HERO

1 / Choices

"Stop wastin' my time," he said.

His words snapped at the boy like angry dogs, chained to a fence but straining for purchase at the throat of their intended victim. His eyes watched him, their curious stare not sharing the bite of the voice. The dark pupils had a thin rim of angry red, adrift on an anaemic sea of not quite white.

Whatever the light shining in them, they never changed. The pupils didn't dilate at night or contract to pin pricks when the sun hit its high point. They were fixed spheres that offered and took nothing. They simply watched and waited.

"I'm not wasting your time," Thomas said.

He knew Oscar Sovaris, also known as (or AKA, an acronym Thomas had learned three years before and thought too cool not to use) the Fixer, was playing with him. The man would allow any amount of time to pass if it meant a sale. He'd push, sometimes letting his words free of their leash, but he was harmless really.

At least if you bought something. If you left without making a purchase, you were at risk of waking up to find you were missing a limb. Or worse.

There'd be no proof other than mounting coincidence, but you knew. So you went to see Oscar knowing what you wanted. Any time spent over and above the actual transaction, was taken up with haggling the price or choosing from his wide range of variations. Whatever you wanted, Oscar had at least a dozen options to select from. But no sale meant you were leaving with the knowledge of who and what he was. You could talk. If you'd bought, however, you were incriminated also.

"You ain't pickin' yer nose eiver, but either way, I'm not gettin' no money."

"I'm just unsure. I was told you were the man who can. It has to be right."

"Oh, I'm sure it does. But I ain't got all day."

That was a lie. Oscar had nowhere to go. His agoraphobia kept him contained in his shack, with his sales his only interaction with other people. Once Thomas had left, there would be a short period where Oscar sat and watched his reflection in the only mirror he owned (and the only item he refused to sell).

He envied his reflection. It could go wherever it wished, and did so frequently. Oscar had become a voyeur in the life his mirror self had, but was refused him. Once upon a time, he revelled in it. He enjoyed and prompted the trips to other rooms. Other mirrors. Other people's lives. In doing so he became a hermit while his reflection became dominant.

Now, he could only watch and wish.

Thomas didn't know that. To Thomas, Oscar was a man to be respected and, in no small measure, feared. To a certain extent, even envied. The assumed life of the Fixer, was one of wealth. Of a vast web of helpers. Of women desperate to please, in any way they were asked. Of others so eager to please and be a part of his entourage, they would do anything.

Oscar knew this and let the legend grow. The web existed. The list of people glad to do his bidding almost inexhaustible. But they were not friends. They each believed the lie and, for Oscar, it was all he needed. Even though his reflection didn't listen to his requests, and had too many times ignore the man that gave it substance, it still helped him when it felt amenable. For Oscar to be in the position he was, was useful. To be in that position required information. To get said information, one had to be able to go where no one else could. Into the hidden lives of influential folk. Their bedrooms. Their meeting rooms.

Any and all of the places a mirror could hang.

Thomas was afraid. He guessed that the Fixer could tell. There were no outward signs of sweat or trembling. His voice didn't waver or stumble over its words. But this was the Fixer. He knew everything, so he surely knew that.