Once all three are in the back seat (KK on the right, Number Three in the middle, and Compton on the left) the Rolls pulls away from the curb. Glancing out the window, KK can see Ben engaged in one mother of a brawl with a large number of street musicians and performers. Trained animals, portable musical instruments, and corny props are flying in all directions. It appears that Ben is holding his own.
"Where are we going?" asks the guy behind the wheel. Sir Arthur looks meaningfully at KK.
"Cesar's Hotel" KK replies. "But I don't have the key to the room, so you better know how to open the door when we get there."
"Thank you, young man," replies Sir Arthur. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet. Opening it, he hands $200.00 in American money to KK. "I do not believe that the door will prove to be a difficulty," he continues, putting the wallet away. "While we drive, may I examine this angelic passport you say you have?"
"Sure thing," KK says and slips his hand inside his coat and pulls out the singed passport. Then he hands the passport to Sir Arthur.
Sir Arthur examines the passport for a moment, treating it quite gently, before handing it back. "An interesting document," he says. "It certainly appears authentic. To the best of my knowledge there are no angels named Michael in the hagiography, however. I mention this merely so that you will realize that the sale price is not what it would be were the passport to be for a more famous angel such as Raguel."
"Huh? Never heard of any 'Raguel'. The name "Michael" seems a lot more familiar. Wasn't he one of the guys who followed Jesus around? Or some other saint?" KK asks casually. Looks like Sir Arthur is trying to get a discount in the Dead Angel Store. First the feathers aren't real, and now Michael isn't famous enough. Ah well, considering how much KK safely can ask for without it being way too tempting to kill him rather than pay him, it probably won't matter that much when comparing to the actual value of an angel.
"By the way, how often do angels drop down from the heavens? One every week? Month? Year? Millenium? I've never heard about it before," KK continues, hoping that none of the first alternatives will be correct.
"There were twelve apostles who followed Jesus," replies Sir Arthur, "none of whom were named Michael. There was a Michael Cærularius who was patriarch of Constantinople from 1043-1058. There is a St. Michael de Sanctis who lived from 1591 to 1625, Michael of Cesena who was a militant franciscan and a friend of William of Occam; a Michael O'Loghlen who served as Irish master of the rolls in the 1830's and '40's; and Michael Scotus, a scottish priest and author of numerous books on mathematics and philosophy in the late 1400's, including 'Liber Physiognomiæ', 'Astronomia', 'Liber Introductorius', 'Liber Luminis Luminum', and 'De Alchimia'. None of these individuals, to the best of my knowledge, sported feathers however."
"Raguel I am surprised you have never heard of, as he is mentioned on numerous occasions in the bible, and even most laymen are familiar with him. If memory serves he is mentioned in Daniel, Jude, and Revelations. The english still celebrate Raguelmass Day."
Sir Arthur stares out the window. "As to how often angels drop down from the heavens, I suspect young man that God would very much disapprove of we humans learning the answer to that particular question. It might not reflect well on his operations."
"Yeah, I guess God is heavily into weather balloons and northern lights as well. Never read the bible though. Didn't figured it'd come in handy," KK admits. Maybe it would've been a good idea to stop by a church and ask about angels named Michael before trying to unload one, but it looks like it's a tad bit late for that. But Sir Arthur seems to be a fountain of knowledge, so why not satisfy one's curiosity?
"How could you make use of the angel? My partner said that it could probably be used for some minor spells, but I don't know a thing about stuff like that. The only strange thing that happened to me before the angel dropped, was some guy in an alley who got erased. Know anything about that?" KK inquires.
Sir Arthur arches a snowy eyebrow in KK's direction. "I would prefer not to discuss such matters until I see the condition of the object in question. I will be more than happy to tell you, however, that to the best of my knowledge there is no arcane wisdom pertaining to the use of an angelic passport to Al Amarja. Such an item has novelty value only. Still given that people will pay large sums of money for items of considerably less worth, you may be able to get a reasonable sum of money for it."
"I was kinda planning to sell the passport with the angel, as a package deal. I know that the passport isn't worth anything by itself. And I can tell you about the condition of the angel; it's burnt so badly that there's nothing but bones and charred flesh left. We couldn't even carry it without pieces breaking off. But one wing is still attached to the body, so I guess you could still tell it from a fake," KK explains, making small gestures with his hands to emphasize that he doesn't think much of the actual usefulness of what's left of Michael.
