Byrd Man — Roleplayer Guild

Silver Lake 
4:23 AM

“How much of this is bullshit?”

Charlie Rembrandt took his eyes off the road after his question was met with silence. Constantine’s eyes were closed, a smoldering cigarette in one hand and a serene smile on his face. His eyes snapped open and took a long drag off the cigarette before expelling smoke out the cracked passenger side window.

“Real as can be, squire. In the criminal underworld, it’s always convenient to get a fella who can walk through walls to do your dirty work.”

Charlie shook his head. “A magician hitman?”

“It’s a simple way of putting things, but yeah. This isn't a new phenomenon. That kind have always latched themselves to those with money and power. Every king and emperor since the dawn of time had their own wizard at their side. In today's society, an elected official having a Secretary of Magic would be frowned upon to say the least. So they scuttle to the criminals. The big bosses like having them around. Even if most of them are full of shit.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” said Charlie. “A lot of these mob guys I’ve come across over the years are superstitious and believe in things like destiny and fate and all that other horseshit. Probably wouldn’t take much to con them.”

”And I’d say ninety-nine percent of them are grifters more than mages, like yours truly. But that one percent? Well...There were these two blokes, twin brothers you see, who ran the London underworld in the sixties. They had their own court mage for awhile. Under his protection, the brothers were nigh invincible. They won gang wars without losing a man, any time Old Bill raided their shops they had cleaned everything out. Their reputation grew, but their reputation was a load of bollocks. It was all the work of their pet magician.”

"What happened to them?"

Constantine flashed a grin. "They got so full of themselves, they tried to push their pet around. The pet pushed back. The legend goes that the mage performed a spell that fused the two of them together by the nervous system. Twins, sharing one body that had four eyes and four arms and four legs. Like a twisted, two-headed spider The... thing they became blew its brains out after a few hours of miserable living."

Rembrandt came to a stop at a redlight and looked over at Constantine. His eyes were shut again, the cigarette almost burnt down to the label.

“You ever had any experience in that field, John?”

Constantine opened one eye and looked at him for a long, silent moment. He finished off his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window.

“In New York, there was a mafia don. A powerful man who could get anyone to do anything for him. And then one day his six year old son got pneumonia and suddenly died. So the don tried to bend death to his will. The tosser put a gun to my head and told me that I would either resurrect his son, or I would be meeting him in the afterlife.”

“Did it work?”

“Death can’t be bullied, Charlie.” Constantine looked away and instead stared out the window. “I couldn’t bring his soul back, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to get my brains blown out. So I improvised. I put something else in his body.”

“What was that?”

“You got a green,” Constantine said, nodding towards the traffic light. “We’re almost there.”

--- 

Ray’s Occult Books
4:45 AM

“We’re closed!”

Ray Browder’s heavyset face went from scowl to smile as soon as he saw John peering through the bookshop window. He jumped up from behind the counter and hurried over to the door. He unlocked it and opened it up, his smile faltering as he saw Rembrandt standing beside John.

“Who is he?”

“A friend.”

“He looks like a cop.”

“A copper friend, then. I’m helping him out with something.”

“I’m a murder police,” Rembrandt said, flashing his badge. “Unless you have dead bodies in this bookstore, then I could give a fuck about what you did.”

"Careful, Charlie," John said with a grin. "Who knows what kind of mischief young Raymond is up to tonight..."

A few minutes later the they were in the back section of the store. John was busy perusing the books on the shelf while Charlie talked to Ray. The collection Ray had managed to build up over the years was first-rate. Arcane Olde English texts from the Middle Ages nestled among Victorian Era books about spiritualism and satanism, even a scroll written in Sumerian. The scroll was the real deal. He could feel power radiating off of it, like heat from a fire.

Across the way from John, Ray had been listening intently with his arms crossed while Rembrandt explained the situation at Wilshire two nights earlier.

“Know of any blokes who dabble in our trade, love to wear tartan?” John asked, looking away from the books.

“Can’t say I do,” Ray said with a sigh. “He sounds like the real deal, John. The Good People would know of him, probably. My business with them has dried up over the past year.”

“Why is that?” asked John.

“Because there’s no money in it," Rays said with a shrug. "I can’t pay my electricity bill with eyeballs and vial of someone's personal happiness. I’ve started catering to the hipster crowd here in Silver Lake. I stock the shelves with books on Crowley, chaos magic, and serial killer shit. They got money to burn and they love stuff like that. All my serious books I keep here in the back room now.”

“Not to interrupt,” said Rembrandt. “But I’m going to interrupt. Who are these Good People?”

“The magic folk of LA,” said John. “Or at least the ones that claim their magic. It’s a shadow society operating through the city.”

“Imagine hipsters and crazy people,” said Ray. “Then squash them together rather nicely and you’ve got the Good People.”

“No doubt you’ve encountered one or two of them, Charlie. After all, you’re a cop. They dress like nutters, they act like nutters, but at the end of the day… they’re still fucking nutters.”

“The guy you described on the video didn’t seem nuts,” said Rembrandt “He seemed fucking far from it when he snapped that man’s neck like a twig.”

“Dangerous isn’t the same as sane,” said John. He looked towards Ray. “You know of any meet-ups the Good People are having? I need to talk to someone in the know about this guy. When's the last time you saw Epiphany?”

“Months ago,” said Ray. “She's not like the rest of the Good People, but she still only comes around occasionally, mostly when she's looking for inventory. But I know where she'll be this Friday. It’s the thirteenth and a new moon all at once.”

A smile crept onto John’s face. 

“The Auction.”

“That’s right,” Ray replied with his own smile. “The one and only.”
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