Demoniac

Clyde's Club

Halak sat in his room, leaning back in the old office chair he had taken off the streets years ago.  He had considered it a lucky find, but it no longer held its spring and it canted slightly to the right.

In his fingers he held a card.  Tarot.  It depicted a man wearing a flowing red robe and standing atop a building in the throws of some dance.  The bottom of the card read The Fool.  It was something his brother had given him long ago and it had no meaning, an insult more than anything.  Halak flipped it over and examined the pentagram on the back.  It was a simple depiction, painted with rough white lines; a five pointed star framed with a circle.  Halak had eventually determined that the paint had been a bone mixture of some kind and the card was hand painted by an authentic diviner.  The symbol had meant nothing to him as a child, but that had since changed.  He dropped the card onto the desk and picked up his phone, flipping through the pictures he had taken of the body in Larry’s bar.  The expression on the man’s face was eerie.  He stared, expression lax, in a way that made Halak feel like he was looking at something.  There was a knock at the door and it creaked open a moment later.  Arlo stood in the doorway.

“He said nine-thirty, but don’t be late.”

“He says that every time.”  Kaleb said.  “And am I ever late?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t know why he thinks repeating it is going to change anything.”  Kaleb stood from the chair.

“Are you taking Azu?”

“Self-proclaimed Kingpin’s like Clyde only respect muscle.  Of course I’m bringing Azu.”    

Two hours later Halak stepped into Clyde’s Club, a loud and bustling place on the north end of Baker’s street.  He pushed past the sweaty patrons as they jeered on the fight in the center of the room. Azu followed closely behind, dwarfed by the men and women around them.  

Clyde always sponsored a fight, but these weren’t the kind with rules and they were a long shot from being anything gentlemanly.  The people in the cage weren’t the kind that would hit you on a good day and kill you on a bad one.  Halak didn’t glance in the direction of the blood sport, instead making his way to the back where a small group sat near a bar.  The most prominent of them was Clyde himself, straining the poor seat beneath him.  He was plump man and stunk.  Halak could almost smell it from where he stood and wasn’t eager to get any closer, only to leave sooner.  He stepped up to the group.  

Clyde kept his eyes on the fight and shouted with the rest of the crowd.  He left Halak to wait with Azu standing next to him, looking around at the strangers and flashing light of the clutters nightclub.  Someone sniffed him as they passed but Azu didn’t so much as flinch.  Despite his small size, he wasn’t one to cower from others.  The shouting grew suddenly louder all at once, filling the room.  Clyde threw his hands into the air along with his henchmen and the women that were their dates for the night.  The match had finished but Halak didn’t care to see who had won.  As the cheers died, he glanced back only to see an unconscious and bloody faced man being dragged from the cage, another stumbling out behind him almost as bloody but still concious.  Kaleb grabbed a chair and dragged in front of Clyde and sitting down.

“What do you want, Halak?”  Clyde asked, taking a swig from something in a fat glass in front of him.

“It’s been two weeks since your deadline, Clyde.”

“My deadline?”  Clyde laughed.  “Your just a kid, what makes you think you can go around giving people deadlines.”

“I can.  Let’s leave it at that.  Did you find out what I needed you to?”