3:18 The Hand Of God
#18 of The Underground Part 3: Parasite
Parasite is the third part of The Underground series
Chapter 18 of 29
The Hand Of God
He always hated the rancid smell of dark alleyways in the lowbrow sections of cities. It was like walking through a landfill, only worse. Along with trash and decaying foods that were wasted, the smell of body fluids of every kind was ever-present in the air. If he were to be in areas like this for too long, he developed headaches from the smell alone. It was the smell of poverty and oppression. But it was because of that smell he held the status he did.
It's not like the stench was a direct cause, more like an aftereffect. The end result of a life of luxury which had been built off the exploitation of others. However, he held no regrets for being where he was. He didn't answer to anyone, and as far as he was concerned, only had himself to let down. Selfish? Maybe. He'd rather be a selfish bastard than a dead one.
Thankfully, he wouldn't have to be here for very long. This was simply a short trip to the underside of society. The Underground had many facets, ranging anywhere from something resembling high society, where he stood figuratively, and the lower class, where he stood literally. One could not exist without the other. It's why The Underground flourished as it did. The rich had the money to spend, and the poor had the lack of self respect to do anything asked for the right price. A sacrifice to the moral conscious, but as far as he was concerned morality was an invention of the mind in an effort to try and convince itself that there was such a thing as good and evil. Nonsense in his opinion.
There was only alive and dead.
As he waited in the dank alley behind a random greasy bar, his paw went to his throat, straightening his tie, dimple perfectly constructed. The grey stallion forgot how cold Arcadia could get when the winter months set in. It had been ages since he had been here, but it still held the same dark elements as he remembered; a port town built around the vices of merchant sailors from back in the day. The only plus was the historical value on the buildings and statues that had been erected during the early founding of the nation.
His eyes shifted as he saw a shadowy figure approaching from the right. The figure walked slumped over, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he tried to hide from the frigid Arcadian air. As he grew closer, light fell upon the figure, revealing him to be a white and brown hare.
Xen Hets took a step forward, fearing nothing about the hare. Normally, anyone dressing as he did, in an expensive taylor-made suit, would be a prime victim for a mugging. But the stallion had nothing to fear. He casually ran his paw through his electric blue main, parting it to the side. It had grown a little longer than he was used to, but now that he didn't have a public image to maintain he had decided to let it grow.
"Has she taken the bate?" Hets asked aloud in his powerful voice.
The hare nodded slightly, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. "Hook, line and sinker." He replied in his crude slang. "What rock did you find that crazy motherfucker hiding under?"
"We have our history..." Hets replied in his placid tone. "It is important that both he and the one you refer to as Isis know nothing of my involvement in this affair." He explained to which the hare nodded. He made himself as clear as he could to this individual of questionable intellectual ability. Where he was used to speaking to people more on his level, Hets reminded himself of how literal one had to be around here. "And the Nine Pillars," Hets continued, "are they going to be an issue?"
"Nah, they've moved on to other contract bids." The hare replied in his raspy voice.
Hets nodded. Things were slowly starting to take shape. "Excellent, make sure they do not interfere. If they become a problem, I will deal with them accordingly." The stallion paused, looking down the alley, then back to his contact, who's name Hets hadn't bothered to remember. "Do you know if the Organized Crime Bureau has gotten involved yet?"
"Not sure." He shrugged. "You were right about that guy who's been tailing Isis for the past few years. He found that mercenary pretty quick. How'd you know he'd do that?"
Hets's eyes narrowed. He didn't like this guy. He asked too many questions; more than what was necessary or in his best interest. "You need not worry yourself with petty details." Hets replied, his placid tone taking a much firmer, biting one. "You need to be sure to tell me what Isis's plans are for him, like you failed to earlier."
The hare looked taken aback. "What the hell you talkin' about?" He asked, sounding put off.
"Last night, the shooting Downtown. Isis sent him there, did she not?" Hets asked point blank, calling the hare out on his shortcomings as an informant. "It is information like that I want to know about and why I pay you as much as I do."
"Alright, alright!" The hare replied, backing up a bit, palms upward in defense. "That was spur of the moment and sounded like a milk run, okay? I didn't know he'd light the place up like a redneck skeet shooting competition!"
"All the same, I told you that I wanted to know everything Isis had planned for him." Hets reenforced, taking a step toward the hare. "You do not want to disappoint me again..."
The hare's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?" He asked defensively.
"I am warning you." Hets corrected, still sounding placid, not backing away. "I gave you very explicit instructions on your assignment and I am paying you very well for your participation, yes?"
"Yeah, you're checks are pretty nice." The hare nodded. "But let me tell you somethin', Mr. Slicksuit. I don't respond good to having threats thrown in my face. So, if you don't want me to ruin them pretty clothes of yours, I'd back off."
As the stallion looked down at the hare, dwarfing him by quite a few inches, he let out a quieted laugh which barely escaped his lips. "That would be highly inadvisable." He said, shaking his head condescendingly. "No more mistakes." Hets commanded, index finger of his paw pointing at the hare, inches from his face. "None."
With the thought in mind of the last person who had failed him, Hets turned and began walking out of the alley, the heels of his expensive shoes clicking on the moist pavement as he looked for an exit from this cesspool of society.
"Who are you anyway?" The hare asked, again with the questions.
However, Hets didn't even pay him the respect of an answer. He simply continued on his way. Reliable help was so hard to find anymore these days. It was a little sad. The lowlife, degenerates of The Underground always seemed to let him down. Everyone always seemed to disappoint him... well almost everyone. There were a select few who never failed to amaze him. It was these who Hets chose to keep tabs on, tugging here, pushing there, making sure certain events came to pass.
Some would think that the larger your bank account was, or the higher position of authority you held was directly proportional to how powerful an individual you were. Untrue. Power came as influence, you could be rich and powerless. Likewise, you could hold a high position of authority, but if others were controlling you and calling the shots, what power did you truly have? The ability to manipulate and control went beyond any account number or political position. Hets's influence came as gently as mere suggestions to those around him, but were as powerful of coercion. Usually said individuals knew nothing of his involvement, leaving them to believe they were acting on their own accord. That was true power, and he loved it. In his experiences there was no such thing as deus ex machina. Everything happened for a reason; nothing was without cause. As his mind continued down this line of thought, a smile crept over his content muzzle as he strolled down the darkened streets.
If there were such a thing, that would make him God.