Chapter 4 - The Hidden Den
After a while, he'd arrived where Dusty said. This part of town was different from the part he had walked through to get here. The buildings were much shorter than the skyscrapers, only being three or four stories, neon signs were only to advertise bars, and the trees that lined the streets were dead and lifeless.
A small playground sat empty in the middle of a square park surrounded by empty, quiet roads. The rain fell across it all, even drowning out the crows call with nature's deafening downpour.
Pouria saw The Smokehouse from across the street, and darted toward it, desperate to stop getting pelted with rain.
It had no windows, only dim signage above the door, spelling out its name in occasionally flickering light.
Pouria cautiously opened the door, warmth and atmospheric sounds fitting of a bar flowed out. He stepped inside, head held low again.
He peered around casually, taking in the sights. It was over-decorated with many trinkets, rustic art, and animal heads. Several saints and figures of faith were represented in statuettes and paintings on the walls, almost whispering the words of goodness to those who committed an array of sins in this room alone. Cracked leather seats housed many patrons this night, and even at the witching hour, the joint was still lively.
Pouria was happy to see that nobody had even batted an eye to him, and he could relax a little with the slow piano music coming through the speakers on a small stage in the corner, whatever band that played there was long gone.
They didn't call it The Smokehouse for no reason, the smell of beer and grilled meat intermingled with the scent of the thin layer of cigar smoke that permeated the entire establishment. Pouria could barely see anybody more than ten feet away from him.
He decided to sit down somewhere central and look around for the target. Dusty told him that they came here almost every night, alone or with friends. He'd surely see him eventually…
Unless…
He was already here.
Pouria realized it slowly as he looked around, nobody in the bar looked like the target in the way Dusty described them. But that was because he was only seeing half of the building.
He got up, knowing he would have to ask the bartender about it. Luckily for him, they got a new one, one that wouldn't recognize him… hopefully.
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"He was able to escape with only minor injuries. It was shoddy work, but it got completed, sir."
The man stood in a lavish, modern kitchen, watching as another man walked around, chopping vegetables, boiling water, and preparing homemade pasta. The room was quite cold, uncomfortably so, the thermostat was turned as low as it could, and if it weren't for the heat of the man's Soulflare, he would be shivering.
"Fantastic." The home-cook replied, tossing his castellane pasta shells into the bubbling water. The word floated in the air for a moment before he continued. "So… you can sit whenever you wish. The table has been set."
He spoke in a proper tone, as refined as the house he lived in, and as sharp as his outfit. Shaggy, blue hair, a black suit with a little bowtie, with a pure white apron overtop, little splotches and food stains covering it, washed and yet still showing faintly, permanently.
"Thank you. I have never been invited to a formal dinner before. You’ll have to excuse my lack of table manners." The guest stated, walking over to the long dinner table across from the kitchen island. In the center of the table was a figure of a rabbit made of ice, incredibly detailed and beautiful, kept alive for longer within the chilled environment. The guest examined it, knowing the animal as innocent, and rare in this age. The abundance of them scattering the parks across the city were the last remnant of the species. He never really cared for rabbits much.
"Oh, what a pity." The cooking man replied, carefully dicing mushrooms into neat bits. "I am sure you'll enjoy tonight. It is my favorite pasta dish; homemade castellane with creamy mushrooms, truffles, and beef. Sounds delicious, right?"
"Yes. I am sure it will taste as good as it sounds." The man replied stiffly, sitting up straight in his chair. "I do appreciate the meal, but… I must ask why you've gone through all this trouble for me." He bit his tongue, wanting to mention how this was a desperate attempt at friendship from a lonely man. He didn’t need his boss’ friendship, only his support.
"Because, everyone deserves to eat like I do." He replied to his guest. "Your contributions to the corporation, and by extension, society, have been unparalleled. It would be stupid of me to not reward good work like yours, Gigan."
"I am just doing what I must to bring justice to the criminals who are ruining this city." Gigan said. "Helping the corporation is just a bonus."
"Monitoring the ex-mayor will pay its dividends. I know that you have your issues with him, but have some faith."
"I’ll try." Gigan replied with a begrudging tone. "If I knew why you wanted him so much, it would make this easier."
The cooking man froze, watching the pot bubble for a moment in silence. Gigan could only stare at his boss wordlessly, unknowing of what would leave his mouth next. He noticed a hint of rage swelling within his boss, his fists clenched in fury so hard they turned a faint shade of blue. But ultimately, he only let out a low sigh as his emotions cooled.
