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Tales of the Implock - Chapter 070
🕑 Added 2022-01-17 23:13:05 +0000 UTC∼ Welcome to the Family ∼
A knock on the wooden door rang out.
"Come in," A heavy voice responded.
Through the door, stepped Eric. His face and body had healed fast, leaving only light bruising and a split lip to recall the memory of his kidnapping and beating. His expression was unreadable as he glanced around the spacious office with glass panels facing the sprawling city from high up. Everything was luxurious and well-made but still held a level ground in functionality. There was nothing vain here. It was almost admirable, if not for the lone person occupying the room capturing Eric's attention.
There he sat, Victor Crowley. Behind a desk with a cigar in his mouth, the man was pouring over a couple of documents with his large calloused fingers. He now wore a nice white shirt that showed off his considerable bulk, the finely-made checkered pants hung with suspenders matching to a neat fit.
Seeing Eric, a smile came to the man's round face. He put out his cigar in the ashtray, laying it to the side, and leaned back. "William, my boy. Ye've been settling in?" The head of The Stained Tooth said, in an almost affectionate manner.
Eric hesitated only a moment, taking a moment to make his sore jaw move. "I have..."
"Good, good. I've just the job for you." Crowley got to his feet, the suspenders hanging to his legs as he had gotten comfortable. He got over and put a hand on Eric's shoulder, patting him. Grabbing two glasses from the liquor table nearby, Crowley poured them both a drink, handing the dubious Eric the glass with a smirk.
"This the good stuff, son. Don't let anybody tell ye otherwise." He clinked the glass against Eric's and downed the contents.
Looking into the golden liquid, Eric noticed Crowley looking pointedly at him. He hesitated only a moment before he also downed his glass. It was harsh and bold going down, but Eric found himself pleasantly surprised by the lingering sweet heat somehow contrasted by the bite of a fresh chill. This was quality liquor, different from the horse's piss he drank himself blind and luny on back at Aemsburg.
"Distilled here in Boreas. Using a little secret from up north with the Borean Cold Salt. Fine whiskey, indeed."
"What's the job?" Eric asked, placing his glass as Crowley went back to cut his cigar, putting it back into a box along with many other fresh ones.
"Protection. I want ye to protect something very dear to me."
Eric's eyebrows rose.
"What's the matter?" Crowley chuckled. "Ye didn't think I was gonna make ye go out beat some rival hoodlums, extort some old coffin-dodgers, or burn some orphanages down - were ye? " He shook his head. "I dinna ken what ye've been thinking The Stained Tooth was, but we're not as dreadful as ye probably were imagining."
"I'm not so sure about that," Eric muttered under his breath.
"What's that?" Crowley asked though the slight uptilt of his lip said that he had heard him very well. The enhanced senses of a powerful man.
Crowley just continued though, coming back to lay a firm hand on Eric's shoulder. "Not everything we do is at the expense of others. This is a family, son. And yer a part of it now. So, protect something dear to me. Do this job. Prove yer worth to the family. And I'll protect you in return. It's that simple."
Eric eyed the man with some semblance of skepticism, but suddenly, another knock on the door rang out.
"Yea?" Crowley called out, letting go of Eric.
Stepping into the office, a middle-aged man with some gray and white in his stubble cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Eric.
"William, ye go head on now. Get to the lobby, someone'll be waiting for ye. They'll lead ye to yer new accommodations and take you to the job in the morrow. Remember, son. I'm betting a lot on ye. Don't make that trust misplaced, ye hear?"
Eric just nodded slowly, glancing askance at the other man, wondering what exactly was about to take place.
As Eric left the office, Crowley's expression fell, looking at the other man with a dangerous look. He gulped under the scrutiny of his boss. Crowley leaned against his desk. "Out with it."
"Well -uh, sir..."
"Gods' dammit it!" Crowley cursed, turning around to walk over and face the glass panels, looking out over the city as a hand ran through his short raven-black hair. "I knew that good for nothing idiot would screw something up. And he even did it with both Dahlia and Butcher watching over him!"
