Darke Beginnings

Chapter #20

The invitation to visit Martin's estate was cryptic, but Andre had the presence of mind to accept it. He knew there were consequences to refusing to meet the man, since he'd become an overblown buffoon at the top of the Bratva food chain. Martin had become insufferable and enjoyed not only flaunting his wealth, but also his newfound power. The last time he'd seen Martin, he was a small-time crime lord, and Andre was nothing but a hired hand. He' gone on to bigger and better as well, so the request of his presence was unexpected, but not alarming.

Andre's entrance into Martin's sanctuary was delayed by the presence of an armed guard at the door. The man was someone Andre did not recognize, but he had a sly quality about him that indicated they may have met before. "Excuse me," Andre said, "Mr. Goins is expecting me." He attempted to push past and was rebuffed.

"Mr. Goins is taking a meeting," the guard returned. "He is not to be disturbed."

Nodding and acquiescing to the guard's statement, Andre retreated to an upholstered settee that sat adjacent to the doorway, it's dark gray a contrast to the stark white wall behind it. "I'll wait here, then," he said, taking the guard's gruff snort as an indication that the arrangement was acceptable. He took that time to observe the man. The guard was a well-built man, muscled yet lean, his black shirt taut around his biceps, the black trousers he wore were equally as taut around his upper thighs, and his eyes wore the solemn steel of a lifetime of battles, both internal and external. He would be tough as an adversary, Andre thought, and a hell of an ally.

A clock in a close room ticked, it's noise amplified by the empty house, ricocheting off the walls and the marble until it sounded like many, disguising the true source of the sound. In the otherwise silent corridor, the clock dug at Andre's nerves, each tap causing his fingers to twitch as they rested on his knees. In an effort to distract himself and fill the silence, he introduced himself. "I'm Andre, one of Martin's inner circle."

He wasn't sure what to expect from the guard, but it was not a surprise that the man turned his gaze towards Andre and his stare was enough to nearly burn a hole into Andre's forehead. He took a deep breath and let it out with a loud, frustrated, "Harrumph." He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right foot and leaned an ear against the door, as though he possessed a superpower of sorts to hear any semblance of noise through the heavy, reinforced steel. "This is not a social gathering," he finally answered. "You may call me the Spectre, if you must."

Andre was amused by the reaction. "Spectre it is, then," he chuckled, adding under his breath, "Just like a damned super hero."

In a flash, Andre was against the wall, the settee broken and splayed like a disjointed skeleton in the corner, his throat in a death grip, his face inches from the guard's menacing sneer. "Do not mock me," the Spectre growled. "I possess the cunning to end you right here and now."

With a cough, Andre nodded, his hand flying to his neck as the Spectre released him. His fingers traced the creases and where he imagined red marks were emerging. "I stand corrected," he said through ragged breath. He was about to say more when the mechanisms of the heavy door began to whir and it slid open, slowly gliding along its tracks on internal wheels. 

Light flooded into the corridor from the room behind the door making what was already bright seem even more incandescent. "Come in," a voice perforated the silence. The voice did not sound like Martin, Andre thought. It was softer, more congenial, bearing a heavier accent. 

The Spectre got behind Andre and nudged him through the entrance. "You may enter now," he sniggered, then leaning into Andre's ear whispered, "I hope you have better luck than the last guy."

Before he could ask for more details, Andre was surreptitiously shoved into the blinding room and the metal door began closing behind him, its machinery groaning a warning as it finally thumped to a stop. He shaded his eyes from the room for a moment, lowering his hand only when he heard a familiar voice from somewhere in front of him.