The Golden Fleece (episode III)

An Audience with the King

Previously…

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Jason entered the conference room with his heart in his throat. Mr. Yong insisted his nephew made an appearance at this party—a first for Jason. He moved like a cat along the wall.

Faces loomed over the oaken table. Men feigned focus on half-full wine glasses. This gathering was strange by name but not by kind, so to speak. Everlast Insurance and Iolcus Loans had nothing to do with each other on paper. Their storied alliance was overlapping shadows. It remained only in passing galas and good turns half-remembered. In the periphery was where things happened.

Only two men gave a convincing show of confidence: Imre Ventura and Mr. Yong. As Jason settled into the shadows behind Mr. Yong’s left shoulder, he observed the former.

Ventura was being obnoxious. He chewed loudly, picked his teeth, and reached across people to grab a bottle of wine. He did not bother to pour his host a glass before topping off his own. His recent deal with the government left him feeling powerful. To him, he was a true businessmen gracing the bottom-feeders, the loan sharks with his presence. It seemed Mr. Ventura’s memory was weak. He’d forgotten how Everlast Insurance began as the Dragon’s Teeth Gang. He’d forgotten how they’d served Yong’s Pigeon Rock for many years. He’d forgotten that he owed Mr. Yong both respect and favor.

There must have been some awareness of risk in his mind, however. To his left and right were Ventura’s large and silent stone giants: brothers Henrique and Rafael. Loyalty was a matter of principle, of course. Yet Jason wondered how well Ventura could be liked as the man in question knocked into Rafael for another slice of cheese.

Mr. Yong raised a ringed, tattooed finger to the bottom of his right eye. “My eye knows desire,” he said. “For some time I wondered whether I was a victim of the alteration. A simple look and I can tell anyone what their heart wants.”

Ventura snorted. “Look in my eyes and tell me which of your many wive’s you see?”

Mr. Yong’s smile hardened and the room fell quiet. The rain steadily tapped on the glass window. Jason noted how Mr. Yong’s head did not move. There was no signal given.

“Ahem,” Veret, a man of the law, interjected. “Forgive him, he’s had a lot to drink.”

Mr. Yong leaned back in his seat. From his position, Jason could only see the back of his head. He watched Yong’s fingers steeple.

“But of course he’s forgiven,” said Yong. “I’m glad to see my competitor is able to freely enjoy himself.”

Someone coughed.

Mr. Yong moved on, facing Jason. He gestured for him to approach. Jason stepped forward. His uncle cocked his head. “Jason here I looked at for the first time recently. I mean, really looked. Guess what I saw?”

The table erupted in guesses—eager, clearly, to be free of the tension.

“Women.”

“Money!”

“Power?”

“Men?”

All laughed at the final statement.

Yong swallowed a smile. “Those are all very good answers.” Yong twisted his head in faux consideration and hissed through his teeth. “But,” he began. “They are all wrong.”

The table was quiet. Jason kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“I saw nothing,” Yong said quietly. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Perhaps he’s someone who wants to live life simply,” grunted Ventura.

“A simple life?” echoed Yong. “Is that all you want, Jason?”

Jason did not raise his eyes. “I don’t want anything,” he said.

Suddenly, Yong faced forward. His hand hovered between two bowls: dried squid and salted walnuts. A moment later, Yong’s hand plucked a nut and placed it between his teeth. There was a clean snap as it split. “Dangerous is a man without desire,” he said. As he crunched, Yong waved for the rest of the men to resume their chatter.

The dinner party came to its natural conclusion. Mr. Yong did not extend an invitation for Ventura to view his private art collection, nor to share the champagne on the floor.

Yong loomed on the highest step above the gravel, black eyes glittering as he watched the former Dragon Teeth Gang cross the lawn.

The rain continued to fall, heavy as it always did this time of year. Droplets fell from Jason’s brow, his hair, and the underside of his jaw.

The metro trundled over a nearby bridge. It was close. Clicka-clack, clicka-clack, clicka-clack. Angry rusted iron protested as it curved toward the city. After so many days spent on that line, Jason knew the stop it approached.

Train lights flashed over the party and illuminated Yong’s face. He nodded.

