The company we keep

Clank, the solid struck the stripe.

“Damn it!”

“Hah-hah-ha,” chimed the voice of the one amused by his opponent’s turn. “You need to have more finesse. Check the wrists and lean into it like so…”

Clank echoed as a stripe struck a solid, striking another stripe before pocketing into the hole at the end of the table with a spin.

He chalked his cue stick, each movement a slow, rigid, quiet admission of defeat.

“Hah-ha. Don’t look so glum. I am simply on a hot streak. Or maybe this is not your game. It wasn’t mine either until that David—man that David. He played this game like he invented it.”

“David. As in David Marlowe Winters? You two knew each other?”

“Cut the act. Remember who you work for now.”

“I would never cross you, Mayor Hunt. Never.”

Mayor Gregory Hunt scoffed as he gazed upon his mutual’s minute mannerisms. The individual was scrawny, slightly short, and limping from an ‘accident,’ which many call a rather long fall. He now walked with a cane, his posture slightly skewed to one side from the years of a now marginally shorter leg. His hair was ruffled somewhat, maintained enough despite the plenitude of split ends. His hair was light brown, with a surprising amount that was skewed with a slight red hue.

“Are ya sure they don’t call him Pinocchio?” asked another who was waiting for their turn. He was a far better opponent and had much more skill at pool than the mayor’s current foe. Licking his lips, he slouched over, swinging an arm over the hindered man. “Look at this face, he, clearly lying to ya, Greg.”

“Get your hands off me, Leslie.”

“Oi, don’t call me that.”

“It is your name, is it not?” Questioned the stifled, leaning man with his cane. “Just because you do not like it doesn’t mean it is still not your name.”

“Why I outta—”

Leslie Edmund Billiard was a taller man. He was tall enough to be considered tall, yet his size left him more on the side with an intimidating shadow towards dessert. His golden hair, thinned, was well combed to his scalp, but it never drew attention from the crack scar that split the right corner of his upper lip. Due to this, a usual habit came about where he licked his lip just at the start of his words. He is a cautious sort, well known in certain circles for smuggling certain goods. Should someone need something within the city or out from afar place, he was the man. With such connections, he was nothing short of a self-made man. “Ya think ya fancy with ya fancy shoes and fancy suit, is that? I can be fancy, too; check this out. It’s really fancy, ain’t it.”

Dawning a few new rings upon his fingers, Leslie showed each one off just before delivering a bearing ruffling of the stifling man’s hair and throwing a fake-out punch that left him stumbling back.

“Hah-hah ha got ya!”

No one dared to interrupt the playful teasing from the man whom the party’s host had personally invited. Not even the one on the receiving end, who wore an air of disdain. Yet, as soon as his ego felt satisfied, Leslie’s eyes locked with Hunt’s. It wasn’t a direct confrontation but a mutual understanding that in this room, joy was more of a privilege than a guarantee.

Leslie gently nudged the scrawny man with the cane aside and redirected his focus to the host, who welcomed him back graciously for the lovely venue.

“Eddy, I like this place. It’s nice. Thank you.”

“Anything for my new friends,” Leslie replied. “Especially for the man of the people. The mayor himself. How could I not.”

Moving past the window, Gregory Hunt paid no mind to the buzzing large neon sign that sat just outside the glass. It was a large glowing orange one. Very iconic of the building that many in the neighborhood knew of.

“Are you moving the club here?” Hunt asked curiously.

“Yeah, the old place was too small.”

“And this one isn’t too big?”

“Nah. With eight floors, I think it’s just right,” Leslie replied.

“Keeping the name?”

“Yeah, of course. Goldie’s is trademarked. I built a lot off that name.”

Hunt admired Leslie’s response. He’d heard the stories. A self-made man who’d started from nothing and built a reputation that now garnered attention. Hunt made a habit of noting those with influence—people who commanded money, connections, and power.

“Come on, Eddy, let’s play a game of pool. You play right?”

“Of course. Been waiting long for my time, but I won’t disappoint ya.”

