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12. I hate negotiations
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 21:49:07 +0000 UTC“Second class,” I murmured, entering the plane. “Cheap furball”.
But I had some time to plan now. The frumentarii’s information-gathering ability was sorely lacking in the mundane world.
They were the best when it came to anything magical and getting any hearsay, but technology was where the organization was stumped. Without any trustworthy agents from my branch in Brazil, all I could get was a couple of media reports and some gossip about the upper circle's dealings in Brazil.
The man I was interested in was named Francis. He was a typical mafioso but with some solid connections to the USA, Doeing being one of them. His business was the usual, prostitution, human trafficking, drugs, and the like.
The problem was that his operation was big, and getting to know where he would be keeping the girl would be a pain. I could try to kidnap the guy, but barging into a mafia hideout and walking out alive might be challenging even for me. A gun or two could be stopped, but I wasn't exactly bulletproof.
Also, they might have known something was coming as the smuggler in the USA went missing, but with an organization this size, I was hoping it wouldn’t cause too much alarm.
The place I was looking for would be somewhere they had absolute control, deep in their territory, where the girl could be kept without drawing much attention. My assumption would be a brothel where they keep the other trafficked girls from the USA and Europe for special clients, but I still needed confirmation.
I need to either get myself a ticket in or find that special client. And I had just the person in mind.
After landing, I left my stuff at a hotel and put on my working clothes for the day. Today, instead of a creepy kidnapper slash interrogator, I was a clean-cut, ordinary-looking dude. I was wearing a simple white shirt and slightly more elegant black trousers. The intense Brazilian sun gave me an excuse to keep my reflective, dark glasses on at all times, which I appreciated.
I made my way to the police bureau in Rio.
A short walk later, I entered a police precinct and made my way inside. Finding the right section was not an issue, thanks to a massive sign with an arrow and ‘inquiries about victims of human trafficking’ written on it in multiple languages.
I walked the corridor, looking at the walls. They were decorated with newspaper clippings of solved cases. In all of them, the same woman could be seen being congratulated, given a medal, giving a speech, and in other forms of celebration. The people posing in the photos alongside the woman ranged from crying parents to city mayors and international political figures. All with anti-trafficking slogans attached, all called a massive success. Walking to the office made you feel like they could solve every case, like all of their actions ended in a win for the police.
The last piece of newspaper on the walls was an article titled 'From a victim of human trafficking, to its biggest nightmare.'
I finally got into a line of worried parents and sobbing relatives. It felt weird, like I was out of place, like a puzzle piece that did not fit, distorting the picture. Those were the moments when I was reminded of my peculiar condition.
I looked at the scene of sadness and tragedy and felt a bit empty. The other part of me, the one that wasn’t hollow, felt something weird. It was envy, I think. Most of my life felt like I was looking from behind a veil, covering the world, making it gray and dull, dampening any emotion, only now lifting with the promise of a new world. Maybe someday I would cry for someone. That would be... something.
After a couple of hours, it was finally my turn. A pair of people left the office, apparently getting some bad news, judging by their faces.
I walked into the office. It was a typical police room with several thank-you letters and certificates decorating the walls. Some metal cabinets were under the window, a whiteboard was on the right wall, and a big desk was in the middle of the room.
Behind the desk was the person I was looking for. She was a Brazilian woman in her thirties with a stern but friendly look on her face, dark brown hair in a tight ponytail, and a small scar on her chin, adding some danger to her overall professional look.
“Hello,” I said, closing the door behind me.
“Welcome… You don’t strike me as a concerned family member. So who are you, mister…” she paused, looking at me inquisitively.
She knew her stuff. I had to give it to her. One look at me and she knew there was something strange. “John,” I answered quickly. I really should’ve prepared a fake name.
“How original,” She said flatly, clearly not impressed by my on-the-spot name.
“Thank you. And yes, I'm not a concerned family member. Hmmm, I guess you can think of me as a contractor.”
“So a private investigator?”
“Something like that, yes. We can go with a private investigator.”
She nodded and tilted forward, placing both elbows on the desk between us. “Look, I don’t give information beyond what you can get from a normal police inquiry to private investigators, so if you think I can give some new leads, then I'm afraid I might disappoint you. So, which case do you want to ask about?”
“There is no case—not for now, at least, and I'm not here to ask for information but rather to trade for it.”
“Oh,” I could see interest surface in the woman's eyes. “What information and for what intel do you want to trade?”
“Do you know a man named Francis?”
The interest disappeared immediately. “Forget it. That man is untouchable, and no info will put him down, not in this city. He's too well-connected.”
