Getting another offer

Having committed a spot of kidnapping, in order to obtain the location of someone who might be able to tell me something about an artifact I'd pulled off of a terrorist, which had a symbol on it that I'd seen tattooed on a angel in a very realistic dream, I was feeling less than proud of myself. Not out of pity for silver-toothed thief I had secured for Jubjub; He struck me as the type who was due for a richly deserved beat down. And not for committing a crime, as I am, at best, indifferent honest. But I like to think that I usually have better reasons for breaking the law. Whatever kind of kicking around the guy I'd snatched deserved, I felt like I'd delivered him unto it for pretty thin reasons.

Alcohol was the answer, as usual. When I got back to Grin's, the thing behind the bar had mind-waved me that Grin had asked that I be sent back to his office. That worked for me. Grin doesn't water his drinks, but the stuff he keeps in his personal bar are the best of the best.

I had a hard time choosing what I wanted. The Romulan and Andorian ales called to me; I'd been wanting to try them for a long time. I briefly considered making a gargleblaster, but I didn't want to get quite that messed up, not yet, anyway. The decision was made for me, though, as soon as I spotted the bottle of Walker's White Label sitting quietly in the back of the second shelf. The best whiskey ever made, I'd heard. I'd seen serious drinkers get misty just at the sound of the name.

Two fingers of Walker's and ice in a beautifully made glass, a seat in one of the incredibly comfortable chairs that Grin populated his office with, and time to enjoy both. It felt so nice I completely forgot about feeling like a heel.

I took one slow sip, and felt the delightful liquid burn smoothly down my throat and make a warm spot at the center of my being. I was considering a second sip when the world around me suddenly seemed to go thin, like it was all made out of paper. At first I thought that the Walker's was simply living up to its name, but it became obvious that something else entirely was happening. It felt as though a bubble was growing under the floor, rising up and causing everything, my whole reality, to warp out of shape. My soul seemed to stretch painfully. Then the bubble burst.

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a very, very nice suit; a black pinstripe three-piece, with a pearly white shirt, a red striped tie, and matching pocket square. Given that the head rising out of the collar, the hand coming out of the sleeves, and the unshod feet all had ruddy red skin, the fingers and toes had pitch-black, talon-like nails, and his forehead sported two spiraled horns that curved back over his bald head, it might seem odd that the suit was the first thing I noticed. On the other hand, it really was a lovely garment. I'd always wanted one just like it.

“Runcible Hand!” He said jovially, striding forward through the barren whiteness that we were standing in, hand outstretched. “It is good to meet you! It's my pleasure, believe me, to meet another up-and-comer like yourself. You would simply not believe how many rivals I had to destroy to land this gig, to be the one to bring you this Offer!” Reaching me, he seized my right hand and pumped it furiously. His crimson face was split in a wide grin, showing of dangerously long and sharp incisors.

“Wha?” I stammered.

“Oh, of course, you're still a bit thrown by the transition. Mea culpa! Take a moment, gather yourself!”

He waved a black nailed hand, and another chair appeared next to mine. He threw himself down in it and crossed his legs. “Lemme apologize for that right now, Red – you don't mind if I call you Red, do you? - but Lower Management says we have to make an entrance, y'know, play up the arrival, so there's no question in the rube's mind that we're the real deal. Not that you're a rube, of course, far from it. Heck, if this were a normal Offer, I'd be 20 feet tall, spitting fire, with a dozen helpers, and the landscape would be much less friendly, y'know what I mean?” Chuckling, he removed his sunglasses and wipe away a non-existent tear. “Just between you and me, Red,” He said, lowering his voice conspiratorially and focusing his red and black eyes on mine, “All o' that? It's BO-Ring! I mean, it's symbolic and all, I get that, it's what they expect, but after a couple of millenia, you just get so tired of it! You cannot believe how refreshing it is, just to be able to throw all of that out the window and just sit down with someone! On a comfortable chair, no less. Have you ever tried sitting on a throne made out of skulls? Two minutes, and your ass feels like you took a meat tenderizer to it! So, you just take your time, catch your breath, no rush at all! I could sit here all year!” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair, sighing contentedly.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Blank white vastness, two chairs, proverbial devil sitting opposite me. Yep, this wasn't because of the whiskey.

“Uh...” I started. The devil's eyes popped open, and he cocked an ear towards me. “Who are you?”

