Shadow Walker

Lazar

Lazar stepped forward. Up close, the concave slope of his nose versus the bow of his lips gave him the cast of permanent displeasure. And there was something about his presence that made everything around him seem smaller, less important—like background blur in a fish-bowl lens.

Dec leaned back, fighting the fish-bowl effect, his dung-beetle nose-twitch going into overdrive. This guy had self-important skeeze embossed in his cravat.

As expected, Lazar's pale eyes skimmed over Dec and settled on Tommy. "A pleasure," he said, though the flare of his nostrils conversely suggested he'd caught a whiff of something foul. "I've heard much about your commitment to the Nocturnal cause. Quite commendable."

Dec glared. How much had Tommy been telling his kick-boxing coach about their police-pestering escapades?

Tommy puffed out his chest. "Thanks for getting us those crow bars and spray c—"

Lazar held up a hand. "I don't know what you're talking about." He settled a cool glare on Tommy and continued, "I requested this meeting with you to discuss an opportunity."

"Okay ... " Tommy said.

"I would like you to work for my organisation. One thousand a week to carry out important political negotiations on our behalf."

"One thousand ... sols?" Tommy said, incredule plastered all over his face.

Even Dec felt his stomach roll, and not from the alcohol. A thousand Northern sols was more than he earned at Overland Trading in a month. A thousand sols was worth just over two thousand Southern bards—a currency no longer valid, but which he continued to convert in his head, just in case they ever went back to the old system.

"Double if I think you're good enough for unsupervised assignments," Lazar added.

Dec felt his stomach do a double roll. Despite his aversion to Lazar, he couldn't help but share Tommy's awe.

Tommy cleared his throat. "So, er... what's involved? The job specifications, I mean."

"You'll find out once you've agreed to the offer."

"Say I agreed. How do I know you'll deliver the promised amount? What if I don't complete an assignment? Is there some sort of official paperwork I need to sign?"

"The paperwork will be tattooed on your skin. Same as it's been tattooed on all those you see here," Lazar gestured back at the dancefloor. "Your contract is bound at an initiation ceremony held at a time and place of my convenience..." he clicked his fingers and the idiot bartender appeared out of nowhere, as though he'd been waiting for Lazar's signal the whole time.

"The usual, Bloodlust, sir?" the bartender said.

Lazar held out his hand.

The bartender poured a deep red liquid into a crystal glass. Then, drawing out a small glass vile from his pocket containing a fine chalky blue powder, the same colour as the glow-in-the-dark tattoos under UV lights, he uncorked it and tapped it into the glass, swirling to mix. The liquid glowed.

Dec's mouth fell open. He'd heard of luminite, but had never seen anyone drink it so openly. It was an over-the-counter drug that increased awareness and was meant for truck drivers and shift workers in high-risk environments and meant to combat fatigue. But Nocturnals had started using it as a party drug. He'd seen Tommy add it to his water once before a fight. In small doses it cleared the head and increased performance—much like caffeine but without heart palpitations or the shakes. But it was expensive. And long term usage was said to have the opposite effect and begin impairing judgement and causing severe mood swings. Dec, himself, had never had the need to go near the stuff. Anything that glowed luminescent blue, he believed, probably shouldn't be digested.

Lazar tipped the entire contents of the drink into his mouth in one swift movement and swallowed. "So, what will it be?"

Dec stared, absorbing Lazar's words about as well as an umbrella absorbs water. The man was clearly insane. Rich and insane—a deadly combination. And apart from his obnoxious use of luminite in the middle of a crowded club, the fact he'd just rolled 'tattoos', 'contracts', 'initiation' and 'bloodlust' into one sentence, he was offering a deal with zero transparency. So how had he managed to convince everyone in the bar to tattoo his contract on their bodies?

Dec glanced at Tommy, expecting to see his own apprehension mirrored in his friend's face. But Tommy's gaze was hard-set, jaw clenched, eyes considering. Janet stood by, face a mask of complicity with Lazar's proposition.

Despite himself, Dec let out a choked snort. He was finding it difficult to believe he was the only one seeing Lazar's proposal for what it was—completely ludicrous.

Lazar's pale eyes slithered away from Tommy to rest on Dec for the first time. For a nauseating second, Dec felt the return of his buzzing dung beetle sense, then realised it was just the blare of the music changing beat. Lazar's cool gaze flickered with something—was it surprise?—before it flattened into displeasure once more. "And ... You are?"

Dec snorted again. It seemed Tommy had never intended their meeting to include him. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here as background decoration."

Lazar raised his eyebrows. "And what does the 'decoration' think is so amusing." He punctuated the words as though he were spitting pips from a grape.

Dec took a deep breath. Lazar shouldn't have asked. Out the corner of his eye, Tommy shook his head as if to say let it go.

Dec ignored him. "You're offering a ridiculous sum of money for my friend to do a job which you can't specify until he gets a tattoo?" Dec mirrored Lazer's raised brows. "No offence, but that's ridiculous."

Lazar pursed his lips. "Tell me, what's ridiculous about gaining special considerations so a dying boy could spend his last day's in the sun with his family? What's ridiculous about the money we raised to go towards research into better SolStore technology for Nocturnal homes so they won't have to suffer daily blackouts?"

This silenced Dec's rebut. Research into sun storage technology for Nocturnal households was something he'd always thought should be a priority. It was something he'd often whined about to Tommy, saying if he had the money, he'd fund the research himself. He was sick of putting his shirt on backwards in the dark. Sick of watching his sister struggle with her homework by candlelight. Sick of seeing his mother lose her mind because of the constant flickering of the outdated SolStore globes in their living room.

Lazar's lips curled at the edges. "There's a reason we don't talk about our assignments until we have complete confidence in our members. Our operations are more delicate than, say, smashing cameras on the street. Our members carry out parts of a whole as one, seamless unit to minimise complications. They trust in the organisation of the NYR to make the best decision for them and for all Nocturnals. We recruit only the best. We do not offer this opportunity to anyone."

Lazar swirled his glass, for effect, since he'd already drained it dry. The emptiness of it reminded Dec that no matter how slick Lazar's promises were, they slid from the tongue of a skeeze dressed as a fucking magician. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Sounds like cannon fodder recruitment to me."

Lazar blinked, and Dec thought he saw another flicker of astonishment in his eyes before his mask of indifference resettled. "I believe I have an appointment with common sense." He adjusted his cravat and held out his hand to Janet. "Shall we?"

Janet glared at Dec, while saying to Tommy, "See you at comp."

They made to leave.

Tommy stood. "Wait." He proffered a hand to Lazar. "Tell me what I need to do."

Dec didn't have time to slap some sense into his best friend before Lazar was gripping Tommy's in a firm handshake. "A true activist," Lazar said. As he withdrew his hand, he replaced it with a small, round metal disk and folded Tommy's fingers around it. "Clip it to your palm pod. It will secure your lines so you can't be tracked. I will be in touch." He threw an identical disk at Dec, who fumbled to catch it out of the air. "And one for the 'decoration'. Consider it a token of my appreciation for your valued opinion. Should you undergo a startling revelation and decide you'd also like to work for me, Tommy will have my line."

He sauntered away.