“I know and I’m not looking to bring down the entire organisation, but I have info on his smuggling operation in the USA, so while you might not put him in jail, crippling him should be possible. You know that setting up a new network abroad will take time and money.”
The woman sat there for a few seconds, her fingers clicking against the table, eyes stuck to the cold coffee in front of her. “Look, he’s a dangerous man. Are you sure you want to go into this? This can cost you and your family, even abroad, they aren’t really safe.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Worst case scenario, I'll just murder him.”
“What?”
“Just a joke, don’t mind it. And I don’t have anyone to worry about back home. Let's say this case matters to me more than my own safety.” I said, putting some sincerity into my voice.
“Ok, and what do you want in return? I doubt you are willing to make an enemy like that for nothing.” She asked, tilting back in her chair.
“Info about his smuggling from the USA, especially recent shipments or where he could be keeping anyone of high value from America. Also, a list of well-connected clients would be nice.”
She nodded at my request. “The clients are easy to do. As for the shipments, it's not like we have the guy’s schedule. But there are a couple of locations where he keeps the high-value girls. A special offer for well-paying clients if you understand me.”
“How do I get myself into one of those?” I asked, curious.
“You need connections. And in high places at that.”
I leaned forward. “Don’t you have anyone to get me in?”
“Is your info worth endangering any inside operatives, assuming we have any?”
“Hmmmm, I could burn down the place afterwards to destroy any evidence.”
“...”
“I'm joking again.” I smiled at her. “Then, how about the clients? Do you perhaps have anyone from the USA?”
“Well, there are a couple of people…”
“Sure, sure.” I pulled out a list from my pocket. “Here are a couple of details you can check to confirm the validity of my information.”
She took the list and looked at it with curiosity, raising her eyebrows in surprise, finally looking back at me. “It seems legit at the first look, although we were already aware of some of it. Where did you ge-. You know what, don’t answer that.” She placed the list inside her desk. “I still have to confirm this is legit and gather the info from my side. Also, this can be some sort of setup, so if you don't want to give me information to confirm your identity, then we need to check on our side if everything fits."
I just smiled and nodded. In my experience, things rarely went this smoothly, so this was a nice change of pace. “I don’t want to wait too long. I can't give you my identity, but I can give you some more intel to confirm I mean business.”
“Fine, give me a day to get my side settled. We can meet tomorrow. There is a bar,” she said, writing an address on a sticky note. “Meet me there around 8 p.m.”
“Then we have a deal.” I gave her a paper prepared by my broker. He specialized in information, so giving them enough to hook them but not enough to answer any questions was easy with his help.
“Try to look disheartened when walking out of my office. You never know who's on whose payroll.” She gave me a warning and returned to her professional demeanor.
I stilled my face into something like sadness and walked out of the police station.
I had some time to burn, so I went for some good Brazilian coffee. As I sat in the coffee shop, I looked over the crowd. It was lunchtime, and more and more people gathered, talking about mundane things, an annoying boss, a colleague acting strangely at work, or just complaining about the workload. It was white noise that was actually a bit relaxing, allowing my thoughts to wander as I engaged in some people-watching.
Some people were clearly from a corporate background, some workers, a guy who looked like a performer with paint on his face, and a cat. The cat, I’m pretty sure, looked right at me. Even with everyone around walking and talking, we locked eyes from across the street. A member of the local Frumentarii branch. Shit, they work fast. Am I on some list or something?
I sighed, finished my coffee in one big gulp, and got up after leaving the money. I went after the cat, following its steps. Any thought that it might be my imagination immediately disappeared as the cat led me through the city, clearly checking occasionally if I was following it. It was a gray common cat, and nothing stood out about it aside from the intelligence in its eyes.
After 15 minutes, we reached a less crowded part of the city and started meandering through smaller alleys, with more and more stray cats peeking from here and there. We were probably getting closer to the branch headquarters. Finally, we arrived at an old church. It seemed old but taken care of relatively well.
It was a small building in a style typical of Latin countries, with white walls turned a bit yellow by the passage of time. A steep roof in the shape of a letter A, with smaller sections to the sides and a bell tower over what I assume would be the altar inside. Honestly, they should have hired some crows to fly into the distance, cawing ominously to complete the picture.
Brazilian Frumentarii branches were closer to the church. In the USA, in a typical capitalistic fashion, much of the exorcism and magic-related business was outsourced to private contractors. But here, the church still held a lot of sway.
The cat jumped inside through a small rectangular hole next to the old wooden doors. I opened them and walked inside. The interior was nothing surprising. There were wooden benches on both sides of the main aisle, an area for organs over the entrance, with the instrument replaced by speakers, and a small, simple altar at the end of the aisle with a painting of Jesus and Mary on the wall behind.
