Don't Get Cross, Get Even

[Ximena Reina Abeja]

He stood in his office over looking the night's festivities. Everyone down below him were just patrons, simple night to night club goers looking to unwind from the day of hard work and heavy stress. The dark, smoky atmosphere and the loud thumping music was all they came for. He couldn't fault them in the slightest, Cross looked down at them and offered them all a smirk, complimenting them silently on their stalwart efforts to escape the monotony of their boring lives. They came this far, they deserved a good time.

And yet, they were still ignorant. Blind, dull, and asleep like the rest of the world and the more Cross looked at them the less interested he became. Morons who just sat on their iPhones tweeting and checking Facebook statuses when there was a wide open world right in front of them waiting for them to jump right into it with both feet. No. Today was nothing but a world of internet memes, poor grammar, hash tags and an idiot generation whose average reading level had drastically dropped in the last fifteen years by a percentage he was embarrassed to even think about. Yet here he stood, trying to remind himself why he bothered saving these fools when they obviously couldn't save themselves.

"Yo, Cross." Sean, one of his securtiy staff, a large ex-Navy S.E.A.L. who'd been on the pay roll since the opening of the club nearly ten years ago, poked his head in the door of the V.I.P. suite. "That Lacey bitch is here, says she wants to see you. That cool?"

"Lacey?" He turned and looked to Sean with an expression the pleased for the man to help him remember her.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, fake tits, gold digger, can suck a golf ball through a crazy straw... Lacey."

Now he remembered why he bothered saving these fools: nice tits and great head.

"Oh, Lacey." He still hadn't the foggiest fucking clue who she was, but gave Sean the nod anyway.

It was the same old bullshit: drinks, a little chat about the boring, senseless things she felt were important about her life. Yadda, yadda, yadda, He smiled and rolled his eyes, not giving two shits about a single solitary thought she'd offered him in the last half hour. He sent several texts, hell, even did a few tweets and checked his Facebook status while she bored the hell out of him. Actress, college, just wanted to meet the right guy...

What the fuck-ever.

The door cracked open again. "Cross, Dr. Shayna Reed?" He seemed unsure who this woman could be and it was obvious.

"Oh! Now I've been expecting the good doctor, send her on in, bro."

An attractive, short blonde woman in her mid thirties walked into the suite. She was about as out of place as a person could be in this place with her designer business attire; bland gray skirt and blazer with a some ugly ass white blouse. What. The. Fuck. Cross appraised her and found that her exceptionally high heels marked her as a closet freak. If not, hell, at least she looked hot in them.

"Mr. Cross." She began, he snooty accent kinda making him a bit randy. "As per our conversation on the phone earlier... Oh dear Lord..." The scene flushed the woman with embarrassment almost immediately when she witnessed what was happening on the couch. Lacey's head bobbed continously in Cross's lap, plunging vigorously as he sent a text on his phone. She spun about, looking away from the man and his vice. "Mr. Cross, I can wait outside if you need to finish prior... appointments."

"Doc, it's just a blowjob, seriously, lighten up woman." He smirked at her back, popping a sour cherry candy in his mouth. "Surely a smart lady like yourself has given out some brain once or twice in her life."

"I assure you I've no idea what that means, and either way, it's none of your business." She fumed, trying to get the image out of her head. "Need I remind you that what we've to discuss is very sensitive. Some privacy would be, appreciated."

With a couple taps on her head he got Lacey's attention. "Lacey, honey, I gotta talk with the good doctor here, so you can go now. Kaythanksbye."

"But, Cross..."

"No, seriously, leave." He nodded his head to the door as she stood up and began walking in that direction. "And wipe your mouth for crying out loud, you look like a drooling retard." His belt jingled and his zipper gave the tell late sound he was fixing his appearance. "Oh, it was great seeing you and all that, come by later and finish me off... I'll pretend to listen to you and shit, promise."

Walking across his suite he collapsed in his overstuffed chair and kicked his feet up on his desk. "Alright, you got me Doc. Let's get busy..." He smirked, knowing she knew what he was implying with his choice of words. "So, how is the Westminster Society these days? Been awhile since the ol' Choir Boys looked me up."

