Shadow Walker

Ultimatum

It was Lazar, dressed in the same Victorian style costume he'd worn at Mansions—beige shirt and pointed brown shoes, though he'd changed his blood-red cravat for a deep purple one. The outfit raised Dec's hackles and made him even more suspicious of the man.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled. Lazar must've been in the shipping container with Tommy the whole time. But what was he doing at Smackdown in the first place? Dec didn't take him for a fan of the fight.

Lazar considered him down the slope of his upturned nose before sliding his gaze to Mel. He held out his hand. "Lazar," he said. "You must be Mel."

Mel took his hand which was, absurdly, gloved. "Hi."

Lazar stepped to one side. "You needn't worry about your friend. He's fine. A few smelling salts and he came to. His eye will be swollen, but we've given him some pills for that. He said he'd like to see you."

Mel paused on the threshold of the shipping container, her front teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as though worrying over what she might find inside. Then, tossing her hair she went inside. "Thanks," she muttered over her shoulder at Lazar.

Dec made to follow.

"Not you," Lazar said, blocking Dec's path with an outstretched hand. "He didn't say anything about you. Besides, I think it would be best if he saw one visitor at a time. Head trauma. Wouldn't want to overwhelm him."

Dec looked down at Lazar's gloved hand and wondered what would happen if he used a few Smackdown moves on him. He wasn't in the mood for niceties and the pounding in his head was making him want to pound something else in turn. Though Dec wasn't a fighter, he could bet he was stronger than Lazar, who was built like a sun dried plant, shrivelled and weedy, in need of a good watering. A hefty tug of the cravat should be sufficient to cast him aside.

As tempting as it was, he reminded himself that he needed Lazar. He'd come to Smackdown to gain direct contact with him. And now, Lazar was standing right there, taunting him with the chance to get what he wanted. He glanced over Lazar's shoulder to where he knew Tommy would be and tried to settle his nerves over his friend's well-being. He'll be fine, he told himself. He always was. Mel would take care of him. And besides, he would only be crowding the room.

"Since you're going to be a dick about it," Dec said, squeezing his words out between gritted teeth. "We may as well talk." He glanced at the stragglers hanging around the port, having one last smoke before they caught the train. "In private."

Lazar raised his eyebrows. "Have you decided to take me up on my offer of recruitment?" he said. "Didn't take you long to change your mind."

Dec trained his gaze on the wrinkles of Lazar's cravat, well away from the triumphant look on his face. He had to fight to keep a snide comment from sliding from his lips. "I have a business proposition I think you might be interested in."

Lazar narrowed his eyes. "Business is going fine, thank you."

"But it can always be better, right?"

Lazar took a moment before he answered. "Well done, Declan. You have my interest."

"So, we'll talk. Alone."

Lazar spun on his heel, grinding gravel. "I have a few matters to attend to first. I'll meet you on the old jetty in ten."

Dec held his breath while Lazar sauntered away. There was a strange steadiness in the way the NYR leader walked, a kind of stillness in his strides like a crocodile keeping eyes above water, or as though he was carrying something fragile on his head. It was like watching a man tightrope walk between two buildings, as though he didn't trust the ground not to crack under his feet.