"It would be much more saleable were it in good condition," replies Sir Arthur, "but of course it is to a large extent a seller's market, which works to your advantage."
"I guess so," KK says, nodding slowly in agreement. Having nothing further to say, he then remains quiet for the rest of the ride.
After about ten minutes in traffic, the big limo pulls up in front of Cesars. "Now then, young man," says Sir Arthur brightly, " if you will be so good as to escort me to the appropriate room, we can continue our business." He and his bodyguard both step out of the vehicle.
"Alexandr," he says, apparently addressing the driver, "please circle the block or park in an alleyway nearby. I would rather not draw undue attention to ourselves, and I suspect that the rather troublesome boor we encountered previously is, at best, only a few moments behind us."
"Yes Sir Arthur," the driver replies, and the limo pulls away from the curb.
With the bodyguard leading the way, the trio enters the hotel and approaches the front desk. The woman behind the desk, an african woman with dark hair braided in cornrows, a red dagger badge, and a name tag which reads "Donna" looks up from her work with a professional smile, which immediately turns into a look of shock and alarm.
"S... S... Sir Arthur!" she exclaims in surprise. "I... uh, that is... welcome to Cesars! How may I help you?"
Sir Arthur smiles a winning smile. He really can be quite charming. "Good afternoon Ms. Bokundi. I was wondering if I could trouble you for the use of one of your rooms for a short period of time so that I might transact a bit of business." He reaches into his wallet and withdraws a $500.00 bill, which he places on the counter.
"Uhm... uh... certainly," replies Donna, who does not seem at all reassured by the presence of the money. "Let me see which suites are available."
"That will not be necessary," replies Sir Arthur. "My companion here has a particular preference for... what was the room number again, young man?"
Both Sir Arthur and Donna turn their attention to KK.
"216...I think. Supposed to be Ben Crutcher's room anyway," KK lets out while staring at the money on the counter. In his mind he is replaying the scene where Ben takes the card with the room number and slides it into his jacket. None of KK's business, he said. Which is too bad, since KK isn't one hundred percent certain that 216 is really the right number.
Sir Arthur arches one snowy eyebrow at Donna, who pounces on her computer keyboard as though the hounds of hell were pursuing her. "Ben Crutcher is in room... 216," she says after a moment. She slides out a key and passes it over to Sir Arthur. She makes no move to take the money.
After a moment Sir Arthur shrugs and puts it back in his wallet. "Come along, young man" he says to KK.
KK does as he's told, and sets off in the direction of room 216. As usual he keeps looking about for anything of interest, including other people who might be taking an interest in him or the company he's keeping.
KK notes as he crosses the hotel lobby that virtually all the patrons are showing an admirable lack of interest in other people's problems, including his. A few do stare with some surprise at the cutlass dangling from the hip of Number Three, but hotel security seems to show a decided lack of interest in the whole matter, particularly when they note the presence of Sir Arthur with the gentleman with the saber. The trio walks over to the elevators and Number Three pushes the button to summon one. After a moment the doors open and an elderly looking man in an elevator operator's uniform says "What floor please?"
"Number two," says Sir Arthur, strolling into the elevator. KK
and Number Three follow.
At about this time, the Rolls Royce, previously mentioned as Ben's top candidate for the old guy's car, cruises past in the roundabout and heads east. Ben looks through the window of the Golden Bough and up and down the street for signs of KK. All in vain. With a new found sense of urgency, Ben begins looking for a cab.
A minute is not really a long time - except when you are frustrated and angry and undergoing withdrawal from MPS (or "Mime Pummeling Syndrome"). By the time a familiar Giovani's Cab pulls up at the curb Ben is quite ready to kill something. Looking down at the squidgy face of Jack Rack, a bit of Ben's anger turns to nausea, however - enough to keep him from beating on the car with his fists, which is probably just as well given the condition of the automobile.
"Hey Ben," says Jack in his squishy voice - "where to?"
Ben claws open the door and almost leaps into the cab. "Cesar's Hotel Jack and I need to be there five minutes ago. I want you to drive like there's a gang of chain wielding priests on yer ass!"
