Chapter 27: Philus and His Boys Get Into A Scrap

“I didn’t know it would be this crowded,” Philus admitted. He, Markus, and Gregor were crammed up against the bar itself. Gregor sat gingerly, fearing each weary groan of his stool. Markus’ legs dangled above the floor. He was the only one of them who looked moderately comfortable. Around them, the Fighting Beetle bustled.

“Feels like I’m gonna suffocate,” Gregor muttered, hunching in on himself. “I’d feel a lot better if I wasn’t wearing...this.” He pawed at his ratty, too tight shirt.

Markus finished his drink. “The shirts are awful, but the crowd might actually be an advantage,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “With this many people here, they’re not likely to notice or recognize us. On the other hand, how the hell are you going to get her to drink it?”

It wasn’t an unfair question, but Philus hated it. Now that they were there, had their potion, and saw their target, doubt crept in. Razia and her friends were right there, completely unaware. Once she drank it, everything would be very simple. Either her friends dragged her out of there and they ambushed them on the road, or hell, maybe they’d just walk up to the table and have Gregor carry her drugged up ass to the nearest beetle so they could cash in.

It’d be a lot simpler if there were fewer people here, if it wasn’t so godsdamned loud at the bar. Philus could hardly hear himself think, and the butterflies in his stomach weren’t helping. The potion hung heavy in his pocket. He slipped his hand around the vial protectively for the tenth time that night. “It’s simple,” Philus said, projecting more confidence than he felt, “we drug them all.”

Markus snorted. “Yeah, that won’t look suspicious at all. An entire table of whores suddenly rolling around on the ground and moaning. Totally circumspect.”

Heat flooded Philus’ head. “Then it’s either that or we gamble and hope it all turns out for the best,” he shot back. “If they all keel over, we can grab her and be out of here before anyone who might care has time to do something about it. In and out, in ten…Wait a minute. Don’t look!”

Markus and Gregor snapped their heads back to facing forward. Philus sat sideways, ostensibly facing Markus but he watched Razia’s table out the corner of his eye. One of the cute waitresses stopped at their table with an empty tray and was bent over, talking to them. “I think this could be our chance,” Philus said.

The waitress didn’t stay there long. Just long enough to get their orders and come up to the bar. Philus spun around, hunching down and willing the waitress to not notice him. Never mind that he was just another patron and hadn’t done anything yet. The nerves were eating him alive.

“Two beers and a wine, Jerry,” the pink haired waitress called out to the bartender. She sat the tray down on the counter, leaning against the bar and looking away from them.

Philus and the boys had known each other for years. At this point, they could communicate entirely through expressions. As the man behind the bar filled three cups, they carried on an entirely silent conversation.

Now’s your chance, jackass. What are you waiting for? Markus frowned and jerked his head towards the cups.

Which cup do I pour it in? Do you know what she drinks? I don’t know what she drinks. Stop looking at me like that! Philus gesticulated wildly at the cups, stopping when the bartender paused to stare him down. He held his hands up and turned away.

Gregor shrugged.

The drinks filled, the waitress lifted the tray.

It’s now or never, what are you waiting for? Markus grimaced, eyes darting to and from the drinks.

She’s not going to let us just dump the potion in, now is she? We’ve blown it. Philus’ face twisted in anguish. He pulled the vial out and pulled the stopper out, but paused.

Gregor stood and blocked the waitress’ path. He was way too close, leering at her. “Hello you pretty thing,” he said. “Wanna fuck?” His eyes darted to Philus. Now!

Philus held the potion over the cups and hesitated. There was no way to tell which one was hers. He upended half the bottle into the nearest beer. Before he could pour the rest into the other drinks, the waitress called out, “Mitch!” and he panicked, pulling away.

The man behind the bar pulled out a nasty looking gnarled club from under the bar and gave it a pat. “Get out of her way or you’ll be scooping your brains off the floor.”

Gregor outright laughed. He was half a head taller than the bartender and had at least fifty pounds on him, club or no. But a nod from Philus later and he backed away from the waitress, hands up. She gave him a dirty look and walked past him, on towards the table where the girls waited for their drinks. The bartender gave them a sharp look and put the club away. He snorted and took some empty cups to the back.

Philus’ heart pounded in his chest as the waitress set each drink down, one by one. By sadistic chance, the drugged drink was the last to go. The whores all reached for a drink. Markus sucked in a sharp breath. Gregor tapped Markus on the shoulder, pointing before Philus pulled his hand down. The right drink went in front of Razia.

