I could just about make out my hosts, sitting in one of the booths opposite the bar. There seemed to be a lot of them. Never mind, I told myself. They think I’m a harmless antique dealer, they have no reason to harm me.
It was far from my first encounter with dodgy mundanes. Expensive items often ended up in nefarious hands. There was no reason for me to be feeling this uneasy.
“You must be Mr. Rossi,” I said with a bright smile as I offered my hand to the man in the most expensive suit.
He scowled at me but took my hand, nearly squashing it in a vague semblance of a handshake. He gestured for me to take a seat opposite him in the booth.
Smile plastered in place, I slid onto the plush red seat.
“Let’s get straight to business, shall we chaps? I’d like to see the item. If you don’t mind.”
The three mobsters seated opposite me and the fourth standing behind them, glared at me like some sort of hydra. One beast with multiple heads.
Eventually one of them spoke.
“Who put you in touch with us?”
“Cristos,” I answered, grinning like a maniac.
“And how do you know Cristos?”
I swallowed. We’d been through all this on the phone, before they had agreed to meet. I had thought I had already passed their vetting. Having flittered around the edges of the underworld for years. Lots of crime lords knew me or at least knew of me. They tended to verify me with each other. I hadn’t been questioned for years.
“Only a passing acquaintance. He was a customer last year.”
I sold mundane antiques as well. To keep my cover and to make connections in the world of rich people who liked shiny expensive things.
The mobster hydra glared at me some more.
“You don’t mind if we search you for a wire, do you?” one of them asked.
Nodding brightly, I slid back out of the seat to stand by the table with my arms outstretched to my sides. My inner thoughts were in turmoil. They thought I was a cop. Or an informant. I was in serious trouble. I hated situations like this. I could click my fingers and kill them all, but I’d have to make damn sure there were no witnesses, or evidence. I’d also have to make it look mundane. Probably by taking one of their guns and shooting their corpses in the heart.
I couldn’t leave any trace of the paranormal for the mundane human authorities to find. The paranormal world did not exist as far as they were concerned and everyone wanted to keep it that way. The witch hunting years had been terrible. Mundanes may be feeble but they certainly had strength in numbers. And with their modern weapons and technology, they’d make a terrifying foe.
On the other hand, if I hesitated to act, they might shoot me first. I may be a powerful mage but my insides were totally human and squishy. Very prone to bleeding and dying. Just like any mortal.
As my mind whirled, one of the men patted me down thoroughly. Taking great care with his task and doing a far more intensive search than the man mountain on the door had done. This man even felt the seams of my jacket. It all indicated that they really did suspect me. It wasn’t just low-level paranoia.
Obviously, he didn’t find anything. My threat to them was beyond their understanding or ability to detect. However, one glance at their faces told me I wasn’t in the clear. They still suspected me. They might decide to kill me to be better safe than sorry.
My heart started really racing. Cold sweat trickled down my spine. I really didn’t want to die. The whole idea was very unappealing.
“Can I go to the toilet?” I sputtered.
Then I winced, what was this, school? Why on earth was I asking permission?
The man who I assumed was the boss, Mr. Rossi, grunted and tilted his head towards the back of the club. I looked over and saw the door to the bathrooms. Trying not to run, I made my way over to them. Feeling their eyes on my back the whole time.
I had to heave open the surprisingly heavy door. It swung shut behind me with a thud. The bathroom was garish and windowless. I lent over the sink and splashed cold water on my face before regarding myself in the mirror.
“Get it together!” I told myself.
I needed to decide what to do. As unpleasant as killing people was, it was better than dying myself. I would just prefer to be certain that it was self-defense, and I wasn’t jumping the gun. Pardon the pun. Killing people because I got nervous would weigh heavily on my conscience. Death over a misunderstanding would be such a waste.
But what was the alternative? Hesitate and let them shoot me?
Sighing heavily, I stood up straight. I could do this. I would go back out there and at the faintest hint of things escalating, I would attack. I could give them one more chance to calm down. Hopefully, they were just playing hard ball.
