The darkness of the night found Ezekiel leaning against the corner of a building at the intersection of Major and Elm. He'd been looking at the bar front three building down on the other side of the street while trying to not look like he was looking.

So far that night he'd been propositioned by five hookers asked him if he needed companionship, and seven vagrants wondering if he could spare them any money. The working ladies he turned away after a short conversation wherein he told them he funded a place where ladies of their profession could get out of it if they so choose. A place where they could find job training and counseling. To his relief three of them took him up on his offer. He'd called a friend of his and she came and picked all three of them up. So far, the girls' pimps hadn't showed themselves yet. Hopefully, they wouldn't. That way Ezekiel could find his mark, ask his questions and be gone before they did show up.

At last his eyes fell upon a short figure walking with short hurried steps down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The man had his head on a swivel, never letting his gaze fix on one thing for more than a second before shifting it to something else.

"That's my man. I was wondering if he was going to show this morning."

"He's here every Tuesday and Friday. The type of alcohol he likes to drink is only served on those two days." Morrigan told him.

"Good enough for me. I'm sure he'll know where Jonas is, or where he'll be." Stepping away from the wall, Ezekiel began a slow walk across the street. At three in the morning, he wasn't worried about traffic, so he took his time.

Minutes later he was descending a short flight of narrow stairs to approach a heavy wooden door with a single small window at it center at eye level. Knocking twice, he waited. After a few seconds, the window slid open and a face appeared.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Depends on how my conversation goes." The man on the other side of the doors' eyes grew wide with fright.

"I didn't know it was you Carrier. Are you just here to talk? She won't be coming out, will she?" The old man looked like he wanted to be anywhere than where he was.

"That will be according to how stupid some of your patrons are this morning. Now please let me pass, I would have words with my favorite snitch."

"As you wish, my lord," the smoke stained door flew inward and a foul smelling mix of cigarette smoke and beer came out with the consistency of an almost solid wall.

The bar consisted of one room cut in half by the bar that bisected its width. Walkways on either side allowed all the patrons to move between the dining area to the area on the other side where all the pool tables surrounded a small dance floor.

Not that anyone seemed inclined to dance. After he regained his breath and fought a winning battle with his gag reflex, Ezekiel made his way to the bar where the tender seemed far too preoccupied with cleaning a single shot glass.

"Where's Nelson?" Fortune asked in an almost whisper.

"He's not here, so please just leave." The man behind the bar didn't even lift his gaze to meet Ezekiel's as he spoke.

"Oh come on Marty, don't be like that, all I want to do is talk to him."

"Yeah, like the last time you, just, wanted to talk to Silverston. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of this carpet? No, I'm not going to have that kind of trouble in my bar again, just get out." That time he did met Ezekiel's gaze. But his gaze sank again when he heard and felt something vibrate against his bar.

"Oh you felt that, did you?" Ezekiel asked. "Well, let me introduce you two. "With a smooth motion practiced over centuries, he slid his sword from under his belt and laid it on the bar. "She doesn't like the way you're talking to me, so lets start this conversation again shall we? This time I ask questions and you answer them as honestly as you are capable of. If you try to lie to me, try to mislead me," he nodded to the blade. "She'll know it," he reached across the bar, grabbed the man by his collar, puling him half across. "If she senses any untruths from you, blood on your carpet will be the least of your worries." The man gulped, his eyes glued to the scabbard just under his chin.

"He's in the back, you know the place. But he ain't telling you nothin. We all know who you're after, and no one's gonna cross him, no one." Ezekiel let the man go, then patted his cheek.

"Just let me worry about that, okay." He slipped his sword back between his belt and his side, slid his trench coat back into place and got up from his stool.

"There are six men and two women looking at you with lets say, evil intent. It would seem Jonas has all of these people fearful of him. But hey, I'm hungry, so let the games begin."

Ezekiel didn't answer, but kept his senses on over drive. These people were all human so Jonas probably had them so scared of him, they'd chop off any body part he choose rather than cross him. But Nelson was your above average snitch, selling information to the highest bidder, or to keep his skin intact and his bone count the same as it was yesterday.

The back room, as the bar tender had called it, was a single room off the back of the farthest room from the door. Behind all the pool tables and about ten feet to the left of the bathrooms was a white door, or at one time it may have been white. For as long as Ezekiel had been coming here it had been a dirty gray brown. Hand prints from a thousand fingers marked the entrance of hundreds of patrons over the years.

"Heyyyyy, Nelson, how's it going little buddy?" Ezekiel's voice rang above the muted conversation coming from the nine men seated around the center table.

"Who let you in here?" He yelled while leaping from his chair only to topple backwards onto the floor.

"Oh, come here big guy, let me help you up." Ezekiel sprang around to the table's far edge and grabbed Nelson by the collar, hauling him to his feet.

Every eye in the room was fixed on him until he began to return the gazes with one of his own.

"I'm not telling you anything. I know who you're after, no one here is going to cross him for you, no one."

"Is that right? Lets find out who in here wants to tell me what I want to know," he pulled Morrigan from under his coat and slammed the scabbard on the table. "And who wants to be a first meal?"

The room went so still a pin could be heard hitting the floor. Everyone knew who he was and what he was cursed to carry.

"I pull her from that scabbard and everyone in this room dies, slowly, painfully, except me of course." He looked around the room. "So, who's first?"