Page 3 of Meet Odin
“No…” he said more to himself than to me. Stroking the stubble on his chin, he suddenly snapped his fingers. “Odin. That’s it. Your name is Odin.”
“The God of War,” I whispered.
“Smart boy. You’ll do well as a Deviant. Now, come along, and we’ll get you a meal.”
***
Idon’tknowwhyI followed him to his hotel room, but something told me to hear him out.
He was staying at the poshest hotel in the city. At least if he tried to proposition me for sex, I could grab some shit and run. This was getting better by the minute, and I wanted to rub my hands together like the bastard I was.
As we walked into the suite, he removed his suit jacket, setting it on the chair near the door. He poured himself a bourbon, neat. He didn’t ask me if I wanted anything, but he took his glass and picked up the nearest phone. I assumed he called room service because he ordered a burger and fries. This man looked like he ate Wagyu steak every night of the week.
I didn't know that he had ordered the food for me, until it arrived. I wasn't picky, and it looked delicious. As I started to eat, the questions started. Where was I from? Where was my family? Did I even have a family? I answered with vague answers and ate like this was going to be my last meal. I didn’t care about manners. I didn’t care if he was disgusted. This had to last me at least a few more days.
“Stop looking at the door.”
We were sitting in the living room. I was on one couch, and he sat directly across from me. I didn’t realize that I had been watching the door and turned my attention back to him. The food was nearly gone.
“I am Atticus De Angelis, Head of the De Angelis Deviants,” he began. “Who runs this city, Odin?”
I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I answered. “The gangs.”
He chuckled. “No, you just think they do. I run these streets.”
I frowned. Was this man for real? Everyone knew about the gangs, which is why I had to find a safe corner to hide in every night. They had tried to recruit me, but if I wanted to take abuse, I would have stayed in the orphanage. They roped you in with big promises, but you still ended up poor.
“You don’t believe me, but that’s okay. Listen, and if you still want to leave, you can. No one’s stopping you, Odin.”
I shook my head. There was no harm in that.
“Have you ever heard of De Angelis, Inc?”
I nodded. You had to be living under a rock not to know. They were the leading weapons manufacture of all shapes and sizes in the world. There was a De Angelis factory on the outskirts of town, but I wasn't old enough to apply.
“What people don’t know is that it’s a front for the Deviants. Think of it as a better structured, less-family orientated mafia. If you hadn’t picked my pocket, I would have kept walking. How much education do you have?”
“Year eight.”
“Maybe formal education, but you’re smarter than that. You read?”
“Yes, sir. It passes the time away.”
“Here’s the deal, my boy. I saw potential in you the minute you started counting my steps."
I was good. How had he known that?
He must have read the question in my expression. "You have a tell. You clicked your fingers in time to my steps. I didn't catch it until there were three steps in between us. That’s street smarts that can’t be taught. It has to be learned so that it’s ingrained into you. You, my boy, will be the perfect Syndicate. Book smart so that you can integrate into regular society, and street smart so that you won't be caught."
“What’s a Syndicate?” I asked.
“My hitmen that are willing to eliminate our enemies at a moment’s notice without questions asked.”
“Do they get paid?” I asked.
“Yes. They also have regular professions. They hide within the public during the day, and at night, they do my bidding. The Silent Syndicate Division.”
“How much do they make?”
