An Offer Most Tempting

MacKenzie arrived at a typical house in the suburbs with a white picket fence surrounding an arid and yellow lawn. A woman with a bright smile greeted the sergeant at the door while little rowdy kids disturbed their father. What appeared to be a happy American family clashed with what Jalen knew MacKenzie was capable of.

So determined was his yearning for revenge that he waited, motionless, high amongst the clouds, for the family to turn in for the night. When the last lights in their bedroom switched off, he flew away and returned with two boulders. The first he dropped on their pool, dislodging water mixed with debris outward as a thunderous crack shook the house. Right after, he released the second boulder above MacKenzie's car. The commotion woke the household, along with the entire neighborhood. MacKenzie snuck out the porch door, a handgun clutched tightly in his hands, the drowsiness of sleep still in his eyes. When MacKenzie saw the state of his car, the man cursed up a storm, scanning his surroundings before directing his livid gaze upward at Jalen. Of course, the sergeant couldn't see him, as he was a dot that blended into the blackness of the night sky. Regardless, he returned a shit-eating grin, his eyes glowing with cosmic energy.

As the unsuspecting sergeant inspected his devastated pool, two beams of golden energy descended on him, granting Mackenzie the curse of the broken tongue, so that no one, including his family, would ever understand a word coming from his mouth. Only then was Jalen certain he dished out the appropriate level of retribution.

So as he soared away, his thinking shifted to his quest to find Jigoku Kumo and how difficult he knew that endeavor would be.

❊ ❊ ❊

Two days before his planned rendezvous with Prillon, Jalen returned to the restaurant called La Dolce Vita Ristorante, the last known hideout of Declan and the rest of The Black Book in Hermosville. Few people lounged about this early in the morning as he made his way through. At the door leading into the kitchen, a large man stopped him, placing a hand on his chest.

"Where to?" the man asked. "Past here is off limits to non-staff."

"I'm looking for The Fixer. Tell him Jalen's around," he said.

A spark of recognition flashed in the man's eyes. "Ah, thought I recognized you. The fellow that single-handedly stopped Shadow. Come in. Come in. Lemme show you to the boss."

In the kitchen, he spotted Nikolai standing in the space between a long prep table with busy cooks and a range of cooking appliances. The Russian man regarded him with the utmost respect, snatching his hand in a firm handshake.

"Thank you," Nikolai said. "There is nothing we can do to repay you for the time you bought at the church."

He nodded. "Don't stress it."

After another round of expressing his heartfelt gratitude, Nikolai took over, leading the way past the door hidden behind a large rolling refrigerator, into the basement. In the meeting room, the few mobsters seated rose to their feet when he made his entrance. They surrounded him, giving him their profound thanks for saving their lives. Even Finnegan offered his gratitude by taking off his cap and bowing his head slightly. Jalen patted the large man on the shoulder before entering Declan O'Malley's office.

The astute underboss sat behind his desk, buried in work, that he halted when Jalen entered. Then Declan rose from his chair and embraced him in a tight hug. Afterward, Declan motioned for him to have a seat on the sofas positioned around a coffee table.

"I'd ask you something to eat but I'm beginning to understand your preference," Declan said, after settling down opposite him. "Care for a drink? Apple juice? Wine? I've got something new today for the latter."

He reclined in his seat. "Then something new will do."

Declan walked over to the cabinet beside his desk and retrieved a jet-black bottle with white, stenciled lettering. "This one's called Madeira from the Portuguese Madeira Island, right off the coast of Africa. Been aged since 1954." Declan retook his seat, marveling at the vintage wine. "Something peculiar they do during the making process is their unusual heating and aging process, meant to duplicate the effect of a long sea voyage during the times when boats were made of wood."

"What difference does that make to the wine's taste?" he asked.

Declan looked up from the bottle at him, then down at the bottle again. "I haven't the slightest fucking clue." The Irish mobster chuckled, wringing him into the laughter as well. "All I know is it makes for a good story."

Once the laughter subsided, Declan uncorked the wine, the fruity aroma of aged grapes permeating the air. The wine tasted bitter, salty, and sweet; a rich blend of textures revealing themselves to him.

"Well, how does it taste?" Declan asked.

"Not bad. It's a bit of an acquired taste. I'll need some extra bottles to see if it's to my liking."

Declan nodded with a knowing smile. "Not bad? You don't say?" The underboss glanced at his storage cabinet. "That's the only bottle I've got. I'd put in an order for more, but because of current circumstances, I can't exactly take that risk. I suppose I could part with a few bottles of Lambrusco Grasparossa." Upon seeing his confusion, Declan added. "It's the red wine you liked on your last visit."

"Oh, that would be nice. Thank you."

Declan shifted on his sofa, his carefree expression draining into something more serious while clasping his hands together. "Now, let's get down to business. If you can share, what did you do with Shadow? Is he—"

"Dead? No. But he and Lightflare will be out of the picture for a while."

"Ah, that's good."

"Why? I thought you'd prefer him dead."

"What? No." Declan shook his head vigorously. "And then incur Downpour or, God forbid, Novaman's attention? Hell no! Although Shadow's the biggest pain in the arse, I'd take him any day over his superpowered friends. Anyway, about that offer I have for you." The underboss leaned in. "One of my loyal men with his ear to the streets brought something to my attention. A whole bunch of people are suddenly disappearing in the city. Fishy business, I tell you."

"You know where it's happening?" he inquired.

