posh was losin' ground to the debauched, and Bruno couldn't help but think how it was a damn fine metaphor for Quivira itself.
Bruno reckoned it was a lost cause to find Lulu in this labyrinth of vice. He'd have to tip his hat to her tomorrow once the chandeliers were free of drunks swingin' from 'em. As for the private suite, well, that was Freya's kingdom now. The brunette woman from the door's sugary voice was spillin' out the door loud enough to let everyone know she was holdin' court, and by the Baron, she could have it.
Perce was a whole other mystery. The Irishman had a knack for disappearin' when least expected, and even if Bruno could track the red-headed bastard down in this chaos, he had a feelin' Percy would turn his nose up at sharin' a drink. But hell, let him skulk—tonight was too ripe for livin' to worry about the bitter.
When all else fails, Tatanka would be gambling, and where else but the gambling den? He'd known Tanka his whole life, and the man had but two true loves: preservin' the dead and dancin' with Lady Luck herself. Seein' as Erzulie's was still shy of a corpse or two, that left the clatter of dice and the shuffle of cards as Tanka's chosen sanctuary for the night.
He pushed through the heavy velvet curtain separating the gambling den from the rest of Erzulie's; a shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The air was thicker here, heavy with the combined scents of cigar smoke and aged whiskey. The din from the rest of the brothel became a muffled hum, drowned out by the clinking of chips and the muttering of gamblers engrossed in their games.
The room itself was a sharp contrast to the opulent grandeur of the rest of the establishment. Dimly lit by still ornate but subdued chandeliers, it was a world unto itself, with worn but comfortable leather chairs surrounding mahogany tables. A sense of urgency replaced the lewd, carefree feel of the other rooms—here, men and women were locked in battle, not of flesh, but of wits and fortune.
Bruno's eyes swept over the tables. Poker, roulette, faro—each game had its own island of worshipers.
As Bruno neared the poker table, the tension grew thicker. Tanka, ever the picture of composure, sat almost serenely as the mountain of a man across from him let loose a torrent of angry words. Droplets of spit flew from the man's lips, glittering momentarily in the dim light before they landed on the green felt of the table.
Bruno couldn't help but grin. Tanka was unflappable, a rock in the rapids. If some fella was screaming at him, odds were that Tanka had him beat. Not just at cards but mentally, too. Tanka knew how to get inside a man's head, to lure him into making mistakes, all while seeming like the most genteel player at the table.
Watching it unfold, Bruno felt his spirits lift. Whatever else was going wrong tonight—Perce being a wet blanket, Freya commandeering their suite—here was something going right. His brother had the situation well in hand, and he couldn't wait to join the fray. After all, what's a party without a little bit of danger?
"I AIN'T KNOW HOW, BOY, BUT I KNOW YOU DID! BEEN PITBOSS FOR LONGER EN' YOU BEEN ALIVE, I KNOWS A CHEAT WHEN I SEE ONE!"
"Whatever you believe transpired, I can assure you that cheating is not in my nature, sir. It's merely the luck of the draw."
"LUCK O' THE DRAW?! LUCK O' THE FUCKIN' DRAW HUH! WHAT KINDA LUCK YOU GOT LETS A FELLER WIN MORE'N TEN HANDS IN A ROW"
The pit boss edged closer to Tanka, and it was apparent neither man was about to back down. The air in the gambling den grew weighty, the room itself pausing as if holding its collective breath. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the brewing confrontation, like a pack of coyotes circling, just waiting for the moment to pounce on their next meal. Bruno felt a familiar thrill creep up his spine. These were the moments he lived for high tension, high stakes, and the unspoken understanding that it could all go sideways in the blink of an eye.
Bruno sauntered up to the table, mustering his most amiable tone. "Relax, partner!" he called out, but even to his own ears, it sounded more patronizing than peaceable. As he closed the distance, the pit boss's bull-like stare loomed ever larger. Bruno could practically feel the heat radiating from the man, his eyes drilling holes right through him. At moments like these, he often wished Freya was by his side; her imposing presence had a knack for quelling the wildest of tempers. But for now, it was just him and his brother Tanka, caught in the eye o' this simmerin' storm.
"Stay out of this, Bruno; I'm handling it."
