He turned his eyes to the middle, where six men stood beside two facing chairs. He separated them immediately into three hierarchical categories. There were four large men dressed in varying combinations of black street clothes. They were the enforcers. He recognised two of them from the kebab place the previous night, including the pale man with the ponytail. Among them was a tall, slim man with slick, jet black hair who wore camouflage cargo pants and a light grey fleece jacket. He had small, beady brown eyes, a long, thin, hawkish nose and a stony stare. He was the number two.
Frederich paid extra attention to the last man standing at the side. Hello, number one. He was medium height, had a large, muscular build, a thick neck, a long, bushy, greying black beard and bald head. His face was weathered, and his eyelids curved downwards, giving him a predatory expression like a tiger. He had on a buttonless black shirt and baggy black pants and combat boots. Judging by his attire, he was just another crew member. As a matter of fact, there was no visible indicator of status or affiliation anywhere. No coherence in clothing or tattoo markings in sight. Still, Frederich was sure the man with the beard was the leader. He radiated something the others lacked. He stood firmer and looked calmer and more confident.
Frederich had all eyes on him when he approached with his chaperone. He ignored the other five men and looked directly at the man with the beard, who stared him down silently for ten long seconds. Frederich waited. Then the bearded man gave a dark, wry smile and stepped forward and spoke.
“At first, when news came to me that Elias had been killed, I was angry,” he said, his voice resonant and deep. “I had my suspicions about who it could be. I ordered the people responsible to be found and dealt with immediately. When the police discovered no traces at the scene, I sent my people to take over. They are far more capable and thorough. When they found nothing, I grew concerned. It seemed that a ghost had killed Elias. Then, I receive word that a young boy has fessed up, and he wants to meet me personally. That, I must say, was quite unexpected.”
Frederich maintained eye contact with the man throughout his monologue. He was fierce, measured and eloquent in his speech. He spoke with a hybrid English accent which gave away traces of British, German and possibly Russian, and he could have come from any of those nations. The only thing Frederich could confirm about him was that he was a figure of absolute power. Then it hit home. Meet me personally. Frederich lifted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes.
“You’re Kalakia,” he said, to which appeared the tiniest of twinkles in the man’s eyes.
Frederich was surprised. He had not imagined a man of Kalakia’s stature would emerge so easily.
“Have a seat,” said Kalakia, motioning toward a chair with his eyes before sitting opposite. “So. Tell me why you killed Elias, and what it is you want. But be concise. If I feel you’re wasting my time, well… even a young man like yourself is wise enough to know the situation he is in.”
The room grew quiet, and Frederich weighed his words. Adrenaline was blasting through him, and his hands were on the verge of trembling, but he knew the importance of maintaining calm and control.
“Killing Khartoum was pure coincidence. But this is not: I want to join your organisation. Concise enough?”
Nobody reacted initially, until the slim man in the camouflage pants broke rank and marched quickly toward Frederich. He pulled a large hunting knife out of his pocket, slid it out of its pouch and put the sharp end against Frederich’s neck. He leaned forward.
“You little vermin,” he said with a shrill, angry voice. “I’m going to enjoy killing you. Every. Single. Second.”
Frederich did not acknowledge the man. His gaze remained fixed on Kalakia.
“This here is Felipe Vivar,” said Kalakia. “He was a close friend of Elias. So you will have to explain yourself to him. His will be the last face you see in this life.”
Frederich leaned into the knife. The sharp sting of the blade entered his neck, and he felt a tiny stream of blood rush down. The shadow drew nearer as he began to accept his fate. He continued staring at Kalakia, whose eyes did not wane from what he was witnessing. His mind turned to Kraas, and his longing for the void to take him grew. The life in him faded like a lamp running out of gas as he pressed his neck harder against the knife. Vivar obliged, pushing the blade harder in turn, the pace of his breathing increasing and his excitement building.
“Felipe, stop,” said Kalakia calmly before standing up and walking over.
“No. Let me finish him!” Vivar’s exhilaration was boiling over. “He wants to die! I can see it in his eyes. Can’t you see it?”
“Yes, I can see it. Take the knife away.”
“Aaah!” shrieked Vivar like a madman, raising his head toward the ceiling before removing the knife from Frederich’s neck.
Kalakia placed a calming hand on Vivar’s shoulder then approached Frederich and crouched down in front of him. Frederich could hear Vivar gathering himself with long, deep breaths.
“Now, I must say, I am intrigued,” Kalakia said, squinting his eyes.
With the threat having eased, Frederich’s heart began pounding hard again. Inside,
