Vampires? Nonsense. (random story segment)
"I'm-a going to, uh. How they say? Ah yes. Keel you!"
In any other situation Trev would have been laughing his ass off.
But with the Italian-Russian mobster standing right in front of him, the comment flying in his direction, he failed to find the comic relief in the man's crazy accent.
"Look, man. You've got something wrong. I'm the wrong guy!"
The mobster looked him over, stroking his own chin, recently shaved.
"Uh, zomething about you. Zomething tells me that you are just the right man I am, uh, look-eeng for."
A bead of sweat formed on Trevor's brow.
"Ah yes. And your sweating proves me, you are our man."
Trev tensed his body under the pressure, gripping his palms into fists.
The mobster smiled brightly, and then turned around, his new silk suit ruffling quietly as he did so.
"You are the one that will do thees job for me. Or die. You understand?"
Trevor's fists shook, but he nodded.
"You understand. Good."
The mobster sat down at a desk in the office room.
"Now, my men. Take this boy away and inform him of his new job."
Two well-dressed thugs took Trevor by the arms and turned him around, leading him out of their bosses office and down the hallways.
As they walked silently, Trevor wondered to himself how he had got here.
His thoughts wandered to a few months before, when he had arrived in Europe.
He had come to Europe in a traveling abroad program with his school, studying in various countries during his junior year.
But that contract had long been breached, since his kidnap by a crime syndicate where he was being tossed around like the town whore.
Trevor always had an interest in the underworld, the behind the scene crimes that no one ever heard about, and the tightly wound organized crime lifestyle. But he had never wanted to be a part of it.
"State your full name."
Trevor stood silently, his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was in a dark room.
"State your full name!"
A smirk played across Trevor's face, he spat on the man's shirt.
The man scoffed.
"State your name boy."
He pulled out a switchblade.
"Or you lose something dear..."
He pointed the blade towards Trevor's loins, to which Trevor kicked his hand, sending the switchblade out of the would-be interrogator's reach.
As the man lunged for his knife, Trev stomped his boot on the man's wrist, grinding from side to side.
"My name is Trevor Pierre LeStrad. I'm here on an educational visa, and my major of study is ancient history."
He plunged his foot into the man's stomach.
"I've been trained in six different styles of martial arts, and taken my knowledge of them and created my own new school of fighting."
He pushed the man over with his feet and leaned over to pick up the switchblade.
"Take your knife back to your boss and tell him you fucked up."
He dropped to his knees, driving the switchblade into the man's gut. He slammed his head into the man's, which bounced back against the floor, knocking him unconcious, bleeding.
Trevor searched and found the key to the cuffs, letting himself free.
He opened the door, peering at the injured man on the floor, who was groaning.
He turned as he walked out to see a man in a suit.
The man spoke in a russian accent, with some italiano licks.
"That's-a some nize work you do. Trevor you said your name is? You are coming with me."
That's how the current situation had started.
"Oh yeah."
His two escorts looked at him.
"What?"
"Just remembered something."
They chuckled.
"Like how you're going to die for crimes againt the boss?"
"No."
He shook his head, thinking back yet again.
There had been a party. He had let his guard down, and gotten drunk.
He bumped into the man with the switchblade, and got into a scuffle.
Not used to fighting wihle drunk, he did not fare well, and was taken down easily, then put in a van.
"Ah! Must remember never to get drunk again."
"What the fuck you talkin' bought frenchman?"
Trevor shook his head.
"Nothing important to you. Just remembering how this all started."
The two thugs laughed.
"Always thinkin', he is."
Said one.
"Always stuck in the past."
"Never going to go anywhere that way!"
The two men laughed and pushed Trevor through a doorway into a dimly lit room.
Inside stood a man dressed in a nice business suit, his hair slicked back.
"Greetings. I do believe you're the new acquisition, am I right?"
Trevor nodded.
"Ah, please sit down, friend."
The man motioned to a seat at a table. The ends of his shirt sleeves were frilled.
Trevor sat down none the less, and peered through the odd lighting at the man.
"I am Adaman Vlasinki, a friend of your captor, and I'm looking for some help."
Trevor raised his brow at the man's name.
"There's been some nasty disturbances near my manor lately, and I would much like them to be dealt with."
"What kind of disturbances?"
"Oh, well."
Adaman sat down and leaned close, revealing his face.
A fairly aged man, maybe in his mid-fourties. He had pulled back black hair, and a few age lines on an otherwise flawless face.
"The locals in the nearby village are convinced I'm a vampire, the silly cretins. All I need you to do is talk to the people and make sure they understand that their silly fantasies are just that."
Trevor almost bust out laughing, containing himself by putting his hand over his mouth.
"A vampire, eh?"
"Yes, a vampire."
Trev joked, "Well would their silly fantasies have any truthful base."
"Well see," Adaman leaned close. "I do believe that's the problem."
He smiled, showing a fair set of canines.
Trev chuckled.
"You had those put in, didn't you."
Adaman shook his head in despair.
"Now look. I pay this damned company for protection and I expect to get what I pay for, regardless of your questions to my sanity or my intentions! That's what a criminal organization does, protects it's payers by any means. And as I know it, if you don't do any job that russian mobster gives you he'll cut of your scrotum, staple it to your forehead and leave you tied to a tree for the wolves to eat!"
Trev was shaken by the nobleman's uproar.
"But if you're a vampire can't you just protect yourself?"
The thugs had been listening in, and their laughs could be heard.
Adaman was outraged, he stood up and put on his hat, pulling his cane from its rest against the wall.
"Well then I bid you adieu, forsaken one. Go to your grave with your ballsack on your forehead."
As he walked out Trevor stood up and followed him, waving to the guards.
"Well looks like I've got me a job to do. I'll see you guys later."
Trev and Adaman walked into the elevator quietly, and the doors closed with a ding.
"Thanks."
Adaman hit the first floor button, replying.
"No problem. But seriously how could you let yourself get captured by them?"
"It happens sometimes..."
"Oh yeah. Really. Good job idiot. You got drunk again."
"Yeah you know what Vlas? Go fuck yourself."
"You know that's humanly impossible."
"Yeah well you're not a human. So go shove your supernatural vampire dick up your ass and shut the fuck up."
Adaman shook his head, and hit the elevator's stop button. He turned to Trevor, his eyes flaring.
"You insolent fool! I've been gracious to let you know about me, take you in when you violated your educational visa three months ago, and even then I haven't fed off of you, tried to turn you, or just generally killed you. You should be worshipping the ground I walk on and kissing my feet!"
Trevor smiled.
"You really are a dickhead."
He hit the first floor button again, restarting the elevator.
"We've already talked about this. Soon, Vlas. I'm not ready yet."
"Yeah, again with all of your 'I'm not ready. I'm a sissy french wuss' shit."
Adaman flailed his arms in front of him like a sissy little girl, his voice high pitched.
Trevor sighed.
"Fuck you."
The elevator dinged for the last time, it's doors opening.
Adaman called for his driver, getting into the luxurious black benz.
Trevor followed inside.
Adaman snapped and said.
"Home, Jones."
The car drove off, the two men in silent mental combat.