Darren Shan - Procession of the dead

It was a huge, one-room complex, divided into two levels. The upper floor was made of glass and completely transparent-women with skirts and dignity usually dined below. It was a place of glass, marble and steel. Leonora Shankar was renowned for her cold tastes. There were no carpets or rugs. Lots of people complained about the decor, but when you were getting your meals gratis it was hard to be too critical.

There was no privacy in Shankar's. Everybody was there on The Cardinal's business and had nothing to fear. It was the safest spot in the city, short of Party Central. Impossible to bug or infiltrate. There was an unwritten law that nothing heard in Shankar's could ever be discussed outside. It was a law everyone paid strict attention to-the cost of breaking it was instant execution.

There was a man with Sonja when I arrived, as strange a figure as you were likely to find, swathed in sweeping robes and scarves, sandals, hair long and plaited with colorful ribbons, face covered in tattoos which looked real from a distance but were just paint. He sprang to his feet when I reached the table and before I could speak he jabbed a bony finger at me. "Are you Capac Raimi?" When I nodded, he shrieked theatrically and threw his hands in the air. "Too soon!" he yelled, then spun around and dashed off.

"Who the hell was that?" I asked, bemused.

Sonja smiled. "He'll introduce himself when the time's right. I'd hate to steal his thunder."

"That guy works for The Cardinal?"

"He used to," she said. "He was a highflier once, but then he quit and now he's a nobody. He's left alone on The Cardinal's orders, comes and goes as he pleases. A lot of people would like to see him dead. Ford Tasso's one. There's nothing Ford hates more than a quitter. Personally I like him. I think you will too. Did you sleep well?"

"Not really. I nodded off in a chair, waiting for dawn to break." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to massage out the stiffness. "How about you?"

"Same as usual. Popped a pill and slept like a baby. Do you want anything special for breakfast or do you trust me to order?"

"I place myself at your mercy."

She ordered toast and cornflakes, low-fat butter and skimmed milk on the side. "This is it?" I asked, disappointed. I was expecting something more exotic.

"I believe in simple starts," she said.

I buttered my toast, milked my cornflakes and ate. "Tell me," I mumbled, "and please interrupt if I'm being rude, but what you said last night-was it true?"

"About being a prostitute?"

"Yeah."

"True."

"Oh."

"You don't approve?" she smiled.

"I thought it was something people fell into when all else failed," I said. "You made it sound like a career move."

"It was," she said. "I'd never go back, and I wouldn't have started if I'd thought I couldn't move on to something better, but I'm not ashamed of my life. I did what I had to."

"But surely it affected your love life. What did your boyfriend think?"

"I didn't have one," she said. "My current girlfriend wouldn't have approved, but I didn't meet her until later, so that wasn't an issue."

"You're a…?" I coughed uncomfortably.

"Yes," she laughed as I blushed. "And in case you were going to ask, I didn't turn to women because of my traumatic experiences with men while on the streets."

"The question never entered my mind."

"I bet." She poured some milk into a crystal glass, took a sip, wiped around her mouth with her satin napkin. "This is Adrian," she said.

I turned and looked back. A young man was standing directly behind me, a baseball cap held between his joined hands in a stance of mock respect.

"Hi, Sis," he said, drawing up a chair. "What's hanging?"

"This is Capac Raimi. You're going to be assisting him."

"Nice to meetja," he said, nodding.

"Likewise. You're Sonja's brother?"

"Yeah. Can't you see the similarity?"

"No." The two were as different as mud and gold. While Sonja was cool and sophisticated, this guy was dressed in jeans and a creased shirt. She was dark, he was pale. Different hair and faces. Plus she was a couple of decades his senior-he couldn't have been much more than twenty.

He chuckled. "You're thinking of the age gap, right? She looks old enough to be my mother." Sonja punched his arm. "I was a late arrival," he said. "A gift from the gods. Surprised the shit out of Mom and Dad, eh, Sis?"

"To put it mildly."

"So, what's the brief?" he asked.

"Capac's our latest recruit. He'll be under my direct supervision. I want you to take care of him, show him around, introduce him to the fun people and places. See to his needs. Educate him. Be his friend."

"See?" he whined. "She even tells me who my friends should be!" He pretended to cry, then shrugged indifferently. "I don't care. It'll be nice to have someone my own age around."

She wiped her mouth, placed her utensils neatly on one of the side plates and got up. "You can start by driving us back to the office, so I can set him up with a cