Background
In a world where superstition and the supernatural are commonplace, Joel has to find a missing demon
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The Croatian. Not a name Joel wanted to hear. In a world where spirits could quite literally piss in your beer if they didn't like your tribute, the Croatian was a godless man. There were even rumours that he was a demon. Joel had had dealings with him, through various third parties and intermediaries. He suspected the demon rumour was started by the man himself. Some pillars of the community secretly ran sex rings or drug running. Some were all mouth and trousers, all bluster and bragging but possessing nothing to back it up. The Croatian was neither. His reputation matched his actions. He didn't touch kids, he didn't run drugs but every heist, robbery and major break-in in the city was his. If his crew didn't actually do it, another crew had asked his permission and paid for the privilege. And if you didn't pay in cash, you paid in favours. If you didn't honour your debts, you paid with broken bones or scars that would never heal.
His trick was to use demons as his enforcers. Plenty of people did that, but there were defences you could use. There were charms for fire demons, sigils against supernatural diseases, incantations against most of what the underworld could throw at you. But they were expensive, and the Croatian's turnover meant he could spend a lot more money on demons than those foolish enough to stand up to him could spend on protection. When he wanted you hurt he went in mob-handed. Not much you can do when a fire demon and a water sprite went for you at the same time.
And now, according to the old woman, he had suddenly got rid of them. Why? Could that be why Frank was missing? Had he needed to go away in order to get more work? It didn't seem likely. Some spirits were tied to a particular spot, but Ms. Anderton's neighbourhood didn't seem the sort where heavies visited violence on a regular basis. Still, it was worth a punt. If Frank hadn't worked for the Croatian regularly, the Croatian would have at least heard of him.
London is a weird city. Buildings are scattered in a haphazard arrangement, as though someone had dropped a sheet of glass and decided to make the gaps in the mess streets. Alleys twisted and turned into dead ends, or tunnelled through modern buildings to spill out onto a street just as it had since 1666. Ancient houses sheltered under modern glass and marble towers. Pubs that had existed from before the Great Fire nestled in side streets, with lino on the floor that appeared to be as old as the building itself.
Woodins Shades was one such pub. The spit-and-sawdust decor of the public bar was there to attract the yuppies who wanted to walk on the wild side and for foreign tourists who wanted to see the 'real' London. Upstairs were private function rooms and dining rooms with much better décor, or at least more hygienic. Joel poked his head in the door. He ignored the lunchtime crowd; he was more interested in who was upstairs. A lone heavy stood by the door to the stairs, a pint glass in his hand, very much not guarding the door. Joel wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed. He walked through the normal punters towards the stairs.
The heavy clocked him before he'd taken more than a couple of steps into the bar. As Joel approached the heavy shifted position. To a casual observer he looked like a man having a quiet pint, but Joel saw the way his body was angled away from Joel, making a smaller target, and the glass was held at chest level. It was the heavy dimpled type of glass with a handle, or as Joel thought of it, a glass knuckleduster with alcohol for the wounds built in.
"Private function, mate," the heavy explained.
"Any chance of seeing the Croatian?" asked Joel.
"You got two hopes, sunshine. Bob Hope and no hope." He grinned. "And Bob Hope's dead."
"It won't take long."
"It won't take no time at all, 'cos you're not seeing him. Now piss off."
Joel glanced at the door. A tiny muslin sachet hung from the door lintel and part of a scrawl was visible on the jamb. So the heavy was mostly there for show, to open a gap in the enchantments to allow a visitor through. Joel wasn't going to be able to force or trick his way through.
"Okay, but I need to talk to him sometime. Here." Joel fished into his jacket and produced a card. "It's about a demon. I'm not interested in your boss or what he's doing, I just want to find someone. He can reach me here."
The heavy made no move to take the card. Joel carefully extended his arm and tucked it into the breast pocket of the heavy's jacket.
"Bob Hope. Funny. I bet you're a scream at parties."
As Joel turned he muttered under his breath, "Or at least, I bet someone ends up screaming."
