Chapter 6 - Bitter Realisation

Mystikal came to, still lay on the leather sofa in the CEO's office, the blinds on the large windows curled up at the top, hiding like scared animals, letting the merciless sunlight in, burning his eyes. His body ached, questions left unanswered, the hole in his back patched up tightly. The office was quiet. No one was in there. No sign of the CEO, no sign of the Spiv, Jonas; just the harsh light streaming through the windows, peeking between the opposite buildings, infiltrating whatever it could. The rain had finally stopped, the only good thing to come out of the past couple of days. He sat up groggily, pain in his head and his back, his wings laying loose, head hung low and long spine hunched, scrubbing slowly at his eyes, shooing the disgustingly cheerful sunlight away. The heavy dark door opened and the CEO stepped in, the pinstripe jacket hung over his left arm, a cup of coffee held in his right paw. He looked at Mystikal, a pitiful sight to say the least; all ruffled mane, dull, tired purple eyes, sagging posture, a far cry from the tall, slender energetic crossbreed that had come into his office yesterday morn.

''I brought you a drink. Should help clear your head.'' The old grey said and sat the steaming polystyrene cup down on the low glass top coffee table.
Mystikal said nothing, just stared at the cup, head supported in one paw as he leaned on his knees, perched on the edge of the sofa.
''You wanted me to answer some questions.'' The CEO said bluntly, taking up a seat in the chair diagonal to his right, back against the sun, ignoring it.
Mystikal was now staring at a point just beyond the stale cup, that same, looming shadow lingering near the door like thick smoke from a pyre of old tyres, watching, studying, examaning.
''How do you know my name? My real name.'' He said eventually, trying to ignore the shade.
The CEO paused, as if thinking, but the crossbreed knew he was just stalling, he'd seen that same, vacant look full of thought so many times.

''I have eyes all over the twin city. Your escapades, whilst sometimes painful, are quite impressive sometimes. You've gotten away with quite alot. Unfortunately, those two things, your name and way of living, is the only thing we know of.'' The CEO said eventually in an even business-like voice.
Mystikal looked him hard in the eye, those hard, uncaring eyes as bright as polished silver, and wrinkled his brow.
''You've been spying on me?'' He said. ''How many people have you got watching me?'' He demanded, standing up, feeling more violated than he ever has in his life, more violated than being raped, more violated than being beaten.
''Several.'' The CEO replied evenly, a flicker of amusement behind his eyes.
''I'll take my payment thanks.'' He growled angrily. The CEO stood up, even in height, matching his six foot.

''Two hundred dollars for the trouble of getting the Stone back for me. Anything else?'' He chided, striding over to his desk, picking a key out of his pocket and inserting it into a drawer.
''Yeah: Call off your spies.'' He growled, an unkown anger rising inside him, screaming to be let out.
The CEO nodded. No fuss, no chatter, just a nod yes and he pulled out a light blue slip and closed the drawer again, locking it. Pen glided across paper and the CEO walked over to the crossbreed and handed him the cheque.
''Pay it into that little account of yours and use it wisely.'' He said, voice as smooth as ice. ''Anything else you would like to know, Mr. Tsang?'' The voice now edged lightly with irony.
Mystikal shook his head and stuffed the slip into his front trouser pocket, slinging his tattered pack over his shoulder and stalked out of the room, leaving the CEO behind in his lush, dark office.


Stood outside the bank on the seventh avenue, the grey carved stone reaching upward like a stubby finger pointing to the greying sky, looking at the scrawl on the cheque, squinting to make out the signature.
''A. Tsang...'' He murmered to himself, his stomach knotting painfully, knees threatening to buckle under his suddenly felt weight, something he rarely ever noticed, gravity desperately wanting to take control and pull him down, down into unconciouseness, instead leaning against the luke warm masonry of the near ancient bank, staring at the signature. He had no idea what had happened to his parents. He didn't even know them. But now, looking at this signature, he had a gut feeling that he'd just met his father and didn't even realise it until three hours after leaving his office in a mood that could only be equalled by the bad weather that had been drowning the twin city for weeks and weeks.

