Chapter 34: Chapter thirty-three

Present day

 

Since that fateful night all those years ago, Hassan had gone straight. Well, straight-ish. He still played illegal poker, slept with hookers, and carried an illegal weapon. But he wasn’t selling arms to terrorists anymore, so by comparison he was practically a model citizen. He certainly wasn’t doing anything that should get the attention of any of the world’s so-called superheroes, especially one that was supposed to be dead.

Which is why it was entirely unfair when he came home from a long night of fleecing idiots at the local casino to find a figure standing in the shadows of his home, wearing a cape and a hood.

“Fuck that,” he said immediately. “I’ve not sold anything to anyone unless you count a quarter ounce of coke to my idiot friend. I’ve been laying low, minding my own business. I don’t need any Oblivion is coming bullshit today!”

“Are you done?” the man who looked like Oblivion said. It was the same empty voice and any hope that this was a prank seeped out of Hassan.

Hassan sighed and poured himself a stiff drink. He grunted in the affirmative as he slumped into a chair.

“I need information,” the figure said.

“What about?” Hassan asked.

“I need to know the time and place for the next Night Market.”

“I hear there’s a nice one down by the beach on Saturdays, artisanal crepes and all that,” Hassan said.

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The figure said nothing, and the silence dragged on uncomfortably.

“What makes you think I even know where the Night Market is? I’m not in that line of work anymore.”

The figure remained silent. Hassan, of course, knew exactly where the Night Market was held as, even if he wasn’t trading in weapons anymore, he had never explicitly said as much and so was still on the invite list.

“Okay, okay,” Hassan said, abandoning the pretence that he wasn’t going to talk. Some criminals, even ex-criminals, made a big deal of loyalty, claimed they would never snitch, but in Hassan’s experience people were only loyal while it was in their best interests. He wasn’t going to take another sword to the foot just to keep the secrets of a bunch of degenerates. No, best to get this guy out of his house ASAP and then invest in some better security.

“It’s Tuesday at ten in Washington. It’s being held in the Franciscan catacombs, though fuck knows how they got the monks to agree to that.”

The figure nodded and seemed to melt into the shadows. Hassan might have wondered how he did that if he wasn’t too busy being relieved he hadn’t been stabbed.

 

 

The man in black left Hassan’s house and discarded the bedsheets he had used to fashion a makeshift costume. He knew where the Night Market was being held and, if he was right about the account the Program had set up, and he was certain that he was, then Smythe would have someone there to acquire one of the pieces of tech up for auction.

Which meant he had to be there.

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