"Pouria is an old friend of mine." He said softly, but with a restrained anger. "I just want to see him again."
"I… see." Gigan replied, unsure of how to continue. He could only watch as his boss slowly moved his hand toward the burner switch. The flame went out with a sudden flush, and a sharp click. He wasted no time in carrying the pot to the sink, and dumping the pasta in a strainer to drench it in water.
Gigan never liked cold food, but he kept his mouth shut, watching the ice cold water gush out of the sink, his boss’ eyes distant and a grin gliding across his face. He quickly snapped out of his trance, turning off the sink when he realized he wasn’t even cooling the pasta, but instead lost in thought, spraying his own right hand as the castellane still sat untouched.
“Now that all the hard work is done, the only work left is to put the dish together, and then we can eat in peace.”
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After an awkward conversation with the bartender, relaying a secret code he nearly forgot after all this time, Pouria casually walked through the door to the other side of the bar.
The door was no different than a bathroom, but the array of voices and music permeating from the other side gave the ruse away easily. He’d remembered it being hidden better, but maybe it was nostalgia speaking. His lack of comfort here now made him more aware of everything around him.
On the other side, some spiral stairs led down to a basement area far below the bar. The room was two stories tall, with crowds of people covering the casino floor.
It wasn't as big as a normal casino that Pouria was used to, but he enjoyed this one for its charm, and was happy that not much had changed in his time away.
The maroon carpet danced with spotlights and glitzy sparkles from the enormous crystalline chandelier hanging from the roof, so intricate that it was disorienting. The rich, meaty sounds of slot machines sent tingles of primal joy down Pouria's spine.
But he knew he wouldn't be spinning, nor rolling the dice at any of the felt tables, and as much as wanted to, he wouldn't be playing cards. He knew that when his eyes instantly caught the sight he was looking for at one of the poker tables.
Four players and one dealer stood around a meticulously polished wooden table near the corner of the room, most of them wearing clothing that only masked their obviously dirty natures, all with large glasses of alcohol in hand. But despite their similarities, one stood out like a house on fire amongst the others.
While his fashion at first glance seemed no different, the facial features and general demeanor of the figure bled the qualities of someone in the upper crust, or to Pouria, it looked like someone who wanted to be. He was slightly tubby, stronger on the limbs, wearing multiple rings on his fingers, their colors mystic and exotic. A red and black silken shawl matching his vest and top hat went over the entirety of one of his arms. Using that arm, he wielded a toothpick like a spear and fiddled with the olive in his empty martini glass. He stared at his cards with a clear amount of thought, still with this odd look of underlying nervousness.
As Pouria approached, he caught sight of a couple of the player's cards. It was clear that the man had a losing hand, and was bluffing with all the enigmaticness of a dead body in the middle of a park. Before he got much closer though, the hands were revealed as they were all laid out on the table. The man had lost, and he didn't seem to be a good winner, slamming his fist on the table with a low growl.
"Fuck." he swore with a miserable tone, shaking his head. His compatriots apologized for beating him, sounding fake enough to where Pouria could tell they were fed up with him. None of them seemed to be enjoying themselves.
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"Alright then lads, whaddya say we go get ourselves drunk as fish and end the night on a high note, ay? It's on me!" one of the particularly greasy men announced in a rough, uncultured accent, raising his voice in cheer along with his friends, including the target. They all began to congregate into a line behind him as he led them toward the dive bar, the smaller equivalent of the bar upstairs.
Pouria kept in the crowds, slowly trailing them without them seeming to notice, too caught up in the excitement of free drinks.
They arrived at the bar and all stood alongside one another and shouted drink names at the bartender, who was barely even in her twenties. She scrambled around for several nerve-wracking minutes as the men talked to each other, ignorant of their own volume.
Finally, the drinks arrived and were handed off to each of the thirsty men. Pouria knew that if he interrupted them now, he would likely not get his way. If he wanted to convince the target to help find Kaino, he had to wait until he could catch one of them alone. Luckily, the drinks would help him with that.
So, Pouria sat down at a stool table with a perfect view of the dirty men, hearing them talk as time passed. The four of them exchanged words, laughs, and ordered drink after drink, all coming out of the greasy man’s faux fur designer wallet, which seemingly had no bottom.