''No. Coincidence.'' He murmered defiantly, ignoring the drizzle. But how many Tsangs are there in existance? He thought, that horrible cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach again. He looked around, not knowing how many of these people were spies for this A. Tsang, his paranoia growing. He walked into the bank, carpet smelling, sterile space, always so sterile in this part of the twin city, always so boring to look at. He waited in line, ignoring the strange, curious and disgusted looks he was getting off the customers and staff, praying for the whole situation to be over with, begging the earth to crack open its invicible stone toothed maw and swallow him, let him fall into the jagged, hot oblivion below. Anything would be better than standing in this line, fending off nervouse members of staff always cautiously approaching him and asking the same, tedious questions like a broken record or a parrot; ''Can I help you sir?'' and each time he'd politely decline, secretly growing more and more impatient.

Stood at the window now, at long last, minutes like years of waiting in line just to deposit one small piece of paper, the attendant looking less than pleased to see him, but faking it anyway, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was secretly urging him to go away and fighting the instinct to call for security. She looked at the cheque and raised an eyebrow. He didn't know if it was the amount of money a scruffbag like him had in his possession, suspicious of a robbery or the name of a powerful western CEO scrawled at the bottom in a perfectly practiced hand. The cheque whirred through the machine and he was off again, heading for the door, trying not to run, now feeling more than uncomfortable, the outside world so full of exhaust fumes and fading light into drizzle, beckoning him back into it's more forgiving bosom, the cold, harsh place he called home.

Around the corner was the spiv, Jonas, wearing a navy blue hoody and stone wash jeans, paws stuffed in the hoodie's pocket, cigarette hanging from his maw, light wisps of grey smoke swirling in the breeze and the drizzle, reaching for the sky like the grey tendrils of a ghost.
'' 'erd from th' boss that yer've gone an' dun a runner. Din' believe 'im mind you, so thought might as well come 'an see for me self, thinkin' that a smart lad such as yerself dun go an' turn down a sweet deal like th' boss were offerin', y'know? Cushty job it is. Bin' in th' business fer years naah.'' The spiv said, cigarette hangin from his bottom lip.
''I don't care how cushty it is.'' Mystikal grunted and side stepped around the short western, continuing his walk, searching for some place to stay the night, not wanting to eat, feeling too sick to eat after what had happened.
''This 'bout whut th' boss said t'you afor you upped an' left 'im in th' lurch?'' The spiv called after him and scuttled along up beside him, trying to keep up with the crossbreed's long, determined strides.

''Not so much as what he said, but what he didn't.''
''Whut 'e dint say?'' The spiv asked, puzzled, his mind working through muddled thoughts, trying to pick out valid reasons. ''Summink 'e did? Wrote even...?'' He hazarded.
Mystikal looked over his shoulder. ''Wrote.'' He snarled.
''Wrote.. Oh.. Th' cheque ah'm assuming? Problum wee'it?''
''Yeah. His fracking signature!'' Mystikal snapped and his pace sped up a little, his body trying to match the speed of his mind, leaving the little Dragon scuttling and wheezing along behind.
A small patch of grass with a bench on lay to the right, the rain soaking it, giving it a miserable, lifeless appearance.
''Wayte up Legs!'' The spiv panted and almost collided with Mystikal when he stopped abruptly. ''Whut 'bout 'is sig?'' He asked, puzzlement and concern colliding on his greasy ageing features.

''Why didn't you tell me his goddamned name? And why the frack did he shut you up when you went to address him last night?'' He hissed, leaning forward slightly to try and make proper eye contact with the five foot man huffing and wheezing on the pavement in front of him, threatening to double over and collapse to the puddled floor.
'' 'onestly? Ah ain't got th' foggiest.'' He huffed, dropping his cigarette to the ground, a small, hissing sound like a pissed off snake as it drowned in the small puddle below.
Mystikal righted himself, his throat tight with anger, rain water now dripping and sliding from his muzzle tip and long whiskers because he neglected to put his own hoody on, but the rain being the least of his concerns.
''If he's playing some kind of sick little game with me, I ain't gonna rise to the bait, so you can tell him to frack off and leave me the hell alone! He's already done me more then enough damage to last me a fracking lifetime.'' He hissed bitterly and turned, continuing his walk, leaving the wheezing western behind, his pack tugged tightly against his back, for once uncaring as to whether anyone saw him for what he really was or not.

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