Jack shrugs and slams down the pedal, pressing Ben back into the moldy upholstery and causing the tires to shriek. The cab wobbles into traffic like a weasel on a caffeine buzz and rockets off in the general direction of Cesars.
Once in traffic, Jack reaches onto the seat and picks up the remains of a submarine sandwich that has certainly seen better days - possibly weeks - and begins nosily shoving it into his misshapen craw. The smell of aged luncheon meat and cheap mustard begins to fill the interior of the cab, and the sound reminds Ben uneasily of that time when he provided some extra muscle while some anonymous Al Amarjan mover and shaker entertained some guests by feeding an informant into a wood chipper one extremity at a time. It almost brings a tear to Ben's eye as he remembers the good ol' days.
"Tho..." Jack says around a mouthful of sandwich, "...speakin ov thoth pleethts, yu ha animore tluble wiffm?"
"Ain't seen any sign of 'em, not since they ran off with their tale between their legs. They'll think twice before screwin' with us again. In fact, I think I can safely say we've seen the last of 'em," announces Ben confidently.
The trip to Cesar's hotel is uneventful, if one neglects to mention the very definite nausea one experiences when riding in a cab where Jack Rack is eating lunch. The cab pulls up in front of Cesars, with no black Rolls Royce in sight. Ben pays Jack, manages not to cringe too much in the process, and hurries inside.
As Ben dashes into the lobby, his keen eye spots the form of KK, the
old man, and one of the guys with cutlasses, in one of the elevators just
as the doors are closing. KK likewise sees Ben coming in through
the front doors just as the elevator doors swing shut.
"Yes, Sir Arthur," responds Number Three.
"Um... could you at least warn him before killing him? Maybe he doesn't want to intervene that badly after all?" KK suggests, stroking his neck while looking at the cutlass.
"He knows by now," Sir Arthur replies. "Or he's a fool. Either way the time for warnings is past."
"Second floor," announces the elevator operator. The elevator doors open.
"Come along young man," Sir Arthur says as he tips the elevator operator and steps out into the hallway. The trio approach room 216, which Sir Arthur unlocks with a key. "Number Three, if you would be so kind as to wait in the hallway and make certain we are not disturbed?" he says.
"Yes, Sir Arthur," responds the bodyguard.
"After you," says Sir Arthur to KK, indicating the room.
Without a word KK enters the room and looks towards the place where the collected pieces of Michael should be at, hoping that they haven't been repossessed by some heavenly squad of goody-two-shoes.
Sir Arthur chuckles a bit as he looks at the remains on the floor. "Quite a mess," he comments to himself. He moves over to one wing and examines some of the singed remiges.
"Interesting," he says. "Structurally an exact match for a chicken feather, but enlarged several times." He tugs gently on one feather. "Not simply glued on either, but actually formed within a follicle."
He moves down to examine one of the feet, reaching out to break off a small piece of the less burned flesh, which he first smells, then pops in his mouth and chews with some relish. "Tastes just like chicken," he comments after swallowing. "Not pork, chicken. Dark meat too. Interesting."
Finally, he glances back at KK. "If you don't mind my asking, how much do you want for it?" he asks.
"Well, it is kinda priceless, right? So how about ten thousand?" KK suggests. "Or is that so much that you'd rather kill me? If it is, and I'll just drop the price to whatever you feel like paying. I just want to say that the more you pay me now, the more likely I will be to come to you first when I find the next priceless object," he then adds, feeling that he must at least have some kind of sales pitch.
"Young man, why do you insist on thinking that I have some horrible agenda in mind for you? If I simply wanted to kill you and take the object I would have done so long ago. I believe that I mentioned earlier that your death would inconvenience me only slightly as far as recovery of this object was concerned."
"Yeah, most people don't mention how little my death would inconvenience them," KK mumbles, mostly to himself.
Sir Arthur squats down on the floor, and KK can hear the joints in his knees popping and crackling as he does so. He lets out a soft grunt, then turns his attention once more towards the object on the floor.
"In this condition it certainly isn't worth $10,000." he says. "A human cadaver in good conditionruns around $750.00. This is NOT in good condition, but does have a certain novelty value. From the looks of it I would say that no more than 5% of the feathers are really salvageable, and as for the rest - well, its too well done to be really useful for most purposes. No blood, the internal organs are almost certainly a write off, the head is more or less unrecognizable. Then there is the matter of identification - Michael simply isn't a known angel. As I said, if this was Uriel or Raguel it might be worth more."