The leather of Jason’s glove tightened.

His boots hit the gravel steadily, a rhythm known only to him. The snare was the sound of him adjusting his grip on the metal bat.

After, Mr. Yong summoned Jason to his office.

Jason held his shaking hands behind his back. The crook of his left elbow ached. It was the result of a nasty arm bar; a split second away from causing permanent damage. Other than that, he was unharmed.

Releasing a long and slow breath, Jason waited for Mr. Yong to speak. It was a while before he did. Mr. Yong took in the city’s skyline, visible through heavy rainfall.

Finally, he said, “If you had an enemy that you could not kill outright—a person whose death would delegitimise your seat—what would you do?”

Jason did not answer immediately. Slowly, he moved his hands into his lap. His gaze flicked down to his bloodied knuckles and the pair of leather gloves in his left grip. For a moment, he wondered about how he should formulate an answer.

Perhaps something like,

“Mr. Ventura doesn’t have the power to respond, does he?”

or

“Why would we draw first blood if Mr. Ventura posed a threat?”

Of course, he did not ask either of those things. Jason, instead, followed his uncle’s gaze. He noted the Everlast billboard above the metro’s bridge. “I would keep them busy,” he said.

“Busy?”

“I’d make them feel important doing something impossible.”

“Like a rat in a wheel.”

Jason didn’t respond. It struck him as unnecessary.

“You seem different today, nephew,” Mr. Yong said suddenly.

Jason’s eyebrows rose. “Sir?”

Mr. Yong met Jason’s eye in the window’s reflection. He changed the subject. “I have another problem for you, Jason,” he said. “There is a debtor who owes me a pretty penny. His sister volunteered to pay off his debt, but I don’t think she understands… the debt she is choosing.”

“Sir.”

“Take something from him.” Mr. Yong turned from the view to look Jason in the eye. “I know where my things are, I know what I am owed at all times. So be sure to take. Like tonight.” They were closer than he’d realized. Jason felt his shoulders tense.

Mr. Yong grabbed him by the face. “When I tell you to bite, you bite. Hm?”

Jason managed to nod.

“If you’re going to be merciful to a dog, you must take responsibility,” Yong whispered. “Do you want to take responsibility?”

Jason shook his head.

Yong released him. “Randy will give you the name.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go enjoy the party.”

Jason did not want to enjoy the party, of course. As he rose from his seat, he decided there was no choice. He’d circle the place and make an exit after thirty minutes.

That seemed reasonable.

The sound of a crowded reception hall crashed over Jason in waves. Snatches of conversation caught his ear:

Next year’s election…

Getting Donny on the football team cost upwards of … well, let’s just say there’s more handshaking in the junior league than you’d think.

I caught the nanny with…

What work has she gotten done?

If Yong could just get me in on how he acquires such fine specimens!

Jason found a corner slightly apart from the art on display. Head lowered, he let his eyes slip shut and the words crash over him until they meant nothing. They were sounds: vowels, consonants, grunts. These made more sense somehow. He could hear disquiet, desperation, the urge to dominate.

When he opened his eyes, he could see a group of women with pretty, pearl-like teeth bared. Someone’s wife took a step back as another looked at her diamond-studded throat.

Jason cradled his aching arm and looked away. He didn’t feel well. He wanted to go home and crawl into his bed. Now his jaw was starting to smart from Mr. Yong’s grip. It served to remind him of the force he’d need to use sinking into someone’s flesh.

Bite.

His eyes unfocused on the crowd and the art. It melded into a dark blob.

There was a gap. Jason blinked.

A woman sat alone, nestled between two ferns. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, her chin tilted just so. There was nothing to distract her from the fact that she was alone. Instead, she was watching the crowd. Or were they watching her? This… wasn’t this the painting? Perhaps it was the same woman, but a different painting? Was it the same unknown Dutch artist?

She lifted a hand and tucked dark hair behind her ear. The lights behind Jason dimmed. The plucking of an ancient instrument, the smell of the sea; all this filled his head. He shut his eyes and turned away.

Art had that effect on him. The Alteration had an effect on him.