"HANDLIN' IT?! BOY THE ONLY THING YOU HANDLIN' IS MARKED CARDS AND STOLEN MONEY" the two were face to face, Tankas stare was as cool as a river couldn't say the same for ol' pitboss. His eyes bulged further out his head with every word. One more sentence, and Bruno reckoned they might pop out.
"I'm sure this is all just a misunderstandin' friend!" Bruno reached up and draped his arm over the pit boss's broad, stallion-like shoulders, stretching as far as he could. Had to stand on his tiptoes to do it, making him feel somewhat like a kid clinging to his father rather than the stoic mediator he was attemptin' to be. "My friend, here's the best gamblin' man in all of Quivira. Don't believe me? Go to any gamblin' house they'll know the name!"
The pit boss slowly lifted Bruno's arm off his shoulder. "I ain't worried bout no big names here, kid. I knows a cheat when I see's one, and there ain't no way that boys an honest feller" The whole room lay silent, staring at the purple top-hatted jester and his brother.
The Pitboss sneered even closer to Tanka. "Maybe in your tribe, they call this cheatin' here a skill. We in civilization now boy and you'se gonna act like it. Tired o' these new money savages---"
"You best take that back, friend," Bruno replied, his voice losin' all remnants of the former festivity. Didn't need no seer to predict what was 'bout to happen.
"YEAH?! OR WHAT BOY YOU GONNA SICK YOUR SAVAGE ON----"
Bruno's knuckles collided with the side of the pit boss's jaw, a cracking sound reverberating through the silent gamblin' den. For a fraction of a second, the pit boss looked genuinely bewildered. It wasn't the sting of the punch that shocked him; Bruno could see that in the man's bull-like eyes. No, what staggered the towering figure was the audacity, the sheer, uncalculated boldness of Bruno's act. It was as if the giant couldn't believe anyone would be foolish enough to strike him. And in that brief moment, Bruno almost agreed with him. Almost. But then the air shifted, and he could feel it -- the room igniting like a barrel of gunpowder.
The room exploded into a cacophony of shouts, curses, and the clatter of upturned tables. Cards flew through the air like confetti, chips scattering in a deluge across the floor. The tension that had been coiling in the room released in an instant, sending gamblers, cheats, and onlookers into a frenzied uproar.
Bruno squinted through the mayhem, trying to discern shapes and faces in the disorienting whirl of movement. Fists were flying, bottles smashing, chairs breaking; the gambling den had devolved into a chaotic battlefield. What had been the steady thumping beat of the party, its own sort of lawless rhythm, had now crescendoed into a relentless, pounding chaos that echoed in his chest, syncing with his racing heart.
He felt it then, the surge of adrenaline, the electric charge of danger and uncertainty. This was a storm, a tidal wave of human emotion and conflict, and he was right in the middle of it. The world around him might have been spiraling into havoc, but in that instant, amidst the chaos and the crashing and the screams, Bruno felt more alive than ever.
Before he could take it all in everything was blurry, the right side o' his face was poundin' like it had its own heartbeat and the metallic taste of blood was overpowerin' the top-shelf liquor taste he had been feelin' for the majority of the night.
The Pitboss sat on top o' him now. Both hands firm 'round Bruno's neck, like two massive boa constrictors squeezin' the life out they prey. He kicked and clawed but the man was a whole lot bigger n' a whole lot stronger then Bruno'd ever be. The entire den was brawlin' now. Not a single gambler still waitin' for the next hand.
Tanka had the pit boss in a sorry attempt of a headlock with his right arm, his left poundin' away at the man's bald pate. He was strong, but even he ain't no match for a man-made o' muscle. With every strike from Tanka, the Pitboss's grip grew tighter. Squeezin' so hard Bruno was beginning to see dark out the corners o' his eyes.
'Fore Bruno had a premature chat with the Baron, a large figure broke from the chaos, descendin' on the pitboss like a mother bear protectin' her cub. Freya, she always had a knack for showin' up when she was needed and by the Baron was she needed right now.
Bruno lay back against the red felt carpet, starin' up at the ceiling and desperately heavin' to catch his breath. In the tussle he lost his purple top hat and gained a new black eye, better'n endin' up on Tankas table at the end o' the night he supposed.
