Rise of the Warlock Ch. 03: Deals

"No, you got it right," I said with a smirk.

"Oh oh ok." He looked nervous, but with a slight shake of his head he seemed to get his resolve and holding his hand out he said, "Deal."

I shook his hand and told him, "Go to sleep, and make sure to eat when you're hungry, mostly foods high in protein, and everything should work out within a few days."

He still appeared nervous and a little unsure, and I was certain he had made the whole deal on a 'fuck it' moment that he was now not sure whether or not had been a good one.

He had turned away but then he turned back, but before he could speak I said, "If you ever want an additional favor, know that I'll either require you bring me a new deal, or offer some other form of payment. Oh and thanks, and have a nice night." I quickly moved as he just sort of stared vacantly for a moment.

I quickly began to scan the crowd for my next client when I spotted Janet Jones. Janet was by her own admission on the wrong side of forty. She dyed her hair to hide the gray and caked on the makeup to hide the wrinkles. Personally, I thought she was gorgeous. She was a tall African American woman with plenty of curves, but in all the right places. Plump lips that tonight were a delightful shade of red that matched her manicured nails. She was wearing a tight red dress and six inch opened toed heels that showed off her equally red pedicured toes.

Still, it wasn't about how I saw her but how she saw herself. Janet had met the homosexual persona I had created that I'd named Lance.

"Janet Jones? How do you do? I'm Bartholomew Schultz. I believe Lance Frey mentioned me," I said walking up to her. She glanced at me, but unlike Brad she appeared more than ready to make a deal.

"Yes, he did, though I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show," She said.

"No worries there, Miss Jones. Do you have any questions before we make the deal?"

She was about to shake her head no when she asked, "Actually yes, I was wondering how many years you'd take off?"

I smiled briefly and gave a moment of thought. "Hmm, I'd say at least ten, though a great deal of it will depend on you. You see, after the initial act you'll have a brief period of a few days, maybe a few weeks depending on how well you take care of yourself, where you'll not only be getting younger, but where exercise is almost twice as effective. However, this period will end, and after you will resume aging at a normal pace."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before holding out her hand. Shaking it I said, "If you ever wish for additional favors, know that you'll either need to introduce me to a new client or offer some other form of compensation."

She nodded and asked, "Like what kind of compensation?"

I answered, "It would depend on the favor, but something in the line of money or a promise of future favors from you." She simply said ok before moving into the crowd.

Over the time I spent surveilling Bosch I had often changed faces and names. Perhaps it's why I started approaching people in the first place, just to see how well I could pretend to be someone else. I'd always had a talent for mimicry that, coupled with a talent for throwing my voice, made me a joy for teachers when I was younger. Though I guess they were decent skills to learn, for without them I imagine someone would wonder why these various men all sounded alike.

So outside of Lance and Michael I had also created James Butler and Jeff Townsend. I even created back stories with amusing anecdotes for each of them to make them more real. Each prefered different drinks and wore different styles, and all had jobs or careers that kept them busy and often on the move. So all in all, for simple disguises I'd put quite a bit of work into them.

Truth be told I had always meant to come back and approach the new 'friends' of my alternate personas to make a deal for more souls. The only new addition was to trade favors in exchange for them to bring me more clients.

Gaining A Name

After that first night I'd become a regular at Paradise. At first I just approached those whom I'd already prepped with my other alternates. There had been eight in total, and each had accepted a deal, and though each had varying desires they were all of similar nature.

However, the first of my clients to bring me another potential client was Janet Jones. I had been sitting in a booth drinking a jack and coke when I saw her approaching with another woman.

"Denise, this is Bartholomew Schultz, the man I told you about," Janet said as she introduced us. I smiled at the woman. She was 5'5" with dusky brown skin, and dark brown eyes and hair. She was dressed in flats, blue jeans and a simple blouse that showed very little cleavage. That coupled with the fact that she had little to no makeup on told me she was only here to make a deal.

"Hello, Denise. It's nice to meet you," I said standing and offering my hand. When she didn't take it I didn't allow it to bother me, and instead waved her to the booth while asking, "Will you sit?"