But the usual headache and overwhelming melancholy did not come. Jason opened his eyes. He felt nothing. Before him, the warm lamps illuminated her further: a woman, the woman from the painting. And yet… it wasn’t.

She noticed him staring. Her eyes met his and flicked away, then back. She pressed her lips together in a polite, but emotionless smile. It was such an awkward gesture. So awkward in fact, that Jason was immediate certain of his sanity.

He was not looking at the painting come to life.

This was just a woman. It was a very pretty woman sitting all by herself—but a woman of flesh and blood like any other. She was wearing a black dress that might’ve been shapeless but for how it fell around her while seated. There was nothing special about the clothes she wore or the jewellery she had on. Jason could make out the tarnished edges of her faux-gold necklace from where he stood.

Beneath her staccato gaze, Jason became hyper-aware of himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor. Then, he looked around the room. No one else seemed to notice the nonverbal exchange. No one took note of the woman in the corner.

Taking a breath, Jason steeled himself and approached.

The woman watched him take each step. Her expression was guarded. Her body turned slightly away, arms crossed over her chest. She was uninterested—or so it seemed. This intrigued him. Jason stopped and leaned against the pillar, half hidden by one of the ferns. “Hello.”

“Hello,” she answered, lips barely moving.

Jason did not wait for an awkward pause. Up close, Jason studied her intently. He spoke again. “You look just like someone I know.”

“Oh?” She relaxed somewhat. It seemed she expected a different conversation to transpire.

“Yeah. So I had to come over and talk to you.”

“And so here you are.” The words slid from her tongue easily, one of her perfectly arched eyebrows raising in amusement.

“Here I am,” Jason answered. “All alone at this party. Well, not anymore.”

She swallowed a smile, a soft dimple appearing in her cheek as she did. “What do you do for Yong for him to invite you?” she asked.

Jason looked away toward said party. The volume of the crowd rose several decibels as music started. “I fixed his car.”

The woman leaned forward. “I’m sorry?”

Raising his voice, Jason repeated himself. “I fixed his car!”

“Oh! That’s what you do, you fix cars?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you fix cars for a living!”

“I can’t hear you—wait, hold on.”

Jason gestured for her to follow. To his surprise she stood. It seemed she was curious—or at the very least, eager to move away from the loud music. She followed him. He felt her presence at his side and her forearm brush his. In passing, he regretted wearing his jacket.

They arranged themselves in the corner, just outside. They sat under an overhang where the rain came off the eaves like waterfalls. It was still loud, but less so. The woman leaned back against the sliding glass door.

Jason’s hand twitched for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Then, he decided against it. He leaned down to hear her better. “What were you saying?” he asked. She smelled like sunscreen, lavender, and fresh laundry. How ordinary. How lovely. It blended with the earthy smell of rain.

Two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “I was asking if—I was asking you if that’s what you do for a living.”

“Fix cars?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah.” Then, he corrected himself, “Sorry, yes. Yes, I do.”

They met eyes again and the woman looked away, twisting a gold ring around her index finger.

“I know I’m in your space,” said Jason. “I’m sorry about that but I just gotta know what you’re saying and your voice is so quiet.”

She laughed. “I’m not saying anything interesting.”

“No way.”

“What?”

“You look like you say the most interesting things.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “You’re saying I look interesting?”

“Sure. That’s why I had to come talk to you.”

“I thought you said I look like someone you knew.”

“Both can be true.”

She shook her head and laughed again.

Jason almost smiled. “What do you do?” he asked.

“I’m an art collector for Mr. Yong.”

“Oh yeah? So you, like, travel around and get paintings all day?”

“Mhm, pretty much.”

“Does that pay well?”

“It’s okay.”

“Why, he’s not generous, Mr. Yong?”

She grew quiet, her expression sobering. “I don’t know,” she said.

Sensing the shift in her mood, Jason changed the subject. He wanted her to look at him again with the same half-amusement she did before. “I hate art.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No, I mean it. I really do.”

“Why? How can you hate art?”

“It’s all terrible... Oh shoot.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Your name!” exclaimed Jason. “I didn’t even ask.”

She did smile this time. It was pretty. “My name is Amelia.”