Chapter 5

A Half Life

I couldn’t place my finger on why, but I was pissed. Not like that wasn’t normal. Sixteen years I’d been pissed off, why should that change just cause I moved? Oh yeah, that’s right, I just moved into the city of my sworn prey. Man it was a long story.

To make it short, my mother was a priestess. A cambion came hunting people with her skill and tried to kill her and me. Killed her and my dad, but I tried a spell to seal it away. Fucked it up and stole its power and a couple of its memories.

Since that day I swore to hunt down what amounted to a demon kingpin known only as “The Holder”. He’s the one who sent that cambion to kill me, and took my only family from me. I finally tracked him down to a place the residents call “The City of Lost Souls”. People come here to sell their souls, both figuratively and literally.

I pulled up to the bar in my old 84 Trans Am. The music was blaring inside, playing old songs out of the 80’s and a couple of the better songs from today. Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Metallica, anything that could be considered good music by a hardcore rocker. I’d had a long day as it was. Tracked down a bunch of crossroad cambions, wiped ‘em off the map along with a few contract cambions, and I was about to finish it off with a night of fun.

A girl came up behind me and sat down in the seat next to me. “Ain’t you a tad young to be in a bar with this sort of music?”

“Ain’t you a tad young to be in a bar?” I asked coyly.

“Maybe,” she said in a childish manner. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. I like my girls young and wild.”

“Whoa pal, I ain’t your girl.”

“No you ain’t. I don’t think you’re wild enough to handle me,” I challenged.

“Oh really? I can drink you under the table buddy.”

“Care to put your mouth where the booze is to prove it?” I said with a challenging smirk.

“Oh, you are on!”

***

Half a bottle each later…

“Still goin’ strong baby doll,” I taunted, “What you’re not done already are ya?”

“No woo.” She stumbled just talking. “…I’m done.”

“The king wins again!” I announced.

“Okay, so you can drink, and you’re hot,” she slurred, “What else ya got?”

“I got a mint condition 84 Trans Am sittin’ out front for me and whatever women are lucky enough to come home with me,” I bragged, “Not only that, but I have about a thousand bucks in my wallet alone.”

“Ooh, big shot.”

“I wouldn’t say big shot,” I said casually, “I just don’t do half-assed. No matter what I do, or who I do.” I gave her a predatory grin.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”

***

I have a right to be full of myself when I take home a nineteen-year-old skinny blonde. Ya ever pick up a girl in a bar for a one night stand you know how it goes: buy her a few drinks, brag about yourself a little, flirt a bit—making her feel good about her insecurities is a golden move, and always bring her home in a good car, to a well kept and decorated home. It’s a system, and I’ve mastered it.

I heard a pounding on my front door again. “Don’t move baby, I’ll handle it.” She drifted off to sleep as I left the room. I was in a good mood—obviously—so I just grabbed the aluminum bat.

I opened the front door and swung it to find no one to hit.

Odd. Normally there’s some one—

Then I got punched in the face by an angry jackass—almost. I gave a small sidestep to the left, grabbed his fist and held his arm behind his back.

“You don’t look or act much like a priest, so I can safely assume you’re the angry boyfriend of the blonde in my bedroom.”

“Damn straight.”

He swung his head back and bashed my in the nose. I shoved him off me and pulled my combat knife off its holster on my belt. He froze instantly.

“I’ll bet this isn’t the first time you’ve done this,” I said casually.

“Nope. You two I bet?”

“You bet right.” I stared him down for a moment and placed my gun back in my pocket. “How about instead of killing each other you stop this from happening again?”

“What?” he said stupidly.

“Look, I know how women work, that’s why your women is here.” I kept my hand on my knife to keep him from doing something stupid. “Obviously she’s not getting something from you that she wants. Now I don’t want to have to kill you, so just do me a favor and sort it out with your girl tomorrow, kay?”

“That why you’re hiding behind a knife?” he challenged.

Obviously he wanted me to ditch the knife so he’d have a chance, so I did. I tossed the knife over my shoulder and it landed in the table. “Listen pal, I don’t need a weapon to kick your ass. Look, I just don’t want to have to beat your face in to the point where it becomes necessary to bury you six feet under in my back yard.”

“Like you have a chance against me!” he all but yelled.

“Really,” I asked coyly, “I beg to differ.”

I just walked past him—ignoring his insults about “running away”. I stopped in front of my car, lifted the front end, and tossed it up so I was holding it up, balancing it with my hands by the back bumper. After a moment of stunned silence I gently let it back down. I set the thing on top of me and rolled out from under it.

I just looked at the guy with a cocky smile. “Ain’t braggin’ mother fucker if ya back it up,” I told him in just as cocky a tone.

He just said a few lines of gibberish.

“I’m not gonna say it again,” I warned him, “I ain’t no relationship counselor, now beat it.”

“I can’t have this keep happening!”

“Well whose fault is that? Oh yeah, yours.”

“How is this my fault exactly?!”

“People cheat on each other because there’s something they want that they’re not getting, or because they’re assholes. I’m pretty sure this is the first.”