She nodded and sat down with Janet taking the outside seat. I had done a cursory examination of Janet. She was also wearing blue jeans which were practically painted on, and high heels. However, she wasn't wearing nearly as much makeup as before. Her lips were still painted red as were her nails.

They both sat down and as the pause began to grow awkward I raised my hand to get the attention of one of the few waitresses in Paradise. We all ordered drinks, though I made note that Denise ordered one of the few non-alcoholic drinks the club offered.

After Denise took a sip she finally spoke, "So from what Janet has told me you can perform miracles."

I sighed and said, "No, I can't perform miracles. A miracle implies that I can do anything and without cost."

She nodded and replied, "I understand the cost - my soul - which brings up another series of concerns. One, if I lose my soul will I still be me? Two, can I still go to heaven? Will I be able to love, to even feel?" She appeared to be getting slightly hysterical so I interrupted her.

"First, there will be no change to you outside of whatever you ask me to do. As for heaven, truthfully I don't know. All I can say is that I have no hold on your soul. When you die if heaven wants your soul, it's theirs."

The woman gave me a slightly annoyed look, but then sighed as she said, "Fine. A few years ago I got into an accident that left me permanently scarred. Burns as well as long lacerations on my abdomen and chest." She then turned slightly, brushing her hair to the side. A burn covered the lower part of her face and down her neck. After a moment she continued, "My husband and I have tried plastic surgery but it's only helped a little."

She looked down at the table for a moment sadness in her eyes. Looking back at me she demanded, "If you want my soul it's yours. Just get rid of these scars."

I thought for a moment about her request. I wasn't an expert healer. Even when healing myself it was inefficient and often just sped up the natural process, leaving me with the scars. Some faded, some didn't, but suffice to say what little I knew about healing wouldn't help her. However, where there's a will there's a way. In this case, alchemy.

Alchemy was the conjoining of science and magic. Alchemy used natural ingredients augmented with magic to increase the positive effects while decreasing the negative effects. Good thing was there was nearly a thousand pages on alchemy. Various recipes and reagents for fixing everything from an upset stomach to the black plague.

So looking at Denise I said, "Give me three days and I'll bring you a salve that when rubbed into your skin should heal your scars. Of course, if it does not completely heal your scars your soul remains yours." With that I held out my hand and she shook it, but she looked far from hopeful that I would be any help.

I stood, leaving enough money to pay my tab and give a healthy tip to my waitress for the night. Then I left.

The next day I went to work on the salve. First, the research. Turns out there were a litany of skin salves for a host of ailments. I chose one specifically designed for the scars left behind by severe burns. It required a variety of ingredients, most of which you couldn't get at a local Rite Aid.

So more research, and an hour later after an extensive search on the net, I found an herbalist shop. I called said shop to inquire about the various ingredients, something made even more difficult due to the fact that I wasn't sure how to pronounce them all, but I managed. The owner at least, I think it was the owner, told me he would prepare all the ingredients for me, and even select everything I would need to mix, and all this would only cost me two grand and some change.

The shop was near Ann Street. It was called Black Rose Curatives and Herbalists. Walking in I was first struck by the smell of the various plants. Secondly, it was the decor, all hardwood and old books. Plants hung from the ceiling, and behind a counter stood a man maybe twenty years old, and judging by his accent when he introduced himself I'd say he was from someplace north of the border.

"Thomas Doyle?" I asked.

He nodded and waived his hand over a large paper bag as he said, "Yes sir, and here's your merchandise. Please do keep us in mind for all your medicinal needs."

I was a little confused as I expected more questions or a conversation at least as his greeting seemed more in line with a farewell. "Thank you, and I will. Here, the amount we agreed upon."

He took it but didn't even bother counting it. As I carefully lifted the bag I looked him over. He was 5'4", maybe 5'6", with light brown, almost blonde, hair. He was wearing a Tossers band shirt and had a tattoo on his left hand. It was a series of black roses with thorns stretching into his sleeve. The last thing worth mentioning was that I couldn't get a read on him.