He stands up again, slowly, his joints creaking. KK notes that he really IS an old man, despite his rather chipper demeanor.
"All in all I'll offer you $2,000.00 for it - in cash, full payment, on one condition. I am having a little get together in a couple of days, and I am certain that my guests would be fascinated by the story. If you are willing to come and tell everyone how you came to aquire this piece I'll purchase it from you."
"It's not much of a story, and I'm not much of an entertainer. But I guess I'll take it all the same," KK says. Telling a story at a party couldn't be that bad, can it? And if the guests share the interests of Sir Arthur it'll give KK an opportunity to find out if he got a fair deal on the angel. Certainly it's a good pay for just a few hours of near work.
"So what happens now? Pay me and have someone transport the corpse away?" KK asks casually, wondering if Ben, wherever he is at and whatever he is doing, will consider $1,000.00 to be good enough.
Sir Arthur appears to be amused by KKs answer. "Young man, here on Al Amarja it is considered impolite not to haggle - it is an art form beloved by many of the mercantile persuasion. Nevertheless, it would ruin my reputation if I gave a sucker an even break, so I will accept a $2,000 offer. Now then..."
At that moment, two things happen almost simultaneously. First, there is a sharp rapping on the door. Second, the telephone begins to ring.
Sir Arthur stops looking amused. "What is it?" he snaps loudly.
"He's here," comes the muffled voice of Number Three from the other
side of the door. "He just pulled the fire alarm."
Ben discovers, somewhat to his dismay, that due to the way the door opens and the locale of one of the potted plants he cannot actually see the door to his hotel room. He is reasonably certain that he is well concealed, however. He is just in time, as the elevator doors at the far end of the hallway open, revealing the old man, one bodyguard, and KK (Ben can see the elevator doors, just not his own).
"Come along young man," says the old man, handing some money to the elevator operator. The trio moves up the hall, with the bodyguard taking the lead. They eventually pass behind the potted plant, and out of sight, though not out of hearing. "Number Three, if you would be so kind as to wait in the hallway and make certain we are not disturbed?" the old man says, rattling a key in the lock.
"Yes, Sir Arthur," responds the bodyguard.
Ben's memory is jogged like someone just fired a lightning bolt through it - Sir Arthur??? That could only be the notorious Sir Arthur Compton, one of Al Amarja's wealthiest men, and certainly one of the richest in the Edge. He is known as a patron of decadence, and openly sponsors a satanic street gang in Great Men - the Glorious Lords - which he uses as a private army. He is also rumored to throw fabulous (and sometimes lethal) parties. Monique D'Aubainne herself has been known to attend. Sir Arthur is way out of Ben's league - one of the movers and shakers of the Edge.
"After you," says Sir Arthur, apparently to KK.
Before Ben attempts something suicidal, he examines the situation. More specifically, he examines Number Three. The bodyguard is wearing several spiky earrings in his left ear, armored jacket, leather pants, sturdy boots, cutlass sheath on his belt and a fanny pack.
There is a fire alarm just outside the stairwell.
Ben reaches into his jacket and pulls out 'The Persuader', a Stinger Mark V cattle prod. He slides the cattle prod up the left sleeve of his jacket leaving four or five inches of the business end exposed which he then grasps in his left hand. As a side note, having the stinger hidden in this manner will deny Ben the use of that elbow for bending purposes until he removes it from his sleeve. On the plus side, Ben notes that it will make a dandy splint if he ever breaks his arm.
He drops his arm down by his side and adjusts the sleeve until he's satisfied the Stinger is as concealed as possible. Taking a deep breath, Ben steps out into the hallway and immediately pulls the fire alarm.
The guy with the cutlass spots Ben immediately and turns to face him, but does not immediately advance. Instead he stands in front of the door with his sword ready, and raps sharply on the door with his free hand (it's probably around 40 feet down the hallway). Ben yanks the alarm, and his hand and arm are instantly covered with some sort of bright green, fluorescent paint that gets sprayed by the alarm (remember those stories you always heard about fire alarms in school? Well, they're ALL TRUE!).
Nothing else happens.
Ben stands there, dumbfounded, awaiting the sound of a klaxon or some
other loud noise that never comes. After a moment, however, he notices
that all the telephones on the floor seem to be ringing.