“So what, I’m just not giving her what she wants is that what you're saying?” he snapped.

“Yep,” I said simply, “Look, here’s what you’re gonna do: go home.”

“Not without my girl.”

“Let me finish ass-wipe,” I growled. “In the morning I’m throwing her out and telling her to go home. No love can be lost believe me, so I’ll be as big an ass as I can.”

“I’m sure you have practice with that,” he mocked.

“Right,” I growled, “Then around noon you go to her house, and scream at her for cheating on you.”

“Now what good will that do?”

“I’m not finished,” I deadpanned. “When you do, angrily ask if she thinks you’re not ‘man enough’ and say you’ll prove just how much of a man you are. Give her what she wants, and at the same time you assert dominance. That will make sure she doesn’t bar hop for guys anymore. Win-win. Get it?”

“Think it’ll work?” he asked seriously.

“Unfortunately for me: yes. It seems to have worked in the past with girls like her,” I explained, “She wanted to be dominated, keep that in mind.”

“Dominated?” he parroted. He suddenly sighed heavily with his arms crossed, “That explains it.”

“My advice: go buy a riding crop to surprise her with.”

“You’re sick you know that?”

“I am the king,” I said cockily.

“Whatever, and this had better fucking work,” he said as he walked off.

“Yeah, like you’re gonna come find me if it doesn’t.”

***

“GET OUT YOU WORTHLESS WHORE!” I screamed as I threw the woman out the front door and slammed it behind her.

Oh did that get a reaction. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. At one point she even said she had a boyfriend like that was a victory over me. Said he was better than me too; that was rich. After she finally left about twenty minutes later, and I shot at her for going near my car, she left.

Never heard from her, or her boyfriend again.

***

I mostly slept during the day; in fact I’d been up all night while that blonde was sleeping. After I threw her out (and she’d finally left) I passed out on the couch watching “Queen of the Damned”. Odd movie.

Finally the sun was setting and it was time to hunt again. I grabbed an old orange Harley Davidson shirt and threw my jacket on over it. I grabbed my Smith & Wesson .44 caliber magnum (oh hell yes), pried my knife out of the table, and took off out the driveway on my wide-glide.

The magnum was something else. Everyone knew it since Clint Eastwood used it in the “Dirty Harry” movie. “Most powerful handgun in the world”…kinda. Okay I’m not a gun nut, but I did my research when I chose my weapon. It’s the most powerful revolver in the world, not the most powerful handgun necessarily. I did my research, like I said, made my choice, and I stand by it. Of course I had my own special modifications added to it.

I went down to the shipping district of the city and slowed down. I had to go slow so I didn’t miss anything. Cambions do their best to look human in human form, but they have tells just like every idiot that tries playing poker for the first time. Little things that real humans miss, but a real hunter knows how to diverse camouflaged prey from his environment.

It’s in the way they walk, the way they sit, the way the talk, and the way they move.

A human’s walk is careless, slightly klutzy, and either hurried or lazy. Cambions are focused. A cambion’s walk is professional. Each stride is even and measured. Often they walk at a set pace. A human doesn’t control the speed of their strut as well as they think they do.

When humans sit they slouch, without any regard for their backs. Cambions sit up straight, almost seeming attentive at all times as though they were soldiers. That one’s simple really.

Organized crime is organized crime, no exceptions, even with cambions. That’s the thing with all monsters, but cambions under the Holder tend to talk in code. They do share some of the mob code-words that human mobsters use, so you need to watch for the cambion exclusive ones before making a move. You’ll know one when you hear one.

Finally the way they move. This one’s the least subtle, but they can’t help it. Cambions, even in human form, make things look easy. Their minds work in different ways than humans. One example is gambling. Never gamble against a cambion, because it ain’t a gamble for them more often than not.

To identify a cambion by sight though, you need to watch its movements. Lifting crates like in this district is effortless. Their strength is always a lot more than what you’d think just by looking at them. I found out the reason for that is that they have “exceptionally dense muscle mass”.

In a nutshell it means they can look like they’re the same size as another guy, but can probably lift about ten times more than the human, easily.

You might be wondering why cambions would need to move crates. Well it’s a city; there’s a mafia in it. Mobsters sell their souls for the skills to rise through the ranks. One guy does it, another guy notices something’s up, figures it out, and does the same god damn fucking thing.

Dumbasses.

“I’m impressed over here with that guy over there. Look at that. How’s he that strong?”

Effortlessly lifting a crate twice his size, perfect stride, perfect form: cambion. This is why I have a system.

“See, this is why he’s an underboss.”

Crap. Monster boy’s already an underboss, which means he’s the one in charge here. Unless of course the don himself decided to pay a visit—doubt it.

I ducked in the warehouse lot barely avoiding the attention of the guards at the front gate. Sorta hard to miss a guy jumping up a wall like that. I fell on my stomach and watched the underboss from around a corner, just the top of the stairs.

I could see him heading in the warehouse from where I was at. After a moment I saw a lot of people, mobster and workers alike, leaving the warehouse. He’d ordered them to leave obviously, probably to call his dealer, or something along those lines.

