Rain had begun to drizzle on the street when Spade left the Red Lion. By the time he arrived at Louis's BBQ, the storm arrived in full. The water slicked the streets black and overflowed from sidewalk cracks into streams that emptied into rusted sewer grates.
Spade squinted through the downpour at the heavily drenched tapestries that had been left outside. Then, at the front door. It was still dark inside–too late for customers, too early to open–but he could make out the solid metal lock on the handle.
If he broke the lock or windows now, there was a chance Louis would call the Blackhearts–or worse, Toby–to investigate. He had to think of another way.
No mercy, he reminded himself. The shame of Toby's beating was still fresh in his mind and in tune with his aching body.
He scoped out the other sides of the building instead, brushing his wet hair from his eyes. There was a tall, wooden smokehouse out back beside a shed–but neither provided easy access to the restaurant. Spade directed his attention to an air conditioner that was stuck into the back window of the restaurant, held into place with cardboard and duct tape. It looked new.
Perfect. Spade grappled the large appliance and tore it from its position, letting it drop in a heap on the ground. Spade hoped Louis wouldn't notice, even if the rain wasn’t rough enough to leave such a mess. Standing on a discarded milk crate, Spade hoisted the window up and squeezed inside.
He found himself with one foot in the sink and the other trying not to slip on the grill. Gritting his teeth, Spade not-so-carefully climbed down into the kitchen, wincing as he knocked metal pots and pans onto the floor. Not that there was anyone around to hear them.
Spade situated himself into a dark corner of the dining room, tucking himself into the shadows. It could be hours until Louis arrived. Spade was not known for his patience, but if it meant hitting Toby where it hurt, he could learn to be.
Dawn cracked in through the windows when Spade heard the jangle of keys. Spade jerked awake, wiping a bit of drool from his lips as he watched Louis unlock the front door. He shifted in the darkness, careful not to touch the sticky mouse trap against the wall.
A weapon. Shit. He'd forgotten a weapon. Spade felt around his pockets, pulling out a switchblade. Louis was a big guy–that dinky little thing wasn't going to do shit.
He would need to improvise.
Louis grumbled to himself as he attempted to relock the door. He turned his back to the restaurant, cursing under his breath when he dropped his keys. The opening Spade needed.
A chair crashed down on Louis's back.
Louis let out a startled noise, collapsing onto the ground. He looked over his shoulder up at his attacker, the splintered pieces of wood scattered around him.
"What in Aroth's name are you doing in my store?" Louis bellowed. It might have been more intimidating if Spade wasn't standing over him with a fire poker he'd stolen from inside the kitchen. Louis swallowed hard as Spade pressed the tip to his neck.
"Make good on your debt," he said without emotion. The ringing in his ears was soft, gently nudging him on. No mercy, it seemed to whisper. No mercy. No mercy. No mercy.
Maybe it was the deadened look in his eyes, or perhaps the fire poker at his throat, but Louis did not look so indignant anymore. The stout man glanced nervously between the door and the kitchen, as if to weigh his options. Escape or call for help?
Spade reached forward and gingerly locked the door, locking out any hope that Louis might be saved. Louis didn’t even have a prayer. Perfect.
"I don't have anything," Louis whispered, his voice hoarse. Gone was the arrogance he'd displayed for Silas, all bravado with Toby the Hound at his beck and call. Very few were awake at this hour, and even less that wanted to get involved with mob disputes. Even if they did, Louis would be dead before they arrived. "You tell Silas that. I don't got shit."
"You had enough to hire Toby the Hound. The legend," Spade pointed out with bitter sarcasm. “Legends aren’t cheap.”
"The bastard likes this place! I hardly had to pay him–he just wanted my food." Louis tried to sit up, but Spade jammed the poker into his leg. Louis screamed, slamming his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound as Spade yanked it back out. Real fear entered his eyes for the first time.
"This restaurant's worth something," Spade continued, ignoring the blood that stained Louis's pant leg. He allowed the man to try staunching the wound with his hands. "I'm sure your house is, too."
"This is my house," Louis hissed between gritted teeth. "I got a room on the second floor."
"Why didn't you hear me come in, then?"
"I'm a heavy sleeper! Fuck! Who does Silas think I am? I don't have anything! This is all I have." He stretched one arm wide, gesturing toward the restaurant. Sweat dripped from his brow. "Please. Don't take this from me."
Spade's lips twitched into a grin, half-disbelieving and half-hysterical. Was he expecting pity? This restaurant was still more than Spade ever had. From the crowd it drew in, Louis had more money, too–whether Louis managed not to gamble it away like he already had to Silas was another story.
Spade knew what it was like to treasure something–someone–so completely that it took over your life. Everything he did was for Knight. At least, that’s what Spade told himself when he was drenched in the blood of his enemies. All for Knight. He couldn't understand someone like Louis gambling his most precious thing away, unless it didn't matter that much to him to begin with.
No mercy. Silas's words played like a mantra in his head. If Spade couldn’t be kind, nor smart, then he would be ruthless. He could be reliable. Useful, even. These were arts he was willing to learn, a language he was eager to speak. One day, everyone would respect him–and the ones that didn't would fear him instead.
"Get me the deed," Spade ordered.
"Are you serious?"
Spade pressed the poker against his throat. "What do you think?"
Louis wet his lips, staring down the poker. "It's not down here. I have it–it's in my room."
"Where in your room?"
"I can get it for you–"
"Where in your room?"