While the other men displayed utter classlessness, the target was slightly different, looking uncomfortable and twitchy even amongst those that Pouria had been told were his friends, even if he mimicked the attitude of his crowd.
He seemed set on conversing strongly with one of the three men, the greasy one. The man was still wearing his blue fur coat inside with the sleeves hastily rolled halfway up like he was about to wash his hands, revealing battle-scarred muscles. His scruffy handlebar mustache danced above his lips as he spoke, looking like the strings of a marionette. His hair was combed and well groomed, and the only thing odd was his eyepatch and gray ponytail. The jingling of his boots led Pouria's eyes down to his golden buckles on shoes like that of a pirate. He should have been the most refined of the group, but his blingy watch, flashy necklace, and other various jewelry displayed no such things, only a man with money to spend, yet none of the class to back it up.
"Say, Alec," the target began speaking to the muscled man, "Ya know, I've been thinkin'... I've been really trying to get the mayor out of my hair about demolishing the park on Faraday Street, and I know you know some people. Just thought you might be able to help?"
The muscled man, presumably Alec, chuckled. "Mate! 'Ave I ever disappointed one of my best clients? You and your wife have-"
"Sillah isn't my wife… we were never really-" the target stuttered.
"Oy, really, mate?" Alec replied, his tone gravely and fierce despite the jovial mannerisms. "On The Lightkeeper's left asscheek, I thought I'd seen you two smoochin' up a storm just last week!"
"Different woman, Alec." the target replied, sounding embarrassed. "So, will ya?"
"Eh, well, if the park really means that much to ya, I can help ya, but I wanna know why I'd be botherin'. I don't just have time in a bottle layin' round, don't ya know?"
The target nodded. "Yeah, it is just very special to me. Don't wanna get sentimental or nothin', but the place was where I played as a kid; it had a lot of fond memories. And they want to drop a skyscraper on it. This city has too many buildings, not enough nature."
"Nature is fucked anyway. God abandoned us, at least 'ow I see it. Now it is up to us to make the changes and forge better futures. Our government sucks at doing that, every single mayor we've had has just sat and acted like no problems exist."
"Absolutely.” the target said firmly, suddenly sounding more confident as his friend agreed with him. “That is why I am fighting for this stuff. You and your company, you make real change. That's why I asked."
"If you want that damn park, we will fight that stupid mayor for it." Alec said passionately. "Bust his balls!"
"So, you'll help?" the target said, face lighting up like a child’s on Christmas.
"I don't mind helpin' now that I know your priorities, mate. Eh, just gotta run it by the bossman. Making big swings as of late, so, gotta be there to help out, ya know?"
"Of course, of course." The target replied. "Thanks a bunch, I fuckin' owe you one."
"Yeah, pleasure though." Alec replied, taking another swig with passion.
The two men continued talking for a little while longer about past lovers and drunk person stuff until finally the target got up. Pouria prepared himself to stand up and follow, in case they planned to leave.
"Just gonna take a quick piss." he said, visibly swaying and attempting to balance himself. Pouria smiled, knowing that he would easily leak his secrets on Kaino if pressured enough.
He just hoped nobody else was in the bathroom.
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Pouria remembered the vile stench of vomit and beer scented urine of The Smokehouse's underground bathroom. While the owners kept the upstairs bathroom incredibly clean for a bar, the downstairs fared far worse, and still did.
The blue fluorescent light allowed anyone visiting the toilet a spectacular view of the many commodities inside, such as, but not limited to: moldy tiles shattered onto the floor, piss all over said floor, hooker hotline numbers etched into the wood of the stalls, old shit clogging two of the three toilets, and then there were the sinks… you don't wanna know about those.
Pouria couldn't help but gag as he entered the stall beside the target, and then proceeded to hear the target vomit. And vomit… and vomit some more.
Most of it sounded like it missed the toilet.
Holding his weak composure at the moment, Pouria knocked his knuckle against the wall between them a couple times to get his target’s attention.
"Sounds like you are having a fun night." he said to the target.
"Oh yeah…" the man grumbled. "Helluva night for sure…" Pouria heard the sound of the toilet roll being pulled and pulled until it was ripped off.
"Need any help?" Pouria asked, realizing he'd not really thought out how this conversation was going to go, nor how it would end with him possessing even an inkling of Kaino's location. He was never the best at planning stuff out. He wondered if that was a reason why he’d been exiled, but quickly moved past the thought.
