Bronte's Inferno III (Not The Two of Spades)

‘What do you want, Mr Mitie?’

The taut-skinned man laughed. It was the hoarse bark of a wolf who had serenaded the moon until sunrise.

‘It should be pronounced “Meet-y”. However, it iss not my name – any more than yours is “Sabatini”.’

Valteri “Meety”. I thought about that, later. I remained silent, remembering terrible police procedurals where not saying anything made the suspect run off at the mouth like silence was the ultimate truth drug. In the spirit of truth telling, I should mention that I couldn’t think of anything to say. The man’s chin was still supported by his fists. Though he held my gaze, I could not help but feel he was looking through me, although the passing pedestrians on the other side of the café window were surely not that interesting. I finished my coffee. He held up two fingers without turning to look at Amanda or Kyle Arkwright. I hadn’t seen him drink any of his coffee, but the look on Kyle’s face when he replaced the mug told me they hadn’t either.

‘Well then, I musst tell you it’s not a matter of what I want. No, not at all. It iss mosst definitely a matter of … what you want.’

‘How did you find me? What are you, some kind of Data Miner?’

E-mail to real-world meeting in under an hour. I hadn’t even replied to the e-mail. It was enough to make you believe in vaccine chips, almost.

That laugh again. If he did it when passing a dog in the street it would be fight or flight for Fido, for sure.

‘I told you: nothing is ssecret.'

He made a pass with an open palm over his mug and produced a card. Not the two of spades; a business card, which he handed to me. Red embossed print on thick black card, it read:

'Editor-@-Large,

Charnel House Publishing

chernobog@tchort.ru'

He took out a jewelled toothpick and poked it fiercely around an overlarge canine, not bothering with the covering hand. I didn’t see him put the toothpick away either.

‘Your wish, your dream, your ambition, it iss to see your books published? Or to sell millions? Do you want fortune? Or fame?’

I told him a little of both would be nice.

‘Ah, but you know that both are not possible. Not for you. You only have talent. This iss never enough. It hass not been enough… Well, you know for how long it hass not.’

Elbows back on the table top, he steepled his fingers, and I knew he was about to tell me a lie.