Phone call between Robert Brohkun and Salome Martin, October 10th '16

It was the sort of seventy-two hour interval that came with much that wasn't expected. On a happier note, there weren't any mysteries to sort. Robert just was and people had no expectation of him except, perhaps, to smile more. It was the sort of three day span where a man worked his job and tweaked the connections he had made with people and started to see something new, maybe even something hopeful, begin to form.

The first moment of peace he'd experienced didn't last long.

Unceremoniously in his boxers at the back porch of the museum, he was slouched in one of the chairs at the ornate metal table when he felt it. The sun hadn't even risen, yet. It was still a dusty, early grey-blue all around him. When he felt it, it punched him with the ferocity of getting the wind knocked out of him. Dread and Louisiana filled him up, leaving him with no room to spare inside. He was drowning and breathing all at the same time. Troy whined, barking at him from inside the house. He could have stupidly thought it was something he ate, maybe because hope was something he'd just tasted, except that he started to vomit red lumps over the table. The hurling grew more violent, dropping him to his knees as his guts worked up the momentum to push out the problem. It looked like blood, like his innards were crawling out of his throat. Just as he thought he might choke on it, his body gave him a reprieve.

There wasn't bile, and there wasn't blood. He reached out, touching it, rolling it over in his hand in disbelief. All there was were the misshapen blobs of pomegranate seeds and flesh all over the ground.

"Lizzie." His voice scratch the air and his hand's palm was reddish purple from examining the seeds in his hand. He moved, pushing the back of his hand over his lips before he stumbled to his feet and trotted to the back door. The screen cried out for oil when he pushed it, the old wooden door swinging open in a wide, solid thud when it hit the back wall. Droplets of pomegranate blood followed him to the staircase, to his room with the tap-tap-tap of Troy's nails scampering over the hardwood floors behind him in pursuit. With his hands shaking, he dialed up Roach.

No answer. Fuck.

He dialed again. And again. After he third call he sucked in a breath, sending her a text message even though it felt futile.

It's me. Call me when you get this. Now.

There was only one person who had the ability or inclination to help. His lips pressed in a line, recalling a clawed hand moving over his stomach to tease a passing curiosity. Still, it was claws and blood. Still, she had said yes. Robert sucked in a breath and pressed her number, the speaker going to his ear.

Robert doesn't get much reprieve when he connects to Salome's line either. Four rings, and then a chipper voicemail telling him that she was on vacation until further notice and if he really needed any help, to stay on the line and he'd be patched through to an associate that was more than equipped to handle his needs.

"Otherwise, press # to leave a message, or hang up and try again. But don't hold your breath."

Salome, it's Robert. I need to..." what did he think he needed to do? Where did he think he needed to go? For a few seconds he was silent, shutting his eyes. Louisiana and Dread. His eyes reopened. He could feel Troy's heavy, excited breathing against his calf, "I need to go to New Orleans tonight. It's about that problem we spoke of. Call me back in the next ten or don't bother." Click.

One minute becomes three, becomes six. Before Robert's screen lights up to inform him of an incoming call from the number he'd just dialled.

He was putting on a shirt and pair of paints when the ringer went off. Just like Robert to have his ringtone match an old style rotary. One step at a time. In the left leg. Now the right. Catch the phone before it goes to voicemail.

"You hear me? You coming?" So much for hello.

So much. All he gets for a second is a groan and some clicking. ".............Robert? I didn't even..." slurring, sleepy, "-----din' even lookit the.......lookit the thing. What's going on?"

"Who's coming to what? I'm coming off a reaaaaaaal good dream, so this better be better than that."

"Something's wrong with Roach," he countered, his voice fighting back the annoyance he felt. Real good dreams were going to be far, far off these days, "You owe me, Salome. Are you going to step up to that, or not? How's that for better?"

"Wrong with---- What do you mean, what happened?" She sat up, but that did not translate over the phone save for a rustle of blankets. If it wasn't clear by now, she'd called him back in the midst of a sleep riddled stupor and hadn't even listen to his message. "Dial it back, like----seven. What happened, what's wrong with her?"

"Look, I just know," he thought explaining to her that the inside of a pomegranate had just worked its way up his throat would have left her questioning his sanity, or need for hyperbole, "I got the message, though, and she needs me. And guess what?" Robert reached down, stroked the coarse hair on Troy's mangy head before grabbing his keys, hurrying down the stairs to the front desk of the museum, "Doesn't matter if I'm wrong or right, you get to fulfil your word to me anyway. I said help, you said yes, so get your clawed little ass over here or don't bother taking my calls."

She listens to the thunks of his footsteps, still chasing sleep from her brain, "Look this isn't about dicking you over, I said I'd help and I would, but do you have any fucking idea what you're walking into yet? How wrong is wrong, where the fuck is she?"

"If you die before you get there, no one's going to be able to help her, and it'll all be worthless. So slow down for like two seconds, and talk. Where are you for starters? Lemme.........sonofabitch....." She throws the blankets off her legs and tucks the phone up under her ear. "What exactly happened?"

"I'm at the museum," that was the most important thing she needed to know. Troy barked at him once and then wagged his tail agreeably. Robert glanced down at the dog and then to the front door. So far, no one was standing there but his own shallow reflection.

"She's in New Orleans, but I can get us there, but I need you here to do that." Robert knew he could, he knew it from that fucked up moment he and Roach weren't dreaming but rolled around in contract pushed moments. He knew, somewhere, Doll was getting ready to leave her waitressing gig as soon as he showed up.

"All right. Okay." Lights. A careless wave of her hand empties the worn leather bag out onto the island stove so she can take stock of what she has. "And I take it from sound of you, she isn't supposed to be there. Menace, right? What's------- Wait. Wait, that's all part of this, though.... This is about you."