"Under the floorboards. There's a loose one under the bed." Tears pricked his eyes. "Let me go. I'll get it for you, transfer it over. No questions asked."
"No. The minute I let you stand, you're gone. You'll run and get Toby or the Blackhearts," Spade said listlessly.
"So, what? You're going to kill me here instead?" Louis laughed hysterically, the tears rolling down his cheeks. "You think this is worth killing someone over?"
"I do it for a living. Doesn’t matter to me. ." This should have been true, but Spade knew he hadn’t killed Dral. He barely even touched Toby before getting pummeled. The X on his arm meant nothing if he couldn't live up to it.
There was a reason people like Silas and Ashe were able to survive the Gate. They had a spark–a naked self-interested greed–that refused to be satiated. They would take what they wanted, the rest of the world be damned.
So, let the world be damned.
Louis glared at him, and Spade could see Louis’s fear turn into desperate fury. Before Spade could pull away, Louis snatched the poker's edge, holding it in an iron grip.
"You're a weak little fucker," he hissed. "You'll never be the monster Silas wants you to be. You will never be Rath."
Spade cocked his head, still holding tightly onto the poker's handle. "You're right. Rath made a lot of mistakes. Then, he died. I'm nothing like him."
Spade pushed with all his strength against the poker. The metal rod slid haltingly between Louis's fist–and right through his throat.
There was a small, instant moment of regret the moment Spade realized what he'd done. But Spade stamped it out, allowing numb dissociation to take over as he did it again. And again.
For once, Spade did not think of the organs he could harvest when he was finished. Instead, he picked up the phone beside the register, and gave Silas a call.
+++
"Ya couldn't have done this shit after I got some sleep?" Silas grumbled on the way back to his truck. It was still fucked up from Toby's crash, but it ran. That was all they needed to heave Louis into X territory and dump him in one of the corpse carts.
"I thought you wanted the BBQ," Spade snapped. He climbed into the passenger seat and tore off his gloves, dropping them carelessly onto the floor.
Some light came into Silas's tired eyes. "That I did–and you fucking delivered! Goddamn, I never thought I'd see it! You're a natural, kid, I'm tellin' ya. We're gonna fuckin' own the Gate with you around!"
Spade grinned, despite himself. He knew Silas was all talk, but it was still nice to know his hard work had been appreciated for once.
What he didn't like was the look Silas kept casting in his direction as they drove away from the alley. It was as though Silas wasn't seeing him at all–but instead his old buddy. The one everyone loved to hate and hated to love. The one who was undeniably dead. The pity in Silas's eyes disgusted Spade. Did he think Spade was going to die, too? Why couldn't he be trusted to hold his own?
"Aroth, stop looking at me like that. I'm not Rath," Spade reminded him sharply. "I'm not going to end up like him."
"You might when the Lenores get ahold of you." Silas chuckled, but Spade felt a small twist in his gut. “What you did for me today, well, it was a sacrifice. Not too many folks are willing to cross the Lenores like that, especially not for little old me."
I didn't do it for you, Spade thought, annoyed as he glared out the window. But really, who cared if Silas thought he did? Spade had made his mark on the Gate, and it would piss Toby off. Killing off two birds with one stone wasn't a bad strategy.
"We still need to find the deed," Spade said after a moment. "Louis said it was under his floorboards upstairs."
"Then we'd better grab it before someone else does."
Silas drove them back to the BBQ, abandoning his noisy vehicle in the alley and walking the rest of the way. Morning had already risen over Hells Gate, but it was still too early for most of its denizens. No one would be suspicious that Louis's BBQ was a bit late to open, but they didn't have much time.
Silas and Spade climbed up the metal fire escape outside of Louis's restaurant to the single room above. Silas picked the lock–a skill Spade didn't even know he had–and entered.
The room was small and tight, with a full bed and a boxy TV on the dresser. Miscellaneous clothes, papers, and general clutter littered the floor and spare surfaces. There was a tiny window on the back wall–the only other entrance aside from where they'd entered.
"Aroth, the guy was a hoarder," Silas hissed, kicking through the junk. "Where'd you say this deed was again?"
"Under the bed. Loose floorboard," Spade remembered. They grunted as they crawled on their knees, fumbling over discarded trash to get to the wood underneath. They felt around under the bed until one of the boards squeaked. "I think I found it."
They pried the floorboard up, and Spade reached inside.
"Well? Where is it?" Silas demanded, struggling to peer into the gap from the other side of the bed.
"That motherfucker," Spade growled. The spot was empty. He wasn't surprised Louis had lied, but fuck, it made his job a whole lot harder. "It's not here. We need to keep looking."
"Can't make it easy on us, can he?" Silas grumbled. Then, he yelled at the ceiling, "Ya hear that, Louis? You're a fuckin' asshole!"
"Just shut up and keep looking," Spade half-whispered. The last thing they needed was someone coming upstairs because Silas was shouting.
The men pried the rest of the floorboards, then dug through every inch of the bedroom until there was nothing left to tear. Wherever Louis hid the deed, it was out of their reach–and Spade had killed him, so they couldn't ask him for it now.
"Fuck," Spade said, shoving another pile of junk aside. "Fuck!"
Spade kicked the bed, and a loose, decorative knob on the left of the headboard fell off. A tightly rolled up piece of paper was tucked inside the post, taped to the wood so it wouldn't fall to the bottom. Spade pried it out and unrolled the deed with a grin.
"You find it?" Silas's face lit up like a kid during the holidays. Spade passed him the paper with a proud smirk.
The BBQ was theirs.
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