Perfect.

I jumped up to the top of the warehouse, and BEHOLD: an open skylight. Man, I didn’t even half to break in. I looked down from above trying to keep myself hidden from view. You know, trying to keep from casting a visual shadow.

“I can’t see you, but I know you’re up there,” he called up to me.

Well…shit. “How’d ya know?” I asked as I perched myself to jump down.

“Instinct,” he answered simply, “Masters right? Greg Masters?” I nodded. “Heard about you. Cambion killing cambions. Aren’t you just the worst kind of hypocrite?”

“I guess that depends on how ya look at it,” I said as I finally jumped down to speak to him face to face, “How many humans did you kill when you were a human?”

He almost laughed, but he held it down, choosing to light up a cigar instead. “Good point I suppose,” he said after he took a couple puffs, “I prefer to think of it this way: how bad am I really?”

I shrugged with my hands in my pockets. “I guess that depends on how ya look at it,” I said again, no different a tone than the first time I said it, “Humans ain’t exactly angels is they?”

“No. No they’re not.” He took a big inhalation of smoke and tossed me one. “You smoke?” he asked me like we were just meeting in a bar.

I caught it in my mouth and pulled out a zippo lighter with the Harley Davidson insignia. “Occasionally,” I told him, “When a guy offers me one in a bar I’ll take it. Don’t always smoke it there though. Sometimes I save it for later y’know?”

“Yeah,” he said in nostalgia, “Nothing quite like lighting one up after sex eh?”

I actually chuckled and nodded. I took out my knife and cut the end off the cigar as I leaned up against a random crate. I held it up like I was gonna toss it to him. He held his hand out to catch it and I did. Just did the same thing I did with it and tossed it back.

I sighed heavily. “Look, ya don’t seem like a bad guy really,” I told him, “Ya just got mixed up in somethin’ you don’t get, and I don’t mean the mafia. I don’t really want to kill ya, so I’ll make ya a deal. I’m sure ya know a good deal when ya see one.”

He took another big puff with me and decided to look around, checking for anyone from the “workplace” I’m sure. “I’m no stranger to deals,” he said simply, “So let’s here it. I’m all ears.” He adjusted the plain black tie on his spiffy black suit and scratched at his five o’clock shadow.

“All I want it to know the way to the Holder,” I said flatly.

He scoffed. “Oh, is that all?” he asked, “Maybe you’d like to torture Lucifer too eh? Or, or, maybe you’d like an angel to rape instead?”

I laughed sarcastically. “Believe me it ain’t that tall an order.”

“How’s about this?” he continued his mocking, “How about, I get god’s sperm donation, put it in Marylyn Monroe’s cooch, and give you the daughter of god to fuck when it comes out?”

“ENOUGH!” I roared, and I do mean roared, “I offer you a deal and this is how you act?!”

“Alright, alright, I’m done. Cool?”

I sucked down the rest of the cigar like it was nothing and spit the stub that was left on the ground. “No. Not ‘cool’,” I spat with smoke on my breath, “Now I’m pissed off, and I just might kick your ass for the fun of it. That what you want big shot? Huh?!”

“Okay, look, I’m sorry,” he insisted begrudgingly, “Listen, I’ve heard enough about you to know you probably can kill me. I don’t know what you want with the Holder, but—“

“I’m going to kill him,” I growled.

He stared at me dumbfounded. He even let his cigar fall out of his mouth in ignorance. “…Wow…just wow.” He picked his cigar back up after a moment of recuperation.

I tossed him my knife again so he could cut it again. He tossed it back after he did. “Well, that is a tall order you’re asking of me,” he said with a notable amount of surprise, “What’s the story? Give ya a bad deal?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t deal,” I told him to his confusion, “I stole my power from someone who did.”

“Ooooooh,” he mumbled in realization, “They said you were different, but I never would have guessed.” He took his last puff and tossed the stub out. “Down to business, what’ve you got to offer?”

I exhaled through a small parting in my lips and looked around. “What’dya want?” I asked him, “Huh? I can get guns, I can make weapons, I can make weapons better depending on what ya can do, and I know how to get motor vehicles. Apart from that…” I shrugged, “All I can do is give ya some cash. That’s all I got.”

“That’s it?” he asked mockingly, “You come in here to kill me, offer me a deal to sell out the guy who made my life paradise, and that’s all you got? The best you got is improving a weapon ‘based on what I can do’, and I don’t even get what that means! You know what?” He just pointed a finger at me. “You got nothing. Piss off.”

I exhaled heavily and nearly growled as I did. “Don’t make this mistake,” I warned him, “Ya don’t wanna fuck with the king.”

“Oh?! So know you’re the king?!” he mocked. He pulled out a pistol. “I said piss off.”

Author's Note

...I hate this chapter.

The whole thing just feels phoned in to me until after Greg goes out hunting for demons. Everything up to that point is just painful to me. The problem is I have no idea how to write a player, so if anyone has any advice on that, I'd greatly appreciate it.

This chapter and the next should have been one, but that added up to about 7000 words. A little too lengthy for my liking, especially since this is more of an expositional side story.