Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

asking, but Valentine preferred to keep his needs and appetites strictly private. Knowledge was power.
    And besides, some of the things he wanted were banned even to those of his rank.
    Which was at least partly why he wanted them.
    A single black rose stood in a slender glass vase in the left-hand corner of the window, and Valentine studied it thoughtfully. The rose was Georgios' way of saying that he had Valentine's order ready to hand. That it was in the left rather than the right-hand side of the window was his way of saying that something was wrong. Valentine smiled slightly and considered his options. He could just walk away and avoid whatever trouble it was. Most likely it was some kind of trap. Like all those who played at the great game of intrigue, Valentine had his fair share of enemies, and then some. But if he did just walk away, he'd never know whose trap it was, and how they'd found out about Georgios. He hadn't thought anyone knew about him and Georgios. Besides, it would mean leaving the dear fellow in the hands of his enemy, and that would never do. He couldn't let people get away with threatening his friends and business partners, or he'd end up without any of either.

    And a good business partner was hard to replace.
    He pushed open the door and walked in quite casually, as though he didn't have a care in the world. It was dark inside the shop. Someone had polarized the windows to keep out the sun. Valentine let the door drift shut behind him and stood very still. He concentrated in a certain series of ways, and drug caches deep in his system opened obediently to the mental triggers and dumped their contents into his bloodstream. Fresh oxygenated blood rushed to his muscles, which swelled subtly, readying themselves for action. His senses became supernaturally acute, and the shadows before him began to give up their secrets.
    There were twelve of them, standing very still at the rear of the shop. Two of them were holding Georgios securely with a hand over his mourn. He could smell Georgios' fear and the anticipation of the others. He could hear the slight movements they made unknowingly, thinking themselves safe in the gloom.
    Valentine's smile widened slightly. There was no safety anywhere for his enemies. They were all dead. They just didn't know it yet. He cleared his throat politely.
    "Turn up the light, someone; there's a good fellow. We can't negotiate in the dark."
    "What makes you think we want to negotiate?" said a voice that tried to sound cultured, but couldn't quite bring it off.
    "If you were assassins," said Valentine calmly, "you'd have killed me the moment I walked in. Therefore, I assume you have something to say to me. Do get on with it. I'm running late for an appointment.
    The light flared up suddenly as one of the shadowy figures cleared the window glass, the bright sunlight revealing a dozen gang members grinning arrogantly at
    him from the rear of the shop. They were all naked, the better to show off the bulging muscles and other enhancements they'd bought from cheap knock-off body shops in the darker back alleyways. They'd all had their skin dyed the same overpowering shade of electric blue to declare which gang they belonged to, and a blazing silver skull had been tattooed on every chest. There were a dozen less painful ways the skulls could have been imprinted on their flesh, but the pain was the point. It was an initiation, a declaration of courage and dedication.
    Tattoos were for life. So was gang membership.
    Valentine recognized them immediately, as he was supposed to. The Demons: one of the larger bands of street toughs who ran wild in the grubbier areas of the city. There were thousands of them in hundreds of gangs; too young, too scared or too smart to be seduced by the call of the Arena, they scraped a kind of living by hiring out to anyone who needed a little muscle. They did other things, too, if you had the money. They fought many battles among themselves over territory or women or what passed for honor among them. As above, so below; the lower orders aping their betters. They also ran simple protection rackets and badger games when things were quiet, but even then they usually had enough sense not to get involved with the Families, suggesting that someone must have laid out a small fortune to set this up. Which, if nothing else, helped to narrow the field.
    Valentine took his time studying the Demons. It wouldn't do to give the impression that he was at all