There is a metallic *CL:ICK* and a recorded voice says in a charming and calm tone of voice. "There is a report of a fire on your floor. Please do not panic. Proceed at once to the lobby via the stairwell. Do not use the elevator. There is a report of a fire on your floor. Please do not panic. Proceed to the lobby..."
KK hangs up the telephone. A moment later it begins ringing again.
As soon as the phone begins to ring again, KK picks it up and listens silently, thinking that if it's still only a recorded message he might as well leave it off the hook for some peace and quiet. It's still only the recorded message.
While doing this he also checks to see what the others are up to. Compton has pulled out a cellular telephone and is busy dialing it. Sir Arthur isn't particularly trying to be quiet, but he does tend to speak rather quietly. His cell phone is small enough that it does not obscure his mouth.
"Hello, this is Sir Arthur Compton. I am afraid there has been a bit of a mishap up here, and one of my servants accidentally set off the fire alarm. Yes? Yes. Yes, of course I understand." [PAUSE] "Why yes, I would appreciate that very much. Thank you."
He hangs up the phone and begins dialing again. Since Sir Arthur Compton seems to be in charge of the situation, KK just hangs back and takes a look out the window to see if anything interesting is going on out there. Nothing much. People coming and going.
"Contact some of your bennies," says Sir Arthur without preamble, "I'll need about a half-dozen with trash bags and transportation - automobile or truck, not motorcycle, as soon as possible - room 216."
He hangs up the telephone. "Is he still out there?" he yells through the door.
"Yes, Sir Arthur," comes the muffled reply.
As Ben approaches the swordsman yells "He's coming, Sir Arthur!" but any response is drowned out by the ringing of telephones. Several doors on the floor open, but upon spotting Ben and the guy with the sword facing off in the hallway, but not seeing any sign of fire, they all quickly close again.
Ben's paint flick causes the swordsman to flinch for just an instant as a gob of paint spatters on his face. Ben proceeds to do nothing. He merely stands in the hallway and waits, silent and unmoving. The swordsman recovers rapidly from the flicked paint (which did not hit him in the eye) and resumes his stance. As long as Ben remains out of hacking distance he merely stands his ground as well.
Ben stands there eyeing the swordsman just a few moments longer before finally speaking. "Let me assure you, I have no plans to perpetrate any violence upon you or your boss. However, at this time I do intend to enter my own room. Are you prepared to kill me for this?" Without waiting for an answer, Ben begins to slowly move forward ready to dodge the inevitable sword swing.
"Yes," is the immediate reply.
At about this time the various telephones on the floor stop ringing.
That doesn't stop Ben from stepping within sword's reach.
The guy with the cutlass makes an overhand hack, holding the cutlass blade with both hands and aiming for the intersection of Ben's collarbone and neck, but Ben shifts sideways with agility and speed borne of years of avoiding people intent on doing him great bodily harm, and actually manages to feint the swordsman out of position at the same time so that he is no longer in front of the door.
Ben moves in close in an attempt to negate #3's reach advantage. As he steps in, Ben lets the cattle prod slide out of his sleeve and into his hand. Thumbing the on/off switch, he jams the business end into the swordsman's face. Ben's jab takes the swordsman by surprise, and before he can mount an adequate defense or counterstrike he is taking the full brunt of the cattle prod in the face. With a hideous shriek he falls to the ground, twitching spasmodically. The cutlass goes flying across the hall.
Without even waiting to see the body fall, Ben spins around and kicks in the door to his room.
As KK stares out the window, there comes a heart-stopping shriek from out in the hallway. Even as he and Sir Arthur Compton turn to gaze in that direction the door flies open in response to a savage kick and there stands Ben Crutcher in the doorway, holding some sort of cattle prod in one hand.
"How tedious," remarks Sir Arthur.
Behind Sir Arthur's back, KK grins and makes a thumbs-up gesture towards Ben.
"Well if it isn't Artie Compton and my ex-partner," snarls Ben. "Surely your not conducting a business transaction without me? Tell me it aint so, Artie."
"I believe that you stated quite clearly that you had no interest in doing business with me," replies Sir Arthur. "That is what your 'partner' told me at any rate. In point of fact I have purchased this rather decrepit object," he motions to the crumpled remains, "from him. You may work out your 'share' as you see fit - that is no longer my concern."