Only a couple of people were on the benches. An old couple, some middle-aged women looking like housewives, and two altar boys in the first row. But I was not a fool. They all had some magic in them. Although they tried to hide it, my senses could still pick up some mana from them.
After I walked in, a priest arrived from a side entrance.
“Welcome, son. What brings you here?” He asked in a calm and collected voice.
“Nothing special. I came here to pray. Or am I not welcome in the house of God?” I asked half-jokingly, giving the priest a smile.
“Not the likes of you,” answered one of the altar boys before the priest could speak.
“Mind your manners. He is a guest,” quickly scolded the priest. He was an older Brazilian man with a short, well-trimmed beard, black hair, and a build that still showed some muscularity underneath the priestly robes.
“The hospitality of churches has really dropped recently, I see. I assume the cats want to see me, so here I am. Let’s get this over with,” I said, though inwardly annoyed. I was hoping I could do my business and get out of here, leaving any discontent to be smoothed over by Q’Shar.
But they worked fast, alarmingly fast.
The priest nodded and gestured for me to follow him. I prepared myself for casting just in case and went after him, followed by the altar boy—the rude one.
We went into the sacristy, and then the priest moved a bookshelf, revealing a hidden staircase. I moved my mana to my hands. The priest and altar boy stiffened a bit, probably sensing some energy starting to radiate from my hands, but we kept walking.
The stairs opened into a corridor with two doors on the sides and a larger one at the end, leading to a lavishly-decorated room. The room was similar to my broker’s office, with rugs everywhere and Egyptian themes here and there.
A massive gray feline with dark brown eyes lay in the middle. He had short hair with some actual muscle showing through, looking like he pumped some iron on the weekends. A few scars were visible underneath the fur. The creature was lying on an expensive-looking cat bed.
He lifted his head and looked in our direction.
“Welcome, Mr. Samuel, Alhazred’s heir. It is a pleasure to host you. My name is Eman,” said the cat with a firm but somehow also lazy voice, as if he had just woken up.
“Pleasure to meet you, Eman. I see you already know who I am, so why was I brought here?”
“Brought? From what I understand, you followed our cat out of your own free will. We did not ‘bring’ you anywhere. You came here.”
Fuck’s sake, here it comes. This is why I hated negotiations, especially with Frumentarii. They always try to pull one over on you. “Right, so am I to assume this was a mistake, and I can go?”
“Well, since you are already here, we would like to ask what the purpose of your visit is.”
“Recreation. I need holidays from time to time,” I said, trying to think of an excuse to buy myself one day to finish the job and be done with this.
“Right, was the police station and a visit to the human trafficking representative also part of the vacation?”
Fuck, they are good. Worst case scenario. “I wanted to inquire about a friend. From what I understand, that is not getting in your way. Unless the police are also part of the Frumentarii?”
“No, but whatever you might do once you find that friend, I have a feeling it will be our business.”
“I can guarantee you my friend has nothing to do with our hidden world. It is a purely mortal matter that originated in the USA.” I explained, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“But it is now in Brazil, where we have a say in any matter involving high-profile individuals, mortal or magical. And you are high-profile.”
We were running in circles. God, I hate politics. “Okay, that's a matter of interpretation, an interpretation I have no interest in debating. What is the point of me being here? I can assure you there is nothing to be gained for you in my business. And you don’t have anyone strong enough to detain me.”
At least not now. Going against the people in the church was possible, but if they got an entire clan to help them, I would be in trouble, especially without connected veins to call my God. I berated myself for not taking an idol of my patron with me.
“Try us,” snapped the altar boy from behind me.
“There's no need for that,” pacified the cat with some authority in his voice. “Let's not resort to something both of us would regret, shall we?”
“So, is the talk over?”
“The way I see this is you have something you want to do in our territory, and we might have something we want you to do for us.”
Here it comes. The deal with the devil in a cat’s form.
Before the cat explained, I could hear the altar boy gasp. “You surely won't allow him anywhere near Father Marco. His condition is bad as it is.”
“Silence!” said the cat, now annoyed.
Oh, so there was something they wanted from me. That made this easier. I had some leverage. “What do you want?”
“Fine, let’s get to the point since the fine details and nuances of negotiations seem to be lost on you. We will stay away from your business as long as it is not against our interests, but in return, we would like you to check a case for us. "
“I have time until tomorrow.”
“That's more than enough. From what we understand, you are quite knowledgeable about curses and possessions.”
Oh, this was getting interesting. “Yes.”
“Good, we have a case of, well… something.”
I tilted my head in confusion. “Something?”
“A curse that behaves like a possession."