"We are well." She said flatly. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she sat down in front of his desk, she continued. "I'm here to inform you that after extensive, investigative research within the Traditions, there is no evidence to support your claim. Reverend D'Laney, whom you shot and killed several months ago, was not involved with the Marauders. It's for that reason the Traditions, specifically the Celestial Chorus, have sent me as a mediator to negotiate recompense for the killing, accidental or otherwise, of one of their members. I must remind you that your... non-affiliated status, makes this matter a very delicate one."

He listened calmly, smirking a there the whole time while he wobbled his feet to and fro on his desk. It was obvious the man could care less for a single thing the doctor had to say and when she was finished he offered up his retort. "Fuck you, and fuck the Traditions that sent you lady. First of all, I never said he had Marauder ties."

"But... my notes..." She began sifting through a manilla folder filled to its capacity with papers and post-it notes.

"What? The notes given to you by whom? The Chorus?" He laughed and clapped his hands a couple times. "Lady, you have no fucking clue. Do you know what you are? You're a fucking custos, aware or not you're a boot-lick, a toadie, a fop for a Tradition that has been covering up the truth for more years than have ever been recorded. They're the fucking church, you dip shit, did you honestly think they'd give you the facts?"

She swallowed hard, his barrage of slander worked her over until she was flushed all over again. "Mr. Cross I assure you there is no reason to speak like..."

"I didn't shoot D'Laney because I thought he had Marauder ties, I shot the bastard because he was fucking little boys." He pulled open a drawer, produced a folder of his own, and tossed it clear across the desk the woman, heedless of whether or not she was prepared for it. It startled her and the picture within were all over the area around her chair and upon his desk. Pictures that showed D'Laney committing heinous acts upon young boy of his congregation. "Take that back to your superiors and tell them if I catch them doing it again, I'll kill the bastard responsible for it, just like I did before." He spun around a picture on his desk. It was of him and a small boy, recently taken. The child wasn't more than five and the two looked happy and spending the day in a park somewhere in the springtime.

"We are not human, Dr. Reed." He said a bit more calmly, taking the look at the picture for himself. "We don't have the laws like they do. We don't have 25 to life and a court system. We're supposed to be the good guys, staving off the evils of the world and helping these poor souls out there try and live one more day while there's still a little magick left in it. We're not supposed to be the rapists and the murderers... but sometimes we are. And when we get out of line, there is no 911 that we can call to fix things. D'Laney crossed a line, and I sentenced him. As a father, a man, and Templar."

She took a deep breath, prcessing everything before collecting the pictures together and placing them with her notes. "You used that term again, Templar. I've been able to find no archival data to support the claim of Templars. There is no history of such an organization existing within Awakened Society, aside from the printed history of the Knights Templar, or course."

"That's because you're looking in Tradition archives. Templars can not be Tradition Mages, or Nehapndi, or Marauders, or Technocrats. We have to be completely unaffiliated. I told you that last time, fuck lady, did take note one while we were talking?"

"I did, but um... this is a highly unusual topic." She pressed her glasses up once more, clicking her recorder on. "Please, tell me... why only the unaffiliated?"

"Because we have no ties to anyone, we've accepted no side." He popped another cherry candy in his mouth from a bowl that was on his desk. "We remain neutral, and our job requires us to remain unbiased."

"How many or you are there and why are you telling me all this?"

"Nine at any given time. No more, no less, and I'm telling you because by all accounts we shouldn't be here. The world was supposed to all go to shit in two-kay and it didn't. My contract got extended and I think if we're going to be around for awhile it's about time people in our circles know. I got the okay from the boss, it's cool, don't worry."

"Well, in that case," She sighed in relief now that the unsavory business was out of the way and Cross seemed calmed down, for the moment at least. "Why don't we start at the beginning, hmm? Who are the Templars? Who do you answer to, and why are there only nine of you?"

"Well, now there's a tale..." He smiled and leaned back in his chair.