"Uh, yeah, that's right. But then you said that if I didn't come along you'd have me killed," KK says while stepping up alongside the old man.
"Oh, I'm afraid it is your concern, Artie. You see, I'm fifty percent owner of that decrepit object. That means, without my approval, your deal is null and void." As Ben speaks, he shoves the door shut behind him and moves farther into the room. He takes up position in front of Compton and KK but keeps the doorway in his peripheral vision. "Why don't you start by telling me what you offered my partner for the remains."
"If you have some grievance in this matter, I am certain that we can settle it in court if that is what you desire," replies Sir Arthur with all the assurance of a man who knows that he has a lot more money to bribe judges than Ben does. "As I believe you indicated that you had no interest in dealing with me, I will leave to your compatriot the task of informing you of your fee."
"Well, I wanted ten thousand, and he offered two. So I decided to take it while I was still breathing," KK explains to Ben. "But now that you're here..." KK adds with a shrug.
If Sir Arthur is at all worried by the fact that his bodyguard has been put out of action, or that he's outnumbered two to one, he hides it well.
"An excellent idea," says Ben. "Let's settle this matter in court. I have no doubt it will cost you significantly more money to bribe a judge than it would to assuage my anger. Or perhaps I should phone CPC instead. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to confiscate the remains."
"Good afternoon," says Sir Arthur into his phone. "May I speak to Senior Detective Becker please?" *PAUSE* "Sir Arthur Compton." *PAUSE* "Yes, THE Sir Arthur Compton." *PAUSE* "Thank you."
There is a moment's pause.
"Detective Becker? Arthur Compton here. Yes. Yes. Why thank you! I always attempt to provide my guests with an interesting evening's entertainment, it's the least I can do as host."
Compton listens for a moment.
"You flatter me detective. I regret, however, that this is not a social call. I have discovered an item which may be of some small interest to you professionally. Two street huxters attempted to sell what they purport to be the body of an angel to me. I'm afraid that it is in rather sad condition, but it might still be of interest to your compatriots."
Pause.
"In fact, it is at Cesar's Hotel, room 216. Yes, I am there now, as are the owners of this rather unique object."
Pause.
"Splendid! I look forward to it."
Compton hangs up his telephone. He looks at Ben with wry amusement on his features.
"There you are young man, just as you suggested! I hope that implementing your idea to the letter I have taken appropriate steps to mollify your anger in this matter. It certainly made me feel better!"
He chuckles.
KK just stands there, trying to figure out whether the threat of the law is for real or just a bluff. He decides that it probably is for real, as Sir Arthur Compton probably has more money than he's got patience with people who subdues his bodyguards and calls him "Artie".
"So that's how you turn a $2000 profit into running like hell from the cops," KK says to Ben. "I always wondered but never really wanted to know."
"Why would we run from the cops?" asks Ben. "It's not as though we obtained the angel illegally. If anyone has to worry about the authorities, it's our friend Artie here. He's guilty of breaking and entering and attempted murder. And if it is against the law to sell angel remains, then I would guess it's also illegal to buy them."
"I would run because I've met two of them cops, and at that time I weren't even close to doing something illegal," KK shudders. "And did you notice how he didn't say that he was trying to buy the angel? He said we were trying to sell it, and I'm pretty sure that selling anything even remotely human is illegal. Also, he didn't break in, he got the key from the clerk. Anything illegal he's done is only between the three of us, which makes this a very iffy case. Which means that his money and connections probably will decide the outcome. Don't you think?"
"Your logic is good, young man," replies Compton, "save for the small detail that at the moment I have no particular interest in turning you over to the attentions of the Center for Paranormal Control. Simple confiscation of this detritus, as per your companion's suggestion, proves my point admirably I believe."
"However," Sir Arthur raises one finger and turns towards Ben, "there is one further point. Lest you continue to be misinformed, sir, my proper name is Arthur, not Artie. Also, I hold a noble title granted to me by the Queen, thus it is correct etiquette to put the title 'Sir' before my name. Therefor, the proper form of address is 'Sir Arthur' or 'Sir Arthur Compton.' Using the proper form of address and polite comportment is, at the moment, the most effective thing that you can do to assuage MY anger. And MY anger makes that toy you are carrying seem rather paltry in comparison. Is this clear, sir?"