He turned over, his chest risin' and fallin' somethin' heavy. Seemed the pitboss was now where he was moments ago, only this time Freya was on top o' him and she was wailin' so hard he could'nt just get up and shake off the punches.
Tanka heaved him up by his jacket; the world was wobblin' still. Only thing Bruno could make out was chaos. Everybody seemed to be fightin' everybody and if you couldn't fight seemed you was unconscious on the ground. A fate Bruno likely would have followed had Freya not been there.
"COME ON BROTHER, ITS TIME WE GET OUTTA HERE!" shouted Tanka, he wrapped Brunos arm over his shoulder and hoisted him forwards. Freya had finished turnin' the pit boss's face into mush and was followin' closely behind her hands full o' gore up to her toned wrists.
They pushed past the curtain of the gambling den, and it seemed the fun had spread to the entire brothel. What had been a sultry air of indulgence had turned into a full-scale riot of debauchery. Men and women were shouting, shoving, grappling with one another as security struggled to regain some semblance of order and failing miserably.
The lavish lobby, which had earlier basked in the soft glow of the massive crystal chandelier, was now a war zone. People were throwing punches, dodging flying bottles, and scaling the grand staircase as if storming a castle. The chandelier itself was swinging dangerously, looked like at any moment it could come crashing on the pandemonium below.
Bruno noticed some opportunistic thieves, undeterred by the chaos, hauling off opulent furniture and priceless paintings that had adorned the walls. The plush velvet settees, the gilded frames—pieces that screamed of luxury and excess—were being dragged out the door, destined for some rogue's secret lair.
At the bars, what were once flirtatious exchanges had turned into struggles for the last drops of high-priced liquor. Bartenders tried to salvage whatever they could but to no avail. The drinks were spilling faster than they could be poured, and any semblance of civility had been thrown out the window.
The perfume that had tried to mask the stench of the brothel's sins was utterly powerless now, replaced by the sharp smells of sweat, blood, and spilled booze.
The fast-beating heart of Erzulie's had gone into cardiac arrest, and in its final spasms, it was taking everyone and everything down with it. Bruno couldn't help but think, as he surveyed the spectacle before him, that this chaos was a fitting end to the night—a climax to top all others. He grinned to himself; the outlaw within him reveled in the chaos, felt at home in the madness.
They finally burst through into the front parlor, gasping for air as if surfacing from a turbulent sea. Tatanka had passed Bruno to his sister and he was steadily ridin' her back like a horse jockey rides a mighty stallion. The front doors burst open, and a flood of Quivira's best lawmen stormed into the building.
They were armed and dressed in navy blue uniforms with brass buttons shining in the dim light. Their caps sat low on their brows, casting their eyes in shadow and lending them an air of stern authority. Their presence was like a shockwave, instantly flipping the chaos on its head. Where security had failed, the force of the law would not. They started rounding up random revelers, cuffing them with an air of practiced efficiency and herding them out of the building like cattle to the slaughter.
"CLEAR OUT!"
"EVERYONE OUT!"
Whether their shouts went unheard in the chaos or simply no one was listenin', Bruno couldn't quite tell. Now, instead of fighting with each other, the mob seemed unified in a single mission—escape. People were sprinting in the opposite direction, overturning tables and chairs in their hurry to get away. The grand staircase, once a scene of elegance and ascent, was now a frantic downhill race as guests stampeded downwards, pushing and shoving without a second glance at the fallen.
Windows were being smashed open, curtains torn down, as people made desperate leaps of faith into the night. Balconies that had hosted lovers now served as launching pads for dramatic escape. The sound of glass shattering mingled with the shouts and screams, creating a cacophony that echoed through the jazz-filled street outside.
"Fuck!" hissed Tanka, "Where the fuck is Percy and how the hell are we getting out of here now!"
"Don't worry 'bout Perce," Bruno said, each word aggravatin' the soreness in his jaw like he was chewin' on gravel. "I know a secret entrance. 'Round the back in the laundry room, hardly anyone ever goes there. Leads out to a back alley. We get there, we're out for good."
Bruno felt a strange mixture of dread and excitement. He knew they had to move quickly, with the lawmen swarmin'. But there was a part of him that savored the chaos, that felt alive in the lawlessness. Even so, gettin' his family out safe was the priority now. Time to disappear, like smoke in the wind.