The man looked stricken, the truth of his boss's speculation confirmed by the henchman's silence.
"So, what of it? He's still out there searching because he dares not return home?"
"Well, I-." He hesitated, not particularly wanting to badmouth his superior. But ultimately, Crowley was the boss, so he just hung his head. "Aye, sir..." But then he moved to add. "But we've picked up convincing trails, and-and, we're-"
Crowley suddenly appeared before the henchman, startling him. "I won't be having neither yer sorry arse nor that little shit to be acting the maggot. Will I, yea?"
He gulped. "N-no, s-sir."
"I sent them out there for a reason. And a goddamn good one at that. But here I stand, with nothing to see for it. What does that tell me?" He leaned even closer to the shaking man. "It tells me I've put my faith in the wrong place."
Absolutely terrified at Crowley's words, the henchman knew very well of the fate of those who had failed to meet the boss's expectations.
"Sir! Please, just give us a little more time, I'm sure-"
"Yer sure - what? What ye can be sure of, is that ye'll regret not completing a gods' damned task when I assign it to ye! Yer fucking tool!"
"A-aye, sir!" The henchman practically shouted, eyes closed in fear of looking into that steely grey gaze.
Crowley's whole demeanor suddenly shifted then, falling into a smile as the corners of his eyes crinkled. His posture relaxed as he put one thick arm over the man's shoulder.
"Good, now get out there and make that pissant Elijah do his job. And for all yer pitiful life, yer better be hoping I don't find them first meself. Ye understand?"
The terrified man nodded rapidly, scurrying to leave the office. Crowley was left to turn and look out the glass panels once more. Observing the bustling city with the calculative eyes only a man of his caliber could possess.
...
In the room permeated by a white smoke that made one's eyes dry and itch, the twin, Shank, poured himself a glass of ale, some foam sticking to the mustache on his lip as he idly read the papers of today. Legs up on his brother's desk. Aria sat restlessly as she tended to the various documents laid out before her. It was just her, the other secretary, Elanor, old man Frankie, and the two twins.
"Gods' dammit, girl. Would you sit still?" Shank finally said, laying down the papers with a note of irritation.
Aria fretted, almost glaring at the man.
"But there has been no word from Eric! What if-"
"-He's dead?" Shank finished. "Then he's dead."
"You-you cruel-hearted man!" Aria managed in a surprising display of fortitude, making even Shank pause.
"Quit it," Zechariah spoke up, silencing them both. "He's not dead."
"How can you be so sure? There has been no sign of him! You said that yourself."
"That I did, and that's exactly why he's still alive." Zechariah sighed, letting his hands glide through his fine hair. "If that boy had been punished and killed, he'd have been thrown in the street for all to see. They'd want to make a show out of what happens when someone crosses them, so the people don't get ideas of fighting back under the pretense that The Stained Tooth has gone soft and will let any transgression go unpunished."
Aria seemed to be quelled by that as she merely stared into the documents at her desk.
"That or the lad is being treated to some of the northern hospitality, them Iron people." A crotchety old voice said suddenly, cackling as Frankie stood, letting out a foul belch.
"Eldridge..." Zechariah said dangerously.
"What do you mean, northern hospitality?" Aria asked.
Frankie smiled sickly, revealing his rotten teeth. "Ye've ever heard of the Iron Punishments, lassie? Fates so cruel, they make even the heartiest of warriors quiver in terror. Molten metal on yer limbs, the smell of burnt flesh on the wind. The screams-"
"-Enough, Eldridge," Zechariah said with a palpable pressure coming from his otherwise unassuming frame.
Frankie just eyed the younger man with a quirked brow. Then he cursed under his breath as he scratched at his beard and turned to leave with a mutter. His parting gift, a nasty fart that made everyone cringe. "Just ignore Old Frankie, he's a bit... well- " Shank said, his previous unfriendliness gone. "He's from the Capers. Let's leave it at that,"
Comments
BlackRazaras
Thanks for the chapter