"Nah, I'm… *hic*... good." the man spluttered.
"Hey, I swear I've heard your voice before." Pouria lied. "Are you Vevlan Strickmor by any chance?"
"Yeah! *hic* Surprised you've heard of me." Vevlan replied, sounding slightly proud.
"I heard of you and your business partner, Sillah." Pouria said. "Quite the team."
"Her? Fuck no. She hates my guts now, and I hate hers. I would consider us more like rivals at this point." Vevlan replied.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize." Pouria said, trying to bullshit his way to success. "I heard about what happened with Dr. Phantom and-"
"What the fuck do you think I know about him, bud?" Vevlan said, his calm, hungover tone quickly turning sour.
"I just heard you knew about what happened to him. I want to unlock my Soulflare."
"He doesn't just give out Flares to anybody," Vevlan replied. "Just go to Blueberry Corp like everyone else."
"He owes me one. I'm an old friend of his." Pouria said, trying his best to sound genuine.
"I don't even know your name, and you are asking me to give you information about a criminal." Vevlan said. "Fat chance."
Pouria knew it was going nowhere. If he wanted to get anything out of Vevlan, he knew he needed to act fast and get mean.
"What if I told you I could get your park destroyed?" Pouria then said, taking a risk that he knew he may regret. "I know the mayor, I can get it torn down and burned, and then drop a skyscraper on its ashes."
He instantly regretted it.
"Who the fuck are you!?" Vevlan screamed at the top of his drunk lungs, bashing again and again into the flimsy wall between the stalls.
"Tell me where Dr. Kaino Phantom is or I will make sure you are ruined, Vevlan!" Pouria screamed back, unsure of what else to say or how this would even turn out, but his hand was already moving to the stall door, reflexively knowing that there wasn’t a good outcome in store.
Before another word could be yelled, the sound of the bathroom door opening silenced the both of them. The room fell quiet for a good five seconds until the sound of footsteps approaching the stalls made Pouria realize who had just come into the bathroom.
The jingle of the golden buckles on the boots of a man he'd just met shattered the silence, washing across Pouria, filling him with a claustrophobic dread, like the exit had just slammed shut.
"Vevlan, get the hell out of 'ere." The interloper said, his thick accent sending a shiver down Pouria's spine. No longer did it sound relaxed and carefree. Now, the man was serious.
Pouria heard Vevlan's footsteps as he scurried out of his stall and presumably out of the men's bathroom altogether.
"Well then, seems like we've got ourselves a right troublemaker, ay?" The voice said.
"Alec, you work for Blueberry Corp, right?" Pouria said, steeling himself. “Can’t believe Blue hired an idiot like you. Not as smart as he used to be, I guess.”
“And what about it, Soulflare Mayor? Got something against the people who are fixin' the city?" Alec replied. “I’m one of the top dogs! I know how terribly you failed, because the boss is always telling me to clean your residual messes up.”
"You fucks aren't fixing my city. It looks like you are just caring about your own ambitions." Pouria said, flinging open the door of the stall and looking the man right in his golden eyes. "Tell me where Dr. Phantom is, and I won't kill you right here."
"If we knew where that dumbass was, he'd either be slaving for us, or in a shallow grave with his brain in a jar." Alec replied, the charm that had once been in his voice being replaced with fury. “Lil’ rascal really stuck his dick in the city’s ass, just like you, mate!”
"Guess you aren't letting me get away either." Pouria replied, channeling power through his soul. It flew out his back as a familiar figure manifested. The Bear now floated behind him, glowing with red power.
Alec just returned a smarmy laugh back at the threat. His power flushed forth across his fists, plating themselves in a golden exterior and growing short, metal spikes out of his knuckles. His ponytail turned black and gold, growing out and out until it nearly touched the floor, coming to life like a coiling snake.
His chimeric form blocked the way out, standing with a pose like that of a hungry animal stalking his prey. There was a certain sense of joy in his golden pupils and toothy grin, a cruel joy, one of someone who loved hurting those who were less than them. Pouria knew he was cornered, but he always tried his hardest when he was at the brink of death. No reason to hide his face any longer, it was kill or be killed.
"Name's Al Echidna, mate! Had a hunch you'd come back one of these days. It'll be a pleasure killing you, Mr. Pouria!"