Defer to Blake

Xabar has a number of suggestions that immediately come to mind. A significant percentage of them involve ****, nudity, and the necessity of using his prepared list of excuses about why he will not be able to stick around to be a father to an emerging rugrat. He is about to tell Gwendolyn that just as a genie can be liberated by someone rubbing a lamp, she would be able to help him immensely by rubbing something of his. Before he can make this suggestion, however, Blake speaks up.

“I’m sure the viscount is very grateful for your concern, Miss, but he did ask me to remind him of the urgency of getting to his next appointment without unnecessary delays.”

Xabar shoots his acquaintance a glare that basically says, “What the fuck?”

Blake, in a calm voice, says, “Remember, Lord Xabar, about the Family you were so eager to meet?”

Xabar considers Blake’s words as he looks reluctantly at Gwendolyn. As much as his brain tells him that he really does need to get as much distance from place as possible, there is another part of his body that generally does his thinking for him, and it is telling him that he is passing up a rare treat in the form of Gwendolyn.

With more self-control than he is typically known for, Xabar takes Gwendolyn’s hand and kisses it. “I’m afraid, my dear, that my associate is quite correct. My services are needed elsewhere. I am going to have to take my leave of you.”

Gwendolyn looks confused. “But I thought you were going to sign some papers for the constable about Mrs. Peterson? And what about the weakness you have been feeling? And when will we be able to plan our wedding?”

It is the last question that settles any wavering commitment on Xabar’s part. He long ago decided that the only time he wanted to be anywhere near a wedding was to be on hand at the reception, when any inebrieated bridesmaids began to lament that they had not yet found “Mr. Right.”

He gives her hand another kiss and promises her that he will be in touch as soon as he has dealt with the important business that awaits him.

Gwendolyn reluctantly bids her farewells, and within moments the two men have separated from the confused and heartsick young woman.

“You really do have the devil’s own timing,” said Xabar. “That’s twice now that you talked me out of a few moments of blissful respite in the arms of a willing beauty!”

“And I probably saved your balls from being kept on Mrs. Peterson’s fireplace mantle as a trophy,” responded Blake. “How long do you think it will be before the constable figures out that Hager Mendholson isn’t a doctor?”

Xabar shrugs. “Hopefully longer than it takes for the real Hager Mendholson to graduate from school and get the hell out of these parts. He really wouldn’t have a clue about how to get out of that jam if I’m not around to help him.”

The young men make their way through the dark streets, checking every few minutes to see if they are being followed.

“How far away is this ‘Family’ of yours, anyway?” asks Hager. “And do they have any food? I’m quite peckish.”

“Not much further,” says Blake. “You know, I really have to hand it to you.. What I witnessed back there was nothing short of awe-inspiring!”

Xabar looks in surprise at his new friend. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the way you handled Gwendolyn ... and the constable, too! Oh, sure... Gwendolyn is as dumb as a rock, but even so, the way you so deftly handled her questions and rolled with surprises! And then there was the constable! You had him eating out of your hand, and you didn’t even have to resort to magic!”

Xabar is unaccustomed to anyone other than Hager genuinely admiring him, and he finds himself warming up to his new associate. He shrugs and says, “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“A gift no doubt honed by a lifetime of talking yourself out of jams?” ventures Blake.

Hager shrugs again. “Let’s just say that I’ve had more than my fair share of practice.”

They arrive at a house at the end of a lonely street and stop. Blake looks up and down the road carefully before approaching the front door and knocking with three short raps, followed by two long ones, and ending with two more quick knocks.

Long moments pass before the door slowly opens a fraction. Blake says, “It’s me, and I’ve brought a friend for Mommy to meet.”

Xabar raises his eyebrows “Mommy?” If that’s the name of the leader of this organized crime syndicate, and if it is supposed to invoke fear and respect in the hearts of potential adversaries, then this “Family” evidently needs some new blood in their marketing department.

Some words of hushed conversation are exchanged between Blake and the unseen person on the other side of the door. After a few moments, the door opens, and Blake ushers Xabar through into a dark room.

When the door is closed behind them, Xabar finds himself in a dark room, lit only by a single candle. From its light, he can make out the shadowy figures of three others, in addition to him and Blake. One of the figures approaches. Its large cloak, combined with the low lighting disguises the figure’s face, but it cannot hide the fact that the person standing in front of Xabar is massive. Xabar tips his head back and unsuccessfully tries to see the face that towers at least a full foot above his own.

“Strip.” says the deep, commanding voice.

“I beg your pardon?” says Xabar.

“You heard me,” says the voice again. “Off with the clothes. All of them. Unless you want to go back out the door — one piece at a time.”

Xabar gulps and turns toward Blake for direction, but in the low lighting of the room, he sees nothing from his new associate that offers him any kind of direction or comfort.