The Fighting Beetle was a loud, boisterous place, but it wasn’t loud enough that the hushed laughs and cries of excitement from the three of them went unnoticed. People looked up from their drinks to watch the three men fall on each other with hugs and laughter. All of that anxiety from before, all those nerves, all of them were worth it. Gregor wrapped his arms around the other two and shook them in place as Markus let out an exhilarated laugh. They did it.

Well, not quite. Even as they celebrated, Philus had his eye locked on that corner table. Razia had her drink in her hand, but wasn’t drinking it. She was talking animatedly to the redhead, who was laughing at whatever it was. Razia stopped, looking up at something and beaming. A second later, she was blocked by three new people.

Including the moonkissed asshole. Pure hate welled up in Philus’ chest. His nose was still tender and he had trouble breathing through it when he slept. The only thing that would make this night better would be getting to kill him before they dragged Razia down south. Philus was under no illusions that he could take the freak in a fair fight. But everyone who fought day in and day out knew that there was no such thing as a fair fight.

“Shit,” Markus spat. “There’s the moonkissed. And two other assholes. Well, so much for the plans. She’s not going to be helpless with him around. And once she drinks it he’ll know something is up. Fuck.”

Philus grunted in agreement. If it came to a fight, things weren’t in their favor. Not with the two other guys, though Philus didn’t think much of the short man with the bushy beard or the skinny teenager. They didn’t look especially dangerous, but more people meant more complications. There went the plan, ruined by pure bad luck. “Fuck. I guess this is it, boys,” Philus sighed. “This was our last chance.”

Markus patted him on the knee. “This was a good try, brother. Really. I know I’ve been giving you shit about it, but this was some proper planning, and it was close. We’ll go back home and find some other way to make it.”

“Hey, look!” Gregor smacked Philus in the shoulder and nodded back towards the table. The old man and the teen were no longer blocking their vision. Razia and her bodyguard stood to the side. Razia handed the moonkissed her drink. He took a big gulp.

Just like that, Philus was excited again. “Oooh, that’s not part of the plan,” he said, grinning with excitement.

“No,” Markus was on the same page as him. “But this could be good too. She’ll be a lot easier to grab if he’s not capable of protecting her.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. Gregor,” Philus said, “You can hold her down while we make her drink the rest of it. She’ll drop too and we can trade in her for more money than we’ve ever seen. Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Gregor and Markus crowed.

The bartender came back to them. “If you’re not buying drinks, then get the fuck out of here.” He said it with no particular heat, and Philus was too giddy to be offended.

“Right, we’re done here anyway,” He said. He pushed his way through the crowd and his boys followed. They went and stood out in the empty lot across the street where a man and a woman played music for a small group. They stood out there, watching the door, waiting.

They didn’t have to wait long. Another three minutes and the train of whores streamed out of the Fighting Beetle, heading east without looking their way. Philus pointed, and they followed at a distance. They kept their hands on their daggers but didn’t draw them yet. This was a busy street. Too busy. Philus frowned. Razia and company were in a decent sized group, and this street was busy. This was going to be ugly if they did it wrong.

“We’re going to go in fast and hard,” Philus said just loud enough for the others to hear. “Don’t say it,” he shot a warning look to Gregor, who promptly closed his mouth. “We need to do this fast enough and be gone by the time they realize what hit them.”

“What about the men they got with them?” Markus asked, nodding toward the blonde teenager and the old man, who stood at the back and front respectively.

“Gregor, take out the kid. Shouldn’t be an issue, right?” Philus elbowed Gregor in the side.

“They’ll be scraping what’s left of him off the ground,” said Gregor, baring his teeth in a horrible grin.

“Then I’ll take the old man, I suppose,” said Markus, letting out a theatrical sigh. “You just want to see two short men fight, admit it.”

“Guilty,” Philus laughed breathlessly. There was no question what his task was. He’d shank the moonkissed and grab Razia. They were so close now. They were lucky, honestly. The bitches talking to each other masked their footsteps and muttered conversation. Maybe the Wanderer was looking out for him that night, blessing his endeavor to get rich quick.

Far in the front, the moonkissed stood a head taller than the rest of them, even with the way he swayed and staggered down the street. Occasionally he let out a laugh Philus found grating as hell. He said something Philus could barely no make out, and then the whore turned around and saw them.

His eyes locked on hers. Time slowed to a crawl as the two recognized each other, and realized what was about to happen. One, maybe two seconds that dragged into a joyously teasing eternity. Philus grinned, and let out a sharp whistle. His boys knew what to do from there.

