Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2007 9:02:15 GMT -5
::YESTERDAY::
’So can you help me or not?’ Pierce’s voice is quivering on the edge of impatience, reflecting the stress which overcomes him when he must be diplomatic for too long. He leans back into the plush leather La-Z-Boy, stretching to release the tension swelling his muscles. For the better part of half an hour he’s been sitting here trying to explain the same thing over and over again in different ways.
If he doesn’t understand yet, I swear to
ing God . . . Deville lets the unspoken threat live through his eyes, which flash dangerously as the man sitting across the desk smiles and begins nodding slowly.The man goes by Father Odamark, a priest in a small town outside of Paris, France. In his early forties, Odamark has paid attention to staying healthy all of his adult life, as is evidenced by his sleek and vibrant face. Grey eyes sip longingly at the world from beneath a close-cropped mop of red hair, and the corners of a thin mouth twitch subtly but uncontrollably, as if every second he is reliving a fond memory. The eyes are closed now, as they always are when he is deep in thought.
As the moment drags on Pierce heaves an exasperated sigh and studies the room for the twelfth time. The room is small but very quaint, with tasteful furniture and an underlying scent of lavender. Aside from the two leather chairs holding the pair, the room is empty save for a desk, a filing cabinet, and a bookcase. Pictures of Jesus adorn every spare inch of wall, as if the room is to act as a shrine. ‘The whole world is,’ is all Odamark would say when Deville asked him about it.
‘Look pal,’ Pierce huffs. ‘There’s nothing to ponder here. Let’s just cut to the chase . . . Where can I find Kamardo?’ The old man’s eyebrows raise at the direct question, but that is the only signal he gives at having heard anything for a very long moment. Then his eyes suddenly snap open and regard Deville with a newfound suspicion.
‘I can’t say that I know what you’re talking about, Mr. Deville,’ Odamark responds evenly with a dismissing wave of his hand.
‘Stop wasting my time, old man . . . I need to know about this guy right away,’ Pierce pauses and the old man shrugs apologetically. ‘I haven’t been able to find a single clue all week, except that the object of my search is nearby.’
‘Pardon me, Mr. Deville, but how can I say this?’ Father Odamark humors his rhetoric for a moment, then answers. ‘You’re not, ah, speaking my language,’ he drones on as his eyes take on the anticipatory glow of someone who plays these games often.
Deville stares at Odamark for a moment then rolls his eyes as the simplicity of the situation unfolds itself to him. He raises his left index finger as he reaches inside his jacket with his right hand, pulling it out moments later with a clipped wad of cash. Odamark’s eyes go wider and almost pulse with greed. Peeling a few bills from the top, Deville lets them flutter to the desktop and rises to his feet. He leans over the desk and locks eyes with the priest.
‘Now . . . how can I find him?’ Pierce demands resignedly, wishing he had known the path to the answers from the get-go. He supposes he should have thought of money and bribery, this being the House of the Lord and all, but it didn’t cross his mind.
‘You can’t,’ Odamark answers curtly, then snatches the money from the desk. Pierce immediately snaps his eyes to the man’s hand, but the money has already disappeared somewhere.
‘Why not?’ Deville asks with a furrow in his brow and a pursing of his lips. The priest’s eyes shift from Deville’s to the money, then back to The Voice. Sighing, Pierce plops another couple of hundreds on the table and Odamark’ mouth magically begins moving again.
‘No one can,’ he says mysteriously, and stares across the table. Deville is about to snap when he finally continues, ‘No one knows where he is. One in the know must arrange an appointment.’ The words trail off slowly as the priest likely has second thoughts about selling his information so cheaply.
‘Would you be such a one?’ Deville asks, exasperated.
‘Maybe,’ the man replies with another meaningful glance towards the money. Deville jumps back as Deville’s fist slams the table just a few inches before his face.
‘That’s it!’ Pierce shouts, tired of ****-footing around. ‘Obviously, you can contact this guy. I’ll give you everything I have right here if you set an appointment with him for sometime tomorrow, and double it again after the meeting is through.’
Odamark licks his lips fiendishly, as if he can taste the money on them. ‘I think that might be arranged, though a more sizable donation would be appreciated . . .’
‘This is more than enough,’ Deville growls through gritted teeth, though he is pleasantly surprised by the degree of the man’s greed. ‘Just make sure Kamardo is at this address tomorrow afternoon,’ Deville admonishes as he retrieves a paper from the desk and scrawls an address on it. The priest looks down and nods solemnly.
‘I cannot guarantee Kamardo, alone, however, there is a chance that he will be with his posse. A small group known as Project Hardcore,’ Odamark rises slowly to his feet, indicating the meeting is at an end, and audibly clears his throat as he shoots another hungry gaze at the cash.
Like I care a lick about that band of ******s . . .
Pierce tosses the money down on the desk and turns on his heel. As he stalks through the doorway he mumbles only half to himself, ‘Tomorrow’s the last chance of meeting this **** before the match.
er had better be there . . . All this waiting is pissing me off.’::TODAY::
The nerve of some people, Deville’s mind complains during his late drive to the airport. Can’t even be bothered paying the respect of showing up.
His grandiose plans for a showdown with Kamardo went awry when the man neglected to show up at the arranged site. Pierce waited around in his place of ambush for hours, patiently biding his time for an opportunity to strike. Nothing happened, though . . . he no-showed, only the deafening sound of silence arriving on his behalf. After two hours Pierce had all he could take and went to get his retainer back from the old priest. When Deville cornered him at his home, he insisted through strangled sobs that he had tried but couldn’t get a hold of anyone - no one knows where he is. Odamark was at first reluctant to return the money, but after some brief yet irresistible prompting, he gave back every red cent.
It’s not like he didn’t know I was coming . . . the bitch . . . where does this scum get the audacity to neglect the champion? Deville glares into the rearview mirror momentarily, disappointed in himself for not spotting the coward from the offset and saving a lot of trouble.
. . . Waste of my
ing time . . . 