Bruno did his best to point in the direction of the laundry room but the ever growing chaos as well as his cloudy head made direction givin' awful difficult. The three weaved through the crowd with ease, everybody was goin' out whether the law pulled em' or they jumped. The closer they got to the laundry room, the more the crowd thinned.
"I TOLD YOU I HAD IT UNDER CONTROL BRUNO, YOUR THE MASTER OF FUCKING SPIRITS AND NOW THE LAW SWARMING LIKE ANTS ON SUGAR!"
Bruno lay still, limp on Freyas back, he could use the last of his strength to come up with a witty retort but the taste of blood wasn't stoppin' and he probably deserved it anyway.
"C'mon, it's just that way," Bruno urged, tryin' to muster up some haste in his voice. "there's a carpet in the corner. Lift it and there's a hidden trapdoor. Pop that open, slide down the ladder, and we'll be free as birds."
Now that it was just them three, Freya gently placed Bruno down, his balance still wobbly but good enough for a quick escape. Tanka angrily lifted the cream colored carpet and heaved at the trapdoor, it budged but didn't open till Freya was over pullin' on it too.
Tatanka was first, his head slowly dissapearin' into the void that was the Erzulie Embrace's cellar. Freya lifted Bruno down so he didn't risk fallin' down a rickety old ladder after escaping that mess. She pulled the trapdoor shut as she came down, and they were all plunged into darkness.
Bruno pulled a match from his pocket and led the way, his boots splashing in the occasional puddles that dotted the dimly lit cellar. The air was thick with must and moisture, stickin' to 'em like a second skin. Wooden beams loomed overhead, creakin' with the weight of the chaos unfoldin' above. Walls were damp, stains of age and neglect makin' abstract patterns in the dark. But none of that mattered right now; they had to move.
Tatanka followed, his eyes scannin' their surrounds with caution, while Freya brought up the rear, her sheer size makin' the confined space feel even smaller.
The ruckus upstairs seemed like a distant storm now. The screams, shouts, and clangs of the law tryin' to regain control were muffled, reduced to indistinct echoes seepin' through the ceiling and walls. Down here, it felt like a different world, one far removed from the party they'd just escaped.
Finally, Bruno spotted what they were lookin' for— the worn, wooden door that would lead 'em to freedom. He pushed it open with a grunt, its rusted hinges groanin' in protest, and stepped out into the cool night air of the back alley. They were far away from the chaos now, just the distant sounds of commotion bearin' testament to the madness they'd left behind.
Bruno took a deep breath, fillin' his lungs with crisp night air. For a moment, he felt like royalty who'd narrowly escaped a revolting kingdom. But reality was quick to set in; they were outlaws, and their kingdom was one of fugitive freedom.
The three of em' made their way out the alley and to a cobblestone road. There, Bruno spied Percy, sittin' pretty on the curb. Watchin' the chaos unfold from blocks away.
"Ah, there y'are! Heard some eejit went toe-to-toe with the pitboss, he did. Coppers are snatchin' folks left 'n right, draggin' 'em down to the station!" he stood and faced Bruno. "Sweet Mother o' mercy, what's happened to yer mug? Y'look like ya kissed the wrong end of a mule!"
Bruno stared at the lanky red-head, this time he had more than enough strength to answer. He just didn't feel that question needed much a response.
As they moved farther away from the chaos, the sounds of shouting grew dimmer with each step. Bruno felt a nagging question worm its way into his mind.
"Hey Tanka," Bruno began, spittin' a bit of blood still in his mouth. "Did ya...did ya really cheat back there? Y'know, in the den?"
Tatanka stopped walking for a moment and turned to face Bruno, his eyes as unreadable as ever. "Sometimes, Bruno, the cards life deals us don't make sense. So we shuffle 'em around until they do."
Bruno stared back at his brother, trying to discern what lay behind that calm exterior. "That so?"
"That's so," Tatanka affirmed, resuming his walk.
Bruno couldn't help but wonder as they made their way through the dark streets toward home. Had Tanka cheated, or was he simply dealt a better hand? But then again, maybe it was one of those questions best left unanswered. With a sigh, he followed Tatanka, the ambiguities of the night settling into the corners of his mind like distant shadows.