On either side of Philus, his boys charged. Gregor immediately went for the teen, who turned around just in time to see Gregor’s fist smashing into him. He dropped to the ground and kept going, rolling away. By the time that was over, Demetrius tackled the blocky older man, and the two of them went to the ground, rolling around.

Philus waited just long enough to see both of these things happening before he attacked. He ran forward, heart pounding with excitement as he went straight for Razia. For some reason, she didn’t look afraid. Startled, sure, but not afraid. Philus found out why when she ducked out of the way and let her bodyguard do the talking for her. The moonkissed may have been drugged out of his mind, but he was on his feet and seemed to realize a fight was breaking out. He pointed vaguely at Philus.

“Not you again,” Quentin said, voice thick and dulled. “I’ve jusst about had enough of your shit.”

“I was thinking the same about you, freak,” Philus hissed. “I haven’t been able to breathe right since.”

A high pitched scream sounded from behind. Philus chanced looking over his shoulder, and his stomach dropped. The teen was back on his feet with Gregor throwing wide punches with a fist as big as the kid’s face, but the kid was as swift as a snake and bobbed and weaved out of the attacks, finally striking Gregor in the sides after dodging a particularly heavy swing. He wasn’t big, but he struck fast, driving bony knuckles into Gregor’s ribs. Even over the chaos of the brawl, Philus heard Gregor let out a pained oof.

Gregor wasn’t alone in having trouble. Markus was still on the ground, but he was on the bottom and the older man raised up just enough to get leverage to punch Markus in the face repeatedly, while the short man threw his hands up to do whatever he could to block the blows raining down on him. Philus turned around in time to see the moonkissed swinging at him. Philus barely avoided taking it in the face. All the while, one of the whores was still screaming at the top of her lungs.

“You made a serious mistake,” Razia howled from behind Quentin. Philus scowled at her, but she looked triumphant, not scared. “Get his ass, Quentin!” she called.

No, not this time. Philus drew the dagger from his belt and crouched in a knife fighter’s stance. He didn’t wait for his opponent to do the same. Philus wanted the bastard dead. The moonkissed realized what was happening too late. His senses dulled, he tried to move away from the wild slash but the sharpened glass dug into his arm and across his chest. His hiss of pain was like music to Philus’ ears.

“Say uncle. Say uncle!” The older man roared on top of Markus, driving one more punch into his nose while Markus weakly whimpered. He was never much of a fighter, and apparently his opponent was. The old man seized Markus by the nose and twisted until he howled with pain.

Gregor’s chest heaved for breath. In the past minute or so of fighting he’d only managed to land a couple good hits on the teenager, who had blood smeared around the corner of his mouth but otherwise was none the worse for wear. Even with Gregor standing in place, fists up defensively, the teen bounced in place like he was ready to go another ten rounds.

The moonkissed took a step back, looking at his cut up forearms stupidly. He looked back up at Philus and flung his cloak off of him. He went for his own knife, which Philus remembered was real steel and nearly twice the length of the sharpened glass daggers he and the boys carried. Twin lines on his arms near his elbows bled freely, continuing on to his chest. They weren’t deep, but they were a start.

Philus feinted and Quentin fell for it, dodging an attack that wasn’t coming while Philus dropped the blade into his other hand and slashed again. This time he caught the moonkissed in the side, gouging out a solid line from his side all the way up to his arm. He let out a pained cry and his legs buckled for a second, but Philus already danced away from the expected retaliation.

The drugs were enough, he realized with rising excitement. This was it. They were fighting in the middle of a busy street with witnesses everywhere, but at bare minimum he was going to earn his pride back by killing the freak who put him into this madness in the first place. Never mind the fact that Philus’ obsession was his own; it was easier to put it all on the moonkissed who was panting and holding his side.

Gregor let out a triumphant scream as he caught the teen’s fist and squeezed. He pulled and turned with it, spinning until his opponent’s feet were off the ground. A second later he let go and the kid sailed through the air until he collided with his mentor, sending both of them off of Markus. Markus scrambled to his feet. He looked a right ugly mess, but he was still going.

The slender, dark skinned whore took off away from the fight, further on east. Philus let her go. There was only one of them they cared to keep. Two, if Gregor got his way and they kept the redhead. That wasn’t going to happen. They’d already took too long in subduing the bitch, but there were few things as fun as a proper scrap and his boys had been overdue some fun.