Sir Arthur arches one eyebrow. An emotional storm can be seen brewing in his eyes.
Ben turns the cattleprod off and replaces it inside his jacket. "Let me see if I have this straight. You're pissed off? How do you think I feel? You tweaked with my partner's head and then threatened to kill him. You broke into my room and attempted to abscond with the angel behind my back. Then, to top it all off, your goon out in the hallway tries to decapitate me. Where the hell do you get off being offended? Considering the circumstances, I think that merely calling you Artie is showing --"
Sir Arthur mutters a couple of words. Ben falls over in a large, rumpled heap. After a few seconds he begins snoring loudly.
"I detest that name," Sir Arthur says. He turns to KK. "If you wish to continue your association with this rather surly individual that is your choice, but he will get you into trouble in the long run."
He reaches into his jacket and once again withdraws his cell phone. He punches a couple of buttons and waits a moment. "Cancel the pick-up here at Cesars," he says, then hangs up. He puts away his cell phone and pulls out a checkbook.
"Now then," he says to KK, "my offer still stands, for the story alone. Two thousand dollars if the two of you will appear at my next festivities and tell how you came upon this interesting object." As he speaks he writes out a check, then tears it out of the book and hands it over. It is a personal check from the account of Sir Arthur Compton in the amount of $2,000.00 with the words "for services rendered" in the memo section.
"You may cash this at the First National Bank of The Edge, located in Golden Barrio." he says genially.
"The two of us?" KK asks with disbelief. "How do you expect to pull off a civilized meeting with him in the future? And how do you expect me to talk him into coming along? I think he's a bit past doing stuff for money, even though I'm still game."
Compton holds up a hand, motioning for silence. "Front desk? This is Sir Arthur Compton. My friend in room 216 would like to change rooms if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Do you have anything else available on this floor? Yes, I can wait."
He catches KK's eye. "If he doesn't want to come, he doesn't have to. Just have him return his share of the money to the address on the check. I must say, however, that I for one will be gravely disappointed if... hello? Yes. Yes, that would be fine. Could you send up someone with the key? Thank you."
Compton hangs up the telephone. "Go out and drag Number Three in here, if you would please. Then start packing your companion's things. We'll be moving him to room 219. And please don't dawdle - CPC will be here in less than ten minutes."
Despite his admonition for speed, Sir Arthur seems to have no inclination to offer any assistance.
Without any audible complaints KK walks out the door, grabs Number Three by his armpits and proceeds to drag him into the room. As a small sign of his dislike for being ordered around he considers letting go of the bodyguard as soon as the man's feet has passed the threshold, but thinks better of it as he doesn't want to accidently step on him when he's carrying Ben's luggage. Instead he drags Number Three further inside the room and then begins to round up Ben's belongings. Apart from checking all the places where people usually keep their stuff, KK also searches a few unusual places, such as the bed, just in case Ben is paranoid enough to hide weapons around the place.
A few minute's work suffices to collect and move all of Ben's belongings to his new room, along with the unconscious form of Ben himself. Number Three is stripped of his cutlass, first aid kit, and armor, and left in Ben's old room along with the angel detritus. Once this is accomplished, Sir Arthur turns to KK and says simply, "I look forward to seeing you at the party day after tomorrow. 7:00 pm sharp. Formal attire is expected," and departs.
Moments the sounds of a splintering doorway can be heard across the hall as a large contingent of CPC officers kick in the door and move to secure both Number Three and the angel detritus.
Meanwhile KK decides to relax a bit in Ben's new room. At first the prospect of having to buy what counts as "formal attire" sounded like he'd lose more money than he'd make, but then he realized that people probably rent those things. Which means that while relaxing he also checks the in-room phonebook for some kind of clothes rental service, though he's still not happy about having to pay a rental fee and actually wear the damn things.
THE FORMAL NOOSE
3173 Prime Rate Blvd., Golden Barrio
After the ruckus across the hall has died down enough to indicate
that the law has left the building, KK makes a halfhearted attempt at waking
Ben up. Ben remains fast asleep.
This causes KK to make himself comfortable and go to sleep as well.
Since there's no comfortable spot left in the room after Ben has been left
on the bed, the floor will do. KK isn't that picky.
To Be Continued...