As Leslie snatched the cue from Hunt’s previous opponent, the double doors opened wide. Many stood silently. The conversations truncated to whispers. Their eyes darted back and forth deliberately away from the one who strolled in. The woman moved like someone who knew exactly how much space she could occupy without triggering a response. Her hair was well brushed with an impeccable amount of care to radiate with such a sheen to it that it was almost impossible. The volume left her to look much like an actress out of an 80s movie. Her features were nothing short of stunning, leaving her very capable of playing the very part as well.

Her large shades glinted as it took in the sights of the slightly crowded room of faces who cared fondly to be in her father’s company—politicians, real estate experts, various members of the elite, and some even local gang leaders.

“Charlotte, sweetie, how are you, my sweet gem?” Hunt said, greeting his daughter. His arms were wide for her to come close. “Didn’t think you would make it?”

Hunt was clearly in a good mood. However, it made Charlotte uneasy. The crowded space goaded her attention, but she shifted her presence to a corner of the room.

“Something wrong?”

“Father, may I speak to you in private.”

It took only a glance from Mayor Hunt and a few gestures with his hand for everyone present to make for the doors. There was still plenty of space left for the party to be had. Just because it was moved from one room to another didn’t mean it would stop.

As the crowd dispersed, a select few lingered. Charlotte had intended to speak with her father privately, but he had other plans. Those who remained were not mere bystanders but confidants, privy to the inner workings of his more private affairs. They knew exactly who they were dealing with, and transparency was the best policy in Mayor Hunt’s world.

“…” Charlotte stood slightly perturbed. Her father’s hand slowly caressing her soft cheek. It was clear of scars and stress. Perfect was the best word, except for the lack of warmth that should be present and the expression that riddled her face.

“Take them off. Let me see you, for you, child.”

At her father’s words, she gracefully removed her shades with both hands concealed in brown leather gloves. The ruby-like jewels that pierced back his reflection in a scarlet hue left him in awe of their beauty.

“Amazing… How long did it take for you to get your hunger under control?”

“Nearly a week. Another two days for me to remember who I was and collect myself…”

Charlotte’s words slowed as her father raised her chin with his finger. She had once feared him with the raw terror of a child, but now her fear was more complex. His hands were large and could be dauntingly brutal. The pain and scarring from his rare yet physically volatile nature would heal now. But that was not what concerned her. What left her uneasy was the possibility of healing without a scar—without a visible reminder of the wounds, who knows how more brutal he would be.

“Show me,” Hunt continued. Charlotte’s cold, forced smile transformed subtly, revealing a predatory glint lurking justbeneath the surface. Her teeth were flawlessly aligned, a pristine, glossy white, without even a hint of a chip or stain, and they would remain that way forever. “Truly nothing compares. So, will I be sent the rest of my gifts?”

“Father,” Charlotte uttered. “There will be no more gifts from Master Vlad—”

Before her words could finish, Hunt’s gaze grew cold.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? What do you mean by Master? You’re my daughter. It is best that you remind yourself of that. And what do you mean by telling me no more gifts? He and I are partners.”

“Ma—Vladimir is greatly annoyed with who you keep in your company. I am but a token of good faith. However, he says you broke that faith by inviting a Witch into this city.”

Hunt was angry, though his face barely betrayed it. To those around him, he merely appeared peeved. Of course he was—this misconstrued arrangement had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He hadn’t invited the Witch. Yet here she was in his city, all the same. True, he’d met with her, spoken to her, even brokered a deal—but he would never freely invite such a dangerous creature into his domain. For Hunt, each monster that appeared did so of their own volition.

He was the victim here. He didn’t want them, but he could hardly tell them to leave. One wrong move and his head would end up on a spike, ready to be devoured like meat on a grill. He held contempt for every last one of them. Yet the reasonable ones—those were precisely the ones who posed the greatest threat. Fortune, it seemed, had a cruel sense of irony.

“Who’s this Vlad?” Leslie asked, his voice pitched just shy of challenging.

