That guy back there, that’s one of his lawyers.”
A devil, huh. What does an Inquisitor fear? This guy is telling me the devil.
“So what?” I said.
“You really don’t know or even care?” He said, astonished.
“Why should I?” I shrugged.
“Are you really an Inquisitor?” he asked, catching me off guard.
“Look, it’s been a rough morning, and I could use drink. You can either buy me one, and maybe I’ll let you explain why I should care who that guy works for, or, you can move along and mind your own damn business.”
“A drink, I’ll buy you a drink,” the man said enthusiastically.
Was this some sort of game? Did he send that message? Wait a sec, I thought. That’s not possible. This guy was in the diner before me, and there’s no way he could have known who I was beforehand, and there’s certainly no way he could have known what was going to happen between me and that lawyer.
What the hell. A free drink is well… free.
I nodded and motioned the man to lead the way.
He started to speak but I told him to be silent until there was a drink in my hand.
Deciding to be productive, and trying to glean any validity to my supposed assignment, I brought up the vitals of the case I was going to be investigating. I’d almost brought up the stats on whoever this Van Horne fella is, but figured the man would tell me when we got to the bar.
The information of the case and Mr. Beit came up on my aɪs.
NAME: Julius Illiam (Orrik) Beit
REAL AGE: 87
APPARENT AGE: 40
HAIR: Brown
EYES: Blue
HEIGHT: 183 cm (6’ 0”)
WEIGHT: 80 kg (176 lbs.)
FITZPATRICK SKIN TYPE : 3
OCCUPATION: Co-owner of Social Arches Urban Engineering and Design – Municipal and Urban Design Engineer
I sifted through photos, interviews, lectures, financials, everything Frank had sent me, and then some.
Forget the Pope, this guy was as clean as Mr. Richards himself.
Wait a sec, I thought. Could this be what that weird message was about? Maybe the fink in the message was the one who pointed the finger at Beit. And if he was lying, was the other person Frank? But what did the rest of it mean? What was I supposed to protect? ‘Protect what you’ve sowed,’ that’s what the message had said. Sow your wild oats was an old expression. Damn, that’d turned into a long list. I didn’t even have names for half of them. Wait. Sam! If she was going to be with Beit, was I supposed to protect her? Yeah right. More like she’d be protecting my ass.
I’d gotten so caught up in reviewing the case, it was nearly eighteen minutes and approximately two kilometers later when the man and I reached the door of a place called The Shady Day Saloon. No longer wanting the prestige and to be noticed I removed the badge from the front of my jacket and put it away. Kali automatically ceased notifying others of my false elite status.
Crossing the threshold UV lights bathed my body in a cleansing light.
Stupid fucks, that’s what the mytes were for.
I inhaled. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a recreational fume in the air. In addition, it was far too fucking bright, even with my aɪs on.
Shady my ass. I might as well have walked into a Methuselah Center .
From the look of things the only alcohol they used in the place would be of the sort to sterilize the surgical steel counters. I shook my head and was seriously contemplated leaving.
“What the fuck kind of place is this?” I asked.
He smiled uneasily. “It’s a Purity bar.”
“What kind of game are you playing, boy?”
“Like I said, Van Horne owns half the city. This is the only place I could think of that wouldn’t have any of his demons.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“Are you really an Inquisitor?” he asked again.
“You want answers? Well so do I and I better have an alcoholic beverage in my hand in under a minute, otherwise I’m leaving.”
The man went to the counter and ordered something.
I looked around and went to a booth with black leather
A devil, huh. What does an Inquisitor fear? This guy is telling me the devil.
“So what?” I said.
“You really don’t know or even care?” He said, astonished.
“Why should I?” I shrugged.
“Are you really an Inquisitor?” he asked, catching me off guard.
“Look, it’s been a rough morning, and I could use drink. You can either buy me one, and maybe I’ll let you explain why I should care who that guy works for, or, you can move along and mind your own damn business.”
“A drink, I’ll buy you a drink,” the man said enthusiastically.
Was this some sort of game? Did he send that message? Wait a sec, I thought. That’s not possible. This guy was in the diner before me, and there’s no way he could have known who I was beforehand, and there’s certainly no way he could have known what was going to happen between me and that lawyer.
What the hell. A free drink is well… free.
I nodded and motioned the man to lead the way.
He started to speak but I told him to be silent until there was a drink in my hand.
Deciding to be productive, and trying to glean any validity to my supposed assignment, I brought up the vitals of the case I was going to be investigating. I’d almost brought up the stats on whoever this Van Horne fella is, but figured the man would tell me when we got to the bar.
The information of the case and Mr. Beit came up on my aɪs.
NAME: Julius Illiam (Orrik) Beit
REAL AGE: 87
APPARENT AGE: 40
HAIR: Brown
EYES: Blue
HEIGHT: 183 cm (6’ 0”)
WEIGHT: 80 kg (176 lbs.)
FITZPATRICK SKIN TYPE : 3
OCCUPATION: Co-owner of Social Arches Urban Engineering and Design – Municipal and Urban Design Engineer
I sifted through photos, interviews, lectures, financials, everything Frank had sent me, and then some.
Forget the Pope, this guy was as clean as Mr. Richards himself.
Wait a sec, I thought. Could this be what that weird message was about? Maybe the fink in the message was the one who pointed the finger at Beit. And if he was lying, was the other person Frank? But what did the rest of it mean? What was I supposed to protect? ‘Protect what you’ve sowed,’ that’s what the message had said. Sow your wild oats was an old expression. Damn, that’d turned into a long list. I didn’t even have names for half of them. Wait. Sam! If she was going to be with Beit, was I supposed to protect her? Yeah right. More like she’d be protecting my ass.
I’d gotten so caught up in reviewing the case, it was nearly eighteen minutes and approximately two kilometers later when the man and I reached the door of a place called The Shady Day Saloon. No longer wanting the prestige and to be noticed I removed the badge from the front of my jacket and put it away. Kali automatically ceased notifying others of my false elite status.
Crossing the threshold UV lights bathed my body in a cleansing light.
Stupid fucks, that’s what the mytes were for.
I inhaled. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a recreational fume in the air. In addition, it was far too fucking bright, even with my aɪs on.
Shady my ass. I might as well have walked into a Methuselah Center .
From the look of things the only alcohol they used in the place would be of the sort to sterilize the surgical steel counters. I shook my head and was seriously contemplated leaving.
“What the fuck kind of place is this?” I asked.
He smiled uneasily. “It’s a Purity bar.”
“What kind of game are you playing, boy?”
“Like I said, Van Horne owns half the city. This is the only place I could think of that wouldn’t have any of his demons.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“Are you really an Inquisitor?” he asked again.
“You want answers? Well so do I and I better have an alcoholic beverage in my hand in under a minute, otherwise I’m leaving.”
The man went to the counter and ordered something.
I looked around and went to a booth with black leather
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