"Nope. All I know is the media is suspiciously tight-lipped about it, other than some coverage here or there. Now, I'm not one to concern myself with the civilians, but this presents a wonderful opportunity should things continue the way they are headed. Whole swaths of operations will become vulnerable and ripe for the taking. As we speak, I am positioning the assets I transferred from the church for that very purpose. Overnight, I will swoop in and take control of everything."

"I see. So where do I come in? You seem to have figured it out."

"Legitimacy." Declan lit a cigar and drew a long drag. "You will become the spearhead of the takeover, a different entity removed from The Black Book, who will become your partner."

"You mean I will take the full brunt of the public scrutiny?"

"Yes, so to speak. Although, the civilians, I believe, would hardly be the issue. It is the scrutiny of HAVEN and other government organizations that I am concerned about, which you are perfect for withstanding, given your prowess. You will have a fifty percent stake in all establishments you are involved in. That is the suitable compensation for the role you will play. What do you think, Jalen?"

His effort to break off from The Black Book fell in vain as Declan's offer proved too enticing. Was this how Adam felt when the devil tempted him with the forbidden apple? Because try as he might, he could not come up with a reason to turn down the underboss' offer.

Declan, sensing how close he was to striking the deal, added. "I'm talking casinos, hotels, restaurants, you name it. On the horizon, the mother load of opportunities is looming and we are right here ready to snatch it."

"Alright, I'm in." Like Adam, he succumbed to temptation, only he harbored no regrets.

His mind harkened back to Mason's words at the cathedral. If he were to go through with Declan's plan, then HAVEN would speed up their contingency strategy for dealing with him if they weren't already threading full force. So it was only right that he did the same to shore up his base. After all, he was only one person, however powerful he was. What would be his counter to a hit squad composed of Novaman, Demistra, and Ameor, trained on data HAVEN had on him? One thing was for certain; his current chances were low. He could never get careless.

To that effect, he intended to form a team or an army of loyal superhumans. In what fashion, and with which members, he couldn't exactly say currently. But the inability of his creations to survive in this universe ruled out that avenue. Moreover, his focus was on finding Jigoku Kumo and exacting his revenge on the spider demon. Nothing else would distract him from that goal.

For the next few hours, they hashed out the details for the mass takeover, zeroing in on the most vulnerable businesses and how best to split their assets and manpower. All the while, his mind still raced with ideas to solve the coming problems. His meeting with Prillon could not come soon enough.

❊ ❊ ❊

Sunrise Cafe did in fact serve lunch and dinner, in stark contrast to its early days as a means of survival in the grinding American economy. Still, the small restaurant retained a small semblance of its hopeful atmosphere from the time two humble immigrants, fresh off the boat from Europe, set out to make it big in America. Unfortunately, the cold, jagged teeth of Hermosville was battering that hope away over the years.

Ella parked her scooter by the designated staff parking spot and hopped off, jugging the rest of the way to the Cafe. The last time she checked, she had been at risk of running late. Thankfully, someone was carrying garbage to the disposal, so the backdoor that could only be opened from inside was braced open. She rushed into the back room to do some last-minute prep before she began her afternoon shift.

"Just in the nick of time as always," Betty, a heavyset woman, said.

She stuffed her handbag into the locker and shut it after retrieving her phone. "As long as I'm on time, that's all that matters."

She put her phone on silent and stashed it in her pocket. It would not do her good if her nosy manager, Sandy, spotted it on her. While placing a headset on her head, she noticed Betty ogling her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." Betty's eyes were narrowed into slits, inspecting her as if something were amiss. "It's just… do you work out?"

Only then did she notice her muscles put her blue shirt under considerable strain. Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "Um… not really."

"Wow! Well, uh… you look good." Betty blushed. "You've got me questioning myself now. I never knew a woman could get me—"

"No flirting or dirty talk during work hours," Sandy said, standing by the door.

Betty flinched as if an electric current ran up her spine.

Sandy continued in her stern tone. "Betty, you'll be taking orders at the counter today since Pen failed to show up again."

Betty grumbled and slipped by Sandy, leaving her alone with the manager. So she tried to follow her co-worker out of the room, but Sandy's outstretched hand blocking the doorway stopped her in her tracks. The small yet incredibly annoying manager always seemed to get on her nerves.

"What does a good work environment entail?" Sandy asked, with a smug pout on her lips.

She rolled her eyes, dreading the incoming lecture.

Sandy poked her gnarled finger on her chest. "A good work environment is all about clear and open communication. Respect. And supporting each other."

"What are you trying to say? You're preventing me from working."

"You will work when I say you can work." Sandy hissed. "I called you the other day, begging for help. Do you know what happened that day? We had to shut down early. And now John from management has been bitching all week."

"Okay?" Her jaw dropped with an exhausted gasp. "What the fuck do you want me to say? I called in a week early to take the day off. It was my friend's funeral."

"Language! I did not raise my voice at you. I respected your choice to attend the funeral. I just needed your help with the afternoon shift. How long did you need to mourn your friend, anyway? The person is dead. We are in the land of the living."

Her brown eyes flashed golden. "Step aside or I'll fold you like a lawn chair. Your choice."

Sandy's mouth shut with a defiant twitch as she backed away to let Ella through. Still, her manager always had to have the last word, so on her way into the kitchen, she heard Sandy's squealing voice.

"Stop expecting that call from HAVEN. We both know you are too ghetto for their taste."