"Probably. I tend to get in the way." As opposed to what Salome was really saying, and what he should have seen. Robert wasn't in the way, he was the point of it. Roach had so many people trying to drink her blood for so long that he'd expected it, that h'd fallen into the habit of thinking that's how everything worked. Of course this was about Roach.

"Will you fucking........ Stars, all the stones. God's fucking teeth if he has any, you'd better calm down, and get your goddamned head on straight, Robert. If this is really who you think it is, they're not after her, they're after you, and if you go in there half fucking cocked, they're going to kill you and take her anyway. This is you. This is about you. This is a fucking trap."


"And I'm not saying let's not go, because I'd reaaaaally like to see this fucker's small intestines, but they know you're coming. And we better have a plan first. Do you have anything of hers on you, or is this weird connection thing like a radar?"

"Are you citing God's teeth to a demon?" Robert wasn't sure if she was joking, cursing out of habit, or actually making a seriously diluted threat at him. Though, the latter part of her statement did give him pause. There was a frown, he admitted it into the speaker as a crackling, reluctant confession, "It hurts when she's hurting, Salome, and I know she's hurting."

The question of their connection made him turn, examining the museum, "We're bound by a contract. She has my mark on her and I have..." the Curse of Roach. He swallowed, "A sense for her."

"Yeah, I'll cite Lucifer's dick to you too if it gets to you to think. I've done this, before, Robert. I've done this. I've been where you are, and I've seen what it does, and it does nothing, all right? Especially if they know you're coming. They're........ Fuck, they're." She blew out a sigh. "They're probably hurting her to rile you up. Menace is using that connection to fuck with you.

"Does this mark thing, does it let you track her? Once we're there, can you find where she is?"

"Yeah," though he felt the need to quickly qualify, "I think. It's not a science or a gadget and I've done this like... three times." Robert had not been a demon gifted with the ability to transport. His capability to do so was highly reliant on the fact that he was tied up to a contract based in New Orleans. It was likely that even if he had wanted to go to DisneyWorld, he couldn't. Mickey made demons pay just like everyone else.

"Look, I know I can get to her, and that's where I'm going. What's the alternative? Let her get killed while I save my own skin?" The alternative, unspoken, was that if he didn't go at least one of the two of them lived.

"No, fuck, you're lucky we're on the phone, else I'd smack you." A crack, then her voice comes from a few feet away. On speaker, as she continues to get ready. Get dressed, more like. "What are you expecting to run into when you get there? What's Menace's usual thing? He have goons, demons, Downworlders? Guns, magic. What does he have?"

Yes. She'd smack him. Robert arched up one brow, lighting up a cigarette, "Should I drive over there to pick you up so you have time to do your makeup?" Usually he was one to say nothing and give a begrudging exhale. The urgency of the moment was nagging at him. At the query, "A bit of this and that. Mostly... human, and their brand of magic. Lots of goons, though and whatever intel Gus leaked." That didn't mean it wasn't lethal, or frightening. Humans, like angels and demons, had a way of influencing the world with their beliefs. Of centering their spiritual power into something and creating a whole world with it. New Orleans was a world of Voodoo, a world that wanted its damn Hades and Persephone, who just weren't getting the message and taking up their roles for the city.

Had New Orleans itself turned against him? Was Doll there as a friend or an enemy, now?

"Sure, and leave your fucking attitude on the side of the road like the useless orphan it is. I'm trying to help you, and you getting killed isn't going to help Roach.

"So mundies." Cupboards were slamming. "Mundies and magic. Voodoo's got a lot to do with belief and totems. What'd Gus spill?"

"I don't know, we didn't do a whole lot of talking," he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, "You want me to drive over there and pick you up or not?" The offer had, as it turned out, a foundation of truth to it. Troy barked ahead into the night as if something was there when there wasn't.

"Gus called me up to meet and Roach came with me, but it was all..." Robert sighed, recalling the thoughts he'd had on Gus from the onset. About how his friendly little chats to 'catch up' were so out of place they practically hurt. In his own way, Gus had warned him. As a coward, Gus had lured him in for a "chat" anyway. Once they had ordered coffees, Menace's men showed up in a rain of bullets. That was the second time Robert had ever transported. He and Roach ended back up at Nola with Doll grinning at them, serving them up Bloody Maries like they had sat there the whole time waiting for the order to be filled. Neither of them would drink the stuff. By the time he figured out how to manipulate the space between there and RhyDin to return, Menace had gone. Gus, too, apparently.

"It was all a setup. Maybe Gus made it, I don't know. He didn't say much before things went down with Menace and the boys. Just kept asking me how I was doing and if I liked where I was living and that it must have been night to meet up with another old friend, Roach, since I didn't have many of those."

"Yeah, yeah. Pick me up, I'm at a new place though. It's on the corner of.....Drake and Zil'nek. We hang up, I'll give you the real thing." The slamming had stopped. Her voice came through, closer on the speaker, now that she had the phone pressed to her ear once more. "Okay. Look, Robert, we're not going to let anything else happen to her, all right? She's your----whatever she is, but she's my friend too, and I should've...... I-----look, we'll kill them. We'll kill them for hurting her. I'll see you soon. Don't wrap your ass around a pole before you get here."

Three moments later, the line went dead.

"Drake and Zil'nek." That was all he really managed to say back to her. Neither of them really said goodbye when they hung up the phone. With his cigarette held by his lips, he trotted down the museum steps and to his black hatchback. When he opened the driver's side door Troy shot inside, clearing the counsel and turning around a few times to claim his place in the passenger seat.

"You sure you want to come?"

The mutt barked. Robert didn't push him on it further, just climbed barefoot into the driver's seat before revving the engine.