See, if you practiced magic you learned to control your presence so that it didn't give your intentions away. Still, I could read his posture and it was defensive, like he was worried I'd attack him or something. In the end, I wrote it off as being only semi-important. Sadly I just didn't know enough about the magic community to make any such judgements, something I resolved to change when I got the chance.

I spent that afternoon and most of the night mixing the ingredients. See, the difference between alchemy and chemistry is only one thing: magic. In alchemy, as you mix the ingredients you infuse them with magic. This is done by a chant. What you chant isn't important, it's the purpose that you wish your concoction to serve. In this instance, I sang the song One Piece At A Time by Johnny Cash while focusing on which of the combined effects I wanted to enhance, and which I wished to lessen or if possible get rid of all together.

The reason I chose that song was because I'd heard it a few million times over the years and knew the words by heart. I groaned as I stood up and stretched. I had been sitting Indian style on the floor for far longer than I had thought. So I worked the kinks out of my legs as I placed the final jar of salve on a table near the door. Finally, I showered and went to bed.

The next night found me sitting in my customary spot in the club, in the back left corner where I could see the entirety of the club and all who entered from my position. I noted Bosch's interest in me, something I'd been seeing with each night I spent here, as well as my growing client list. I had begun keeping an address book filled with the names of my client's and their respective requests.

I watched as Denise entered Paradise. Her eyes quickly sought me out and when she spotted me she rapidly made a beeline for me. I kept the amusement I felt off my face as she rudely cut between dancers or bumped and shoved past the other revellers in attendance.

"Mr. Schultz, are you finished yet?" she asked the moment she reached me.

I smiled before answering, "Yes. There are three jars of salve. First, a little will go a long way. Second, work it into your skin until the salve is completely absorbed. And last, if it does not work to your satisfaction or if there are any concerns please feel free to see me."

She nodded and said, "Thank you," before leaving.

Denise Sitting In Her Car.

Denise sat in her car with great trepidation as she unscrewed the top of the simple dark jar. She pulled out a dab onto her fingers and started to work it into her hands. A smile crossed her features and tears fell from her eyes as the scars began to fade. It was only the first step but even so, the deep, terrible scars that had plagued her for so long had already begun to fade until she could barely make them out. So even though she worried about her place in the afterlife, positive that she would no longer be allowed into heaven for the sin she had committed, her heart was still lighter than it had been for some time. She started her car, eager to be home and with her husband and children.

Back In Paradise an hour later

I was sitting in the booth, happy to have finally talked one of the waitresses into bringing me coffee which I greatly preferred over Jack, when Janet wandered over to me. She had been standing with a group women conservatively dressed or at least conservative compared to Janet's usual attire.

"Decided to collect on the favor I owe you?" I asked.

"No," she answered and continued by saying, "I just got a text from Denise thanking me for introducing you to her, and decided to say thank you myself. She's my only real friend and it's bothered me for a long time."

I nodded in acceptance and replied, "Thankful enough to forgive the debt?"

She smiled as she once again replied, "No."

I saw that she was going back to her friends so quickly asked, "I had been wondering if you would be willing to be my lawyer?"

Again she replied, "No." But to soften the blow, she continued with, "Sadly, you couldn't afford me, or to be more precise, my firm which frowns on taking outside clients. However, I may know someone willing to represent you as they have quite a few problems that you might be able to deal with. Hmmm... Allow me to make some inquiries and I'll get back to you." I nodded seeing as that was the best I could hope for even as she left.

Afterwards I finished my coffee and left myself. It was only Wednesday, and I had no desire to burn through the rest of my cash. As it was, if the T.K.K didn't approach me soon, I might have to be more proactive in securing their patronage.

Approaching the T.K.K. was something that I did not wish to do as I felt it would make me appear weak or desperate. I wanted them to be on the defensive, to approach me, hat in hand, and looking for my help, not the other way around. It was because of this that I began to create plans to force such an eventuality. The best plan I had was to create a reason for them to approach. To do this I was thinking of attacking one of their hangouts and making them think it was the Los Panteras, the only gang left that could rival the T.K.K. The Los Panteras started in rural parts of Michigan, bringing in illegals to work on the farms or Apple Orchards. Soon they started bringing in drugs from down south as well. The only reason they could still rival the T.K.K. was due to help from one of the Cartels south of the border. Of course this was all common knowledge and showed up on the news time and time again. Hell, even the new president was calling for the arrest of the Panteras.

