Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part I.
Svipul was used to being an adjudicator in Astaroth and Sitri’s wagers. She weighed in, “Astaroth—a task like the one you propose could take a lifetime. Give him at least forty-eight hours to accomplish it.”
Sitri felt that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain with Astaroth’s wager. As he saw things, he would be allowed to propose a new wager to Astaroth within a day’s time, and he already had in mind something to make her suffer long for her prize. He argued, “No—it’s fine, Svipul. I lost my property fair and square, and here I have the chance to get it back as long as I can urge this young man into, what I’m presuming, is death by his own hand. Is that correct?”
“That’s not necessary!” Astaroth replied. “In fact, it would be better if he were to die a natural death when he’s a miserable, bitter, old man whose life has been characterized by one disappointment after another. All you need to do is lift from him that obnoxious sense that there is such a thing as hope.”
“Very well, then. I accept,” Sitri said. He didn’t have much time at all to dwell upon particulars. He raced forward to catch up with Thomas Carver, assuming the form of a large, thuggish man as he weaved his way in and out of the crowd. When he was within a few yards, Sitri lingered behind him to get a closer read of his thoughts. Thomas had been stricken by an impulse to eat, and he stopped at a luncheonette for a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup. Sitri waited until Thomas had been served, and then he entered the luncheonette. The demon didn’t introduce himself or extend any pleasantries to Thomas. He simply sat down opposite Thomas at the young man’s table for two, and he said in his most menacing human tone, “Mr. Lazzeri wants you to know that he’s expecting payment in full by midnight, Mr. Carver.”
Thomas didn’t know how to react to the thug who had just invited himself to his table, and it was puzzling to him that this thug also knew his name. He responded, “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Sitri said, “You’re Thomas Carver, yes?”
Thomas replied, “Yes. And you—?”
Sitri interrupted, “The Thomas Carver who lives on Pierce Street?”
Thomas was flabbergasted. Sitri could gauge by his stunted thoughts that he was floundering for an explanation as to why the demon would know where he lived. “Yes, but—”
“The one who plays dice with Mr. Lazzeri and his associates every Tuesday and Friday nights?”
“Plays dice? No, I don’t play—”
“Mr. Lazzeri knows who you are, where you live and just how much you owe him. He also knows about that pretty girl Adelaide Grayson—”
“What?!” Thomas cried. He had no idea how gangsters could know this much about his life.
“Yes, Miss Grayson. Your betrothed. He knows about her. So if you don’t have the seven thousand dollars you owe—”
“Wait! Seven thousand dollars?!” Thomas was the definition of shock. He’d never even made $7,000 in an entire year, and he’d never had anywhere near that amount of cash around to give to dice gangsters. In fact, were you to account for inflation, it would amount to more than $100,000 at present. He lowered his tone and answered, “Mister—”
“Mr. Olivero,” Sitri answered.
“Mr. Olivero, there must be some mistake. I don’t play dice. You must have the wrong man,” Thomas insisted.
“Mr. Lazzeri said you’d say that,” Sitri said, standing up. He took Thomas’s cup of coffee and took a sip. He said, “Good coffee. I’ll see you at midnight. Don’t even think of going to Mr. O’Halloran for protection or trying to weasel your way out of it.”
Sitri turned his back on Thomas and walked out of the luncheonette, delighting in the flood of panicked thoughts that Thomas had spinning in his head. He stepped out into the throng of foot traffic and slowly morphed so that his appearance matched Thomas Carver. He had to look the part, as his next move was to visit Miss Adelaide Grayson.
Dominus tecum.