Felix led the way up some back stairs to a small one-bedroom apartment and office with a huge picture window of one-way glass overlooking the bar. Felix sat down at his desk with his back to that window, chain-smoking and listening with stony silence as Jack spoke the tale of Vampire$ Inc.
His only discernible reactions came from his face, already thin, which seemed to stretch into a death mask's gauntness, and from his eyes, already piercing, which became uncomfortable to meet.
Watching him all the while - for no one could take eyes from his steaming intensity - Annabelle could not pin down her feelings. She recognized Felix easily from Jack's story. The laugh lines were there from the happy drunk who climbed Mexican trees.
And so was the helpless acuity of a man vised so tight he'd had to gun down four friends and a stranger at a kitchen table for a principle.
Eerie, she thought. I don't know whether to run screaming into the night or pull him into my lap and cuddle him until he can sleep.
Something else bothered her. His few looks away from Jack were at Davette. Everyone else he had dismissed with his first glance. But his face, that rock face, kept coming back to the young journalist. His face did soften, Annabelle thought, when he did this. But damn well not enough for Annabelle.
Not nearly enough.
When Jack had finished, all were quiet for several seconds. Then Felix reached forward and stubbed out his last cigarette. He spoke in a harsh, rasping, bitter voice:
"Get out."
"Take your band of merry men and your fairy tales and your" - he glanced briefly, painfully, at Davette - "your... siren... and any other reasons you've got to get me to do more killing and get the fuck out!"
Team Crow, save for Jack, sat in collective stunned silence. It was absolutely the very last reaction they had expected.
No one had ever turned them down before.
Carl Joplin opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Felix stood up quickly, cutting him off.
"Now!" he thundered.
They left. Without anyone saying a word, they left, Felix by then standing in the center of the room glaring ferociously at them as they went.
Save for their limo, the street was all but deserted. Jack tapped lightly on the glass and the dozing driver scrambled out to open doors. But for a moment no one moved to get in. They just stood there looking at the night.
"Well," offered Carl at last, "he was pretty weird for us anyway."
Jack looked at him and laughed. "Are you kidding, Joplin?" He laughed again. "The man is ours!"
All eyed him warily.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, O Great Leader," said Carl. "But wasn't that a 'no' he gave us?"
"I'll correct you," added Cat. He turned to Jack. "It was, in fact, about the firmest goddamn 'no' I've ever heard."
The other three, Annabelle, Davette, Adam, nodded without speaking.
Jack laughed again.
"He's ours, I tell you. You know what he'll do? Next time I see him - "
"You're going to see him again?" asked Annabelle.
"You think that's wise?" added Davette.
Jack grinned. "Got to. He doesn't know how to reach us. Anyway, next time I put it to him he'll demand something outrageous. Money, probably. A hundred grand or the like." He nodded to the driver who walked around and got behind the wheel. He waved the others into the car. "I'll agree, we'll shake hands, and then he's in. C'mon."
They obeyed. Reluctantly, suspiciously. When they had all gotten situated, Cat finally spoke up for the rest.
"Bwana? Are you sure we're all talking about the same dude?"
Everyone smiled.
"How," Annabelle wanted to know, "can you be so sure, dear? I mean about the money and the rest. Why didn't he just ask for it tonight?"
He smiled warmly at her. "He was bluffing tonight. Hoping we'd all go away. When it doesn't work - which he knows damn well it won't - he'll just make it tougher on me out of spite. He needs the money as an excuse to give in to himself."
Everybody thought about that for a second.
Finally, Cat asked, "Are you sure we're talking about the same dude?"