“Oh, man, I'm a dope. I'm Alvavardinbeklamarol.” He leaned forward, offering me his hand again. His grip was firm, and not-unpleasantly warm. “I represent the Lower Management. Just call me Vard.”

“You're... you're a devil.”

“Ah, devil, demon, a nether-dweller, child of Lilith, take your pick. Technically, I'm an Enticer, but I'm pretty close to moving up to Beguiler. Working my way up the ladder in the Department of Temptation. Demon really belongs to the guys who work in Chastisement, and technically, there's only one 'Devil', y'know?” He said, flicking his eyes downward for a second. “Anyway, you don't care about that. Like I said, I represent the Management, and they've sent me here to make you an Offer.”

“Look, uh, Vard... I'm not really interested in selling my soul, y'know, or anything else, really...”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about your soul? C'mon, you think they'd send me if they wanted something like your soul? Making that kinda deal takes big time mojo to set up a deal like that. I mean, gimme five more millenia, and maybe I'd be the guy to talk to, but now? Not a chance.”

“OK.”

“See, thing is, I'm not even here to make a deal right now. My bosses know you've been contacted by the other side. They want me to make it clear that we're willing to deal, too. They want you to know you have another option.”

“The other side?”

“Yeah! You think we don't keep an eye on where they go, and who they talk to? You better believe we do, and they follow us just as closely. It's about maintaining the balance. They appear to someone, we appear to them, too, and vice-versa. And you would not believe how many people take our offer when they make the first move. I mean, did they even make an Offer?”

“Uh, you mean the angel? No, not really...”

“Oh, you don't even have to tell me. I know these guys. Just showed up, right? No getting to know you, no handshake, not even a hello? Just gave you an order?”

“Well, no, he, it, whatever, he got into a fight with some friends of mine, actually.”

“Now, that kinda stuff really chaps my ass.” Vard shook his head in disgust. “I mean, just because their boss is supposed to be the creator of everything, an idea I'm not even close to being sold on, by the way, they figure they can do whatever they want, and nobody should ask any questions or look pissed or anything. I mean, where's the courtesy? Where's the friendliness? Would it kill on of them to take five minutes, make the guy they want something from want to help them? Maybe make the guy feel special for being approached to help them? No, it would not, but they go stomping in like Godzilla into Tokyo and expect everyone to bow and scrape. Freakin' zealots!

“Sorry, didn't mean to wander like that, but it bothers me.” Vard shook himself and refocused his attention on me. “Anyway, the Management wants you to know that we're prepared to make a very, very serious offer, if you decide to make a deal with us. I don't want tell tales out of school, but if come with us, you won't be dealing with low-ballers like me. Maaaaaaybe you'd be talking to my bosses boss, but it'll probably be his boss, at least. That's how serious we are.” Vard winked knowingly at me.

“Well, that is nice, but I'm not really...”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Vard said, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry!We're not trying to rush you into anything, I swear. This is just a handshake, a courtesy visit to let you know we're interested. I'm not even allowed think about trying to do anything else right now. We are in no rush, whatsoever. I mean, we have forever, and if you don't want to make a deal, maybe the next guy will. We like you, though. Like I said before, you're an up-and-comer, somebody we think has a lot of potential, and we wouldn't mind forming a relationship.”

“OK. OK, well, why don't you let... uh...”

“The Lower Management.” Vard prompted.

“Right, let the Management know that, uh, we had a good meeting, I guess.” Vard smiled brightly and nodded at that. “Let them know I'm not even close to making a decision about, uh, which way to go, there's a lot of stuff to weigh, a lot to think about...”

“Of course!” Vard stood up. “You take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere. Whenever you're ready, let us know.

“Just keep hold of this...” Vard reached into his coat and pulled out a business card, which he pressed into my hand. “I think I've taken up enough of your time today. Again, it's been a pleasure meeting you. I never get a chance to just sit and chat like this, We should do it again sometime.”

Vard slipped his sunglasses back on. With one last sharp-toothed grin, he snapped his fingers.

I had the sensation of being grabbed by the shoulders and shaken out like a sand covered towel, and suddenly I was back in Grin's office. In one hand, I still held the glass of Walker's. In the other I held a business card with raised crimson lettering that spelled out 'Alvavardinbeklamarol, Enticer, the Old Established Firm'.