sought out his establishments with vigor.
Fighting the wind-swept rain, he paused long enough to realize that he was being watched. He shielded his eyes against the stinging downpour and looked at the gray, concrete buildings around him. Prosper wanted to know which of them had chosen to skulk in the shadows, watching him, reveling in the idea that he had been summoned here now.
Eager to see him punished as he often punished them.
If he had his way they would all be dead, and the current situation that was causing him so much grief would never have transpired.
Prosper scowled as he gazed at the seemingly empty windows, hoping that they saw the displeasure upon his face.
He reached the building that housed his office, and found one of Simeon’s demon lackeys waiting for him in the entryway.
“Prosper,” Beleeze said with a courteous nod.
“He’s already here?” Prosper asked, moving toward his office door.
“Oh yes,” the demon replied. “He’s been waiting for quite some time.”
He knew the forever man would have one question after another and had wanted time to prepare.
“Simeon,” Prosper said with a smile as he threw open the door. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I was in the middle of—”
“I’ve been waiting longer than I care to,” Simeon interrupted. He was sitting on a leather couch in the darkest part of the office.
“I’m sorry about that,” Prosper said. “There were some loose ends that needed cutting.”
He made his way to his desk, pulling out the high-backed leather chair. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked before sitting down. “Maybe a snack?”
“I should be snacking on your still-beating heart,” Simeon snapped, standing bolt upright, seemingly without bending his legs.
“Now, Simeon,” Prosper said, attempting to soothe the man. “There’s no need for that.”
“No need?” Simeon asked, slowly walking toward the desk. “One of your charges slips away and commits murder, shitting on plans that I’ve had in motion for years, and you don’t think I have reason to be upset?”
“Honestly?” Prosper asked. “No, I do not.”
Prosper didn’t even see him move. Suddenly he felt himself lifted from his seat and thrown viciously over the desk to the floor beyond. He lay on his back, stunned, with the grinning visage of Simeon looming above him.
“Do I look like someone who enjoys being fucked with?” the forever man asked, his eyes bulging so wide that they looked as though they might pop from his head.
“I meant no disrespect,” Prosper began, offering no attempt at retaliation. He was smarter than that.
“Too late,” Simeon said, stepping back and allowing him to stand.
“I didn’t want you to worry needlessly,” Prosper explained. “Yes, this is a bit of a glitch, but I’m dealing with it.”
Simeon’s back was to him now as the forever man stood in front of a window boarded up tight to keep the frequent wind and rain from coming inside. “You’re dealing with it,” Simeon repeated with a laugh. “If this is the best you can do I shudder to think of how bad things would be if you weren’t paying attention.”
Prosper bit his tongue, the desire to flaunt his achievements nearly overwhelming. Simeon stood quietly, perfectly rigid, the potential for violence exuding from him in waves.
“Has news of the murder gotten out?” Simeon finally asked.
“No,” Prosper said, climbing swiftly to his feet. “From what I understand it’s still pretty much contained.”
He made his way around to his desk and pulled open a side drawer. There was a good bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses there.
“First things first, there was the matter of the driver,” Prosper said. He held up the bottle and glasses. “Drink?”
“And?” Simeon asked.
“And, I dealt with it,” Prosper said, pouring himself a few fingers of the whiskey.
“And how did you deal with it?”
“I hired somebody . . . a group of somebodies, really,” Prosper said, sipping the golden liquid.
Simeon’s stare said that he wanted more.
“The Black Choir,” Prosper said. “I hired the Black Choir to remove him.”
Simeon’s gaze grew laser-beam focused, and Prosper felt the tingle of sweat beginning to form at the back of his neck.
“A little dramatic just to deal with a driver, don’t you think?”
“The driver and someone else,” Prosper explained, certain that he would not like where the conversation was going. “An outsider.”
“An outsider?” Simeon came closer to his desk.
“Yes,” Prosper said. “One of their own, but not part of the establishment. An investigator of some kind.”
“An investigator,” Simeon said. “You do realize that this isn’t good.”
“Of course I do,” Prosper snapped, and then quickly smiled benignly. “Which is why I took care of it. Which is why I brought in the Choir.”
Simeon’s stare bored into his skull.
“And they’ve been successful, this Black Choir?”
Prosper poured himself another finger. “Partially,” he said, watching the fire again ignite in the forever man’s eyes. “But like I told you, there’s no need for concern,” he continued quickly. “The Choir missed their first crack, but they are still after him. Shouldn’t be long now.”
Prosper brought his drink to his mouth and smiled.
“Seems like the Black Choir has a real hard-on for this guy.” He took a drink and then chuckled.
“I wouldn’t want to be that poor bastard.”
Simeon had started to pace back and forth.
“So you believe once this . . . investigator is removed from the board, things will return to normal?”
Prosper considered the question.
“Maybe not normal, but definitely better,” he said, wincing. “At least we should have enough time to clean things up here, and as far as the angels go, one side will blame the other, and bang. Isn’t that where you wanted all this to end up anyway?”
It looked like a smile had started to crease Simeon’s face, but Prosper couldn’t be sure. For all he knew it could have been a grimace of pain.
“Where I wanted this to end up?” Simeon repeated. “Like you have any idea where it is that I want to be.”
With those words Simeon spun on his heel, heading for the door. But just as he placed his hand upon the knob, he stopped and turned back to face Prosper.
Prosper waited, nervously holding his breath.
“This investigator for the angels who we won’t be worrying about soon,” Simeon said. “He has a name?”
Prosper gasped, air filling his lungs as he nodded.
Simeon raised a hand, gesturing for him to continue.
He racked his brain, trying to recall the name. He’d heard it only once.
And suddenly it was there.
“Remy,” Prosper blurted out with a proud smile. “Remy Chandler.”
Simeon’s expression turned to stone. “Are you certain?”
Prosper nodded. “I remember because of the Choir’s reaction when I told them who their target was. I