Razia was at Quentin’s side, whispering in his ear and applying pressure to the wounds at his side. They weren’t going to be fatal, but he was losing blood. Philus didn’t need a clean, decisive win. Just as long as his opponent dropped eventually. The moonkissed swayed on his feet, but those creepy icy eyes were looking a little more focused now.

“Come with me and I’ll let your pet freak live,” Philus lied.

If looks could kill, Razia would’ve. The look on her face just made Philus grin like a fool. Gregor came up beside Philus, planting his foot on the old man who had been trying to get up’s chest. He shoved and the grizzled boulder of a man rolled along the ground. Markus let out a rough, wheezing laugh at the sight.

“Demetrius!” Quentin said, looking worried for the first time that night. He glared at Gregor, breathing heavily. Then he leapt into action, knife raised and ready to plunge into Philus’ middle.

Markus dropped to the ground in front of him in a move they’d done a thousand times before. Quentin tripped over Markus, but Philus wasn’t able to get out of the way in time. They crashed to the ground together and something cracked and stabbed into Philus’ ass. He kicked Quentin off of him and reached for his pockets.

Shards of glass and green liquid covered it. The smell was awful, dizzying, and rising into the night. Before he could help himself, Philus inhaled a good whiff of it and the world went spinny. With Orchrisus Juice, it needed to be mixed into liquids to dilute it. On its own, even the fumes were enough to do the job and now Philus reeked of it.

Gregor coughed violently as the fumes rose from Philus’ hand to his face. Quentin rolled sideways off of Philus, who was too distracted by just how rocky and sharp the ground suddenly felt to stop him. His limbs were amazingly heavy, like he’d drunk too much.

“You okay?” he heard from a thousand miles above him. When his eyes focused, Markus was looming over him, covering his mouth and nose. He looked like hell. Philus started laughing, pointing with his Juice covered hand at his friend’s face. “Look like you fell down some stairs, brother,” he giggled breathlessly.

“You need to get up. We need to go n-” Markus’ eyes widened and he dove to the side.

Quentin was back on his feet again, holding his knife, and he looked happy. Frighteningly so. Gregor swayed in place but met the moonkissed challenge with a roar. He pulled his dagger and swung wildly. Out of all of them, Gregor was the one who needed a weapon the least. He was big enough and a good enough brawler that going bare handed was good enough most of the time. Here, he was at a disadvantage.

Even with being drugged, Quentin swayed under Gregor’s arm. Philus watched with odd fascination as the moonkissed plunged the dagger straight into Gregor’s stomach. Gregor stopped, voice dying in his throat. He looked down, eyes wide with surprise. Then the bastard pulled and Gregor’s guts spilled on the ground next to Philus. They were so hot the night steamed. Philus laughed at this, even as anguish clawed at him from underneath the surface.

“Oh gods, oh no, Gregor,” Markus cried from beside them. Gregor fell to his knees. The moonkissed stood in place, panting. Blood dripped from his arms, his side, from his knife. Razia was at his side, helping support his weight when his legs nearly gave out. With one last horrified, confused look, Gregor crashed face first into the dirt. He didn’t get up.

“You shouldn’t…” Quentin panted, voice weak. “You should’ve...Why did you have to do this?” he asked, sounding miserable. He fell on the ground as well, Razia calling out his name as the knife fell from his hands. “Why?”

Philus didn’t have an answer. Gregor was dead. Gregor was dead because of him. No, because of Quentin. Because of the murderous moonkissed who couldn’t leave well enough alone. All they wanted was to cash in a bounty. Whores were a dime a dozen, and he couldn’t just let them have this one? It was such bullshit it was almost funny. The world twisted and turned, faster and faster.

“C’mon Phil, we need to get out of here,” Markus whispered, tugging on his hand. His eyes were filled with unshed tears and he still covered his face to avoid the fumes. “We can’t stay here, we need to go now.”

But why get up when the ground had this interesting texture and everything was melty? Philus tried to push himself to a sitting position, but his limbs weren’t working anymore. Maybe it was better to just lay here with Gregor for a while. They couldn’t just leave him there, after all.

“Fuck, I…” Markus looked between Philus and the group of men and whores who were staring at them with loathing. He looked up and his eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I’ll come back for you later, I promise, just…” He took off running as fast as his short legs could carry him. Watching him run was too funny.

But then it was just the two of them. No, Philus thought. Just the one of them now. But not for long. Three helmeted heads filled his vision.

“Hoooo boy, that stinks,” he said. “City Watch. Don’t move.” Around him, the other watchmen laughed. Philus laughed along with them until the drug took him under.