In the end I needn't have worried as about a week later Derek Washington entered the club. It was close to closing and I had considered heading home, but Bosch had appeared nervous all night, sending furtive glances my way only to look away when I glanced back. He also kept shifting nervously and touching something under the table, and since I doubted he was playing with himself, I figured he was reassuring himself that his pistol was still there.

So it was of little surprise that Washington walked in when he did. He was wearing a slightly baggy sweatshirt with one of his hands inside the front pocket. He glanced at Bosch who gave a pointed look toward me, then walked straight for me.

"You're Schultz, right? The so called 'Magic Man'?"

I looked at him with a slight smile on my face and responded with, "While I've never heard myself described as such, yes, I'm the Magic Man." He snorted then sat down. "Oh, do please sit. Would you like something to drink?" I said, holding up my coffee cup to beckon one of the waitresses, who walked over and collected it, while Washington asked - well, to be honest demanded - a corona.

"So asshole, you think it's ok to deal in our territory and there won't be any fucking problems?" he sneered. The waitress returned with our beverages. When she set them down, she looked at me and with a soft smile said, "Be Careful. It's a fresh pot and it's quite hot."

I nodded to thank her and watched her walk away.

"Ooh, that is hot," I said after taking a sip. "Even the cup's hot. Nothing's better than a fresh cup, don't you think?"

I opened my mouth to continue with my small talk when with an aggravated snarl he growled out, "You think this is some fucking game, asshole? Huh? Like I won't kill you for working on our turf?"

He stared at me expectantly. He had stood up as he made his little speech, one hand pressed firmly on the table, the other palming a thirty eight which he then planted on the table in an effort to intimidate me.

I lifted my coffee in my left hand taking a sip. Afterwards, still holding my cup I said, "I thought you might remember my name being that it's so unusual." Then I smiled. His eyes widened in recognition, his face turned into a grimace but then twisted into pain as I slammed my coffee cup into the side of his face. My free hand gripped the other side of his head which I used to grind his face into the broken shards of the coffee cup.

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him off the table and onto the floor. His gun fell with him. I stood up and drove my boot heel into his hand as he tried to grab his gun.

"Un un uh, none of that now". I reached down and picked up the gun. I hadn't looked down at Washington yet as my eyes were rooted firmly on Bosch who was frozen in his booth.

Figuring Bosch would keep for the moment, I grabbed Washington by the back of his shirt, lifting him up and pulling him toward a rear exit and into the alley out back. I dragged Washington into the center of the alley before tossing him into the wall. I leaned down on my haunches and with a smile began to pull some of the ground ceramic from his face as we spoke.

"Now, over the years I've come to understand that the death of my mother was purely incidental which is why I'm not skinning the flesh from your fucking bones right now." He didn't respond, just glared at me. "So this is how this is going to work. You're going to go to your boss and tell him that you have a business opportunity for him. See, I desire money and a sort of home base which is going to be this here club, and you don't need to worry about working things out with Bosch as I'll be working that out very, very soon. Now off you go. Oh, you can keep your pop gun, it's useless anyways," I said as I dropped it into his lap as I put one finger to my lips and blew, "Sssh."

I stood by the door which flung open as Bosch charged out. First, I gripped his gun and shoved it down and to the side, as my other hand fell onto his chest and he screamed while electricity flowed through his body. His gun, an overly large Desert Eagle Magnum, fell to the ground.

"Whoa! Now if this isn't over compensating I don't know what is!" I shouted jovially. "So here's the situation. I don't like you. You're a little pissant skag with no morals and a cowardly disposition, and worst of all you take sexual advantage of your employees like some rapist scum bag. But instead of just making you disappear, which is what I would personally prefer..." I said, then paused as I turned back to Bosch, his gun still in my hands.