Hunt’s reply came slow. “None of your concern, Eddy. It shall be handled. He throws a fit like a child once a year. Inevitably, it leads me to pass along a few new properties for whatever business he desires for those who stop by at the Heights—”

“What, wait a minute—the Heights?! The Velvet Royal Heights? That Ritzy place up over by—ah nah. Heard some nasty stuff about them.”

“Did you?” Questioned the nameless, scrawny man with the cane. “And here I heard you were spotted having a grand time there. Gambling in the place. Laughing it up with some foreign folks. Some diplomats, others in more common areas of shared business interests such as yourself. “

“What are you on about?”

“Eddy?” Hunt called.

“N-Nah. It ain’t true, Hunt! Look at this weasel’s face,” Leslie shot. “I told you, this one is a right liar. A bad one at that. I’m surprise his nose doesn’t grow long at this rate from the fibs that spill from his lips.”

“He is a councilman for a reason,” Hunt remarked, taking a sip. “A man who is my eyes and ears. Very well informed. So Eddy, tell me, we are friends, right? Nothing of harm comes to my friends. The Freys were my friends until they weren’t. Tony Frey. Stefano Frey. Ingrid Frey. You know what happened to them, correct?”

Everyone was aware of what had happened to the Freys. Their only genuine rival, the Winters, had taken them down, seizing all the territory and businesses that once bore the Frey name. This defeat allowed the Winters to tighten their grip, transforming their influence into something resembling an empire. Of course, Hunt had a hand in it, even if the Winters didn’t bother acknowledging such. However, even empires can overreach in their quest for power, leading to their eventual downfall.

“David was an intelligent man—before he wasn’t. His sons Ronnie and Reggie? Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. They took over this city, but they aren’t the only ones who want it for themselves. My efforts are in everyone’s best interests, and if they won’t share, they shouldn’t be surprised when certain individuals stop playing nice. The Winters, much like the Freys, can crumble in an instant. Would you like to join them on my list? If not, best tread carefully, my friend.”

“We are friends! I swear I ain’t talking to those blokes at the Heights!”

“Suffice it to say, you should stop communing with folks without Hunt’s say-so, much like Crane,” the scrawny man with the cane spoke up as he eased himself upright. “You’re free to do as you please, but remember your place. Gaining positions and titles while forgetting we’re all in this together—that’s a dangerous game to play.”

“Oh, so it is true, then?” Hunt questioned with a twist in his lip, his nose curling. “What you told me earlier about Crane? And here I thought he understood the situation. Everyone wants to do as they please without grasping how the world works. They never understand the hard decisions that must be made, the sacrifices that have to come. Now look at the state of the affairs we are dealing with.”

“If it’s extra hands you need now, sorts that are discreet and good at it, there is…someone.”

“Oh, and where might I find such an individual?” Hunt asked.

“…” The scrawny man with the cane held Hunt’s gaze. “They say he is dangerous, cunning, and very simple. Survived a run-in with a rather dangerous creature that makes man into beasts.”

“Are ya talking about a werewolf?” Leslie questioned.

“We are not done discussing your innocence yet.”

“Oh yes we are! Hunt! Believe me!”

Hunt’s gaze focused on the man who leaned against his cane.

“The man… Continue.”

“Werewolves are formidable creatures both for man and vampires. And this one was supposedly massive. The biggest and baddest, some say, has ever lived. Currently, the man who survived such a run-in is held up in IronStone. We all know who, or at least have heard someone who’s heard of him. Greyback.”

“Greyback is a psychopath,” Leslie shot. “If he did run into such a thing, why haven’t others heard about this? The biggest—come on!”

“They are rare,” Hunt answered, slightly intrigued. “Anyone who survives a run-in with such beasts generally becomejust as powerful. Eddy, grab your coat. It looks like you will be having a drive together later.”

Leslie licked his lip out of disdain rather than habit. He had no words, unwilling to refuse his new “friend,” but silently marking his frustration against the man with the cane for putting him in precarious, situation.