Judgement and Wrath

3

Mention New Orleans and certain images come to mind. The world famous Mardi Gras carnival. Jazz musicians. River boats plying the wide Mississippi. Then there are those pictures that people wish to cleanse from their minds. Hurricane Katrina. Floods and devastation. The dead and the displaced. Thousands of families still living in transit, suffering for all they had lost when nature unleashed its pent-up fury upon them.

New Orleans is a potent mix of extravaganza and destruction, magic and mayhem, wonder and desolation.

It would be hard to imagine a human equivalent, a poster boy for the city. No one would instantly bring to mind the face of Dantalion. But, in his own estimation, he was the very essence of this contradictory place of enchantment and woe.

Outwardly, he accepted, he was no great shakes to look upon. Some might even say that his unhealthy pallor and emaciated frame spoke of disease and decay. Initially people would avoid him, but in the end they'd come when he wished. They would bend to his will and give him what he desired. He had that power. It was his gift.

It was what had made him a master of his craft.

Why he was much sought after when certain people required other persons dead.

He was meeting certain people today.

Not in New Orleans, the place of his birth, but far to the east in Miami. The whisper had gone out among those certain people that he was in town and available. A coded message had come through on his BlackBerry, requesting a meeting. This was why he found himself sitting on a bench in Bayside Park overlooking Biscayne Bay. Nearby the Macarthur and Venetian Causeways carried traffic over the holiday-brochure water towards the island where the world famous Miami Beach could be found. The Mildred and Claude Pepper Fountain was just visible through the trees, and to his left he could make out the Miami Queen at its permanent berth, allegedly Miami's most unforgettable attraction. Dodge Island was a low-slung beast hunkering in the water. Pale against the turquoise sea, it was like a great white whale aground in the shallow bay. Industrial units and storage containers made up the barnacles on this creature's back.

He wasn't there to appreciate the sights, not a tourist. But that was how he would appear to anyone walking by. His pale skin was at risk from the sun, so he'd be forgiven the wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses. His billowing white coat, like the cassock of a medieval monk, was a little strange when taken at face value, but not compared to the garb of some visitors.

Behind his sunglasses his pale blue eyes were watchful. The stark light pained him, but it was necessary that he be vigilant. Sometimes certain people wished he was dead, too.

Three men were walking towards him from the mall area next to La Marina de Miami. One, dark-haired and perma-tanned in a cream linen suit, headed directly towards Dantalion. The other two, men with guns concealed under their jackets, stood kicking their heels as though admiring the bronze statue commemorating Christopher Columbus. But their eyes never left the man on the bench.

Scanning right, Dantalion saw a further two men on the parking lot of the Bayside Park amphitheatre. Not interested in the band stand, they too were watching him. There could be yet more, but it was enough to be getting on with. Discreetly Dantalion slipped a hand beneath the tail of his voluminous coat, as though scratching an itch on his thigh. He unsnapped the holster holding his 90-two Beretta semi-automatic. It had the capacity to fire off seventeen 9 mm rounds as rapidly as he could caress the trigger. Enough for the five men and then some.

The tanned man sat down on the bench next to him. There was no preamble. No checking of identities; each man knew who he was there to see.

'I'll take care of your instructions personally. The information you need is already where you asked,' said the client. He brushed a speck of lint off his suit. 'In return I need something from you.'

'I know what you want from me.' Dantalion's voice came out in a whisper. It wasn't practised, merely an effect of his feeble genes. His words were lilting; not effete, but androgynous, as though spoken by a pre-pubescent child. There was no trace of his Cajun heritage in its inflection. 'Confirmation of death. One target has been eliminated. The others will soon follow.'

'Sooner rather than later would be appreciated.'

'You have a choice,' Dantalion pointed out. 'If you simply wish these people dead, you could send your dogs around-' he nodded at the two nearest the amphitheatre, just to let his client know that he was aware of them — 'or you can be patient and allow me to do what I do best. '

'The killings can't be traced back to me,' said the man.

'So you choose me?' Dantalion nodded slowly. He placed a hand on the man's wrist. He saw the cringe worm its way up the man's arm and into his face. Dantalion smiled faintly and slowly drew back his fingers. His touch caused that reaction in most; they were repulsed by the scaly look of his skin, the thick yellowing nails.

'You know my terms?' Dantalion asked.

'You will be paid half the sum up front. The remainder on confirmation that the targets are dead. You are trusted to do the job… I have no problem with that.'

Dantalion's chuckle was like the whisper of bats' wings through the night. 'Those are not the terms I'm referring to.'

A pale flush crept over the man's features. He looked across at the two men keeping Columbus company. 'Along with the targets you have the right to choose how many others die. Yes, I understand. That's up to you.'

'Yes,' Dantalion agreed. 'It's up to me. But, worry not, I don't charge extra for a high body count. I'm just happy with the job satisfaction.'

'Just make sure nothing can be connected to me. You do realise what's at stake here, don't you? How much is at stake?'

'I thought you trusted me to do the job?'

'I do. Your record is impeccable. Only…' he coughed. 'You can't blame me for being nervous.'

'No need to be nervous.' Dantalion smiled, showing his caramel-coloured teeth. He shifted his sunglasses so that he could lock gazes with the man. 'It's not as if I'm coming after you.'

The man stood up fast. He swayed, looking down at the killer on the bench. His face said it all.

'Please,' Dantalion laughed. 'Sit down. I'm only funning with you.'

'You don't look like the type to make jokes.' The client didn't sit down again. His gaze sought Dantalion's hand where it disappeared below his coat.

With a flourish the killer swept his hand out. The man flinched, but then saw what Dantalion was holding. A book, attached to his body by a silver chain. With a thumb, he flicked open the book. He rifled through the pages, displaying rows of numbers.

'They're all listed,' Dantalion said. 'The names numbered. Each correspond to a different person I have killed. Do you know how many there are in this book?'

The man shook his head.

Dantalion neglected to enlighten him. The plethora of handwritten pages should be evidence enough.

'I am still walking free,' Dantalion said. 'None of my clients has ever been tied to my work. Does that make you happy?'

'I'm happy.' The man stuffed his hands into the pockets of his linen jacket, scrunching the cloth between his sweating palms. He took a discreet step away. He glanced around at the men near the statue.

'The alternative is I walk away,' offered Dantalion. 'The downside of that is, well, you've seen me. You can identify me. If you aren't happy, you'd best set your dogs on me now.'

Out on Biscayne Bay a speed boat swept by, throwing out a phosphorescent spray in its wake. Music drifted on the air from the nearby Hard Rock Cafe. Strolling couples talked in low murmurs. The fountain danced to life amidst a chorus of wonder from the gathered tourists. It was a strange setting for the stand-off that Dantalion had just offered.

Finally the man turned and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, 'I understand your terms, and I trust you. I'm happy, OK?'

Deal done, Dantalion stood up. He straightened his long coat over his lean frame, adjusted his hat. The two men over by the amphitheatre were watching him with their jaws set. Dantalion flicked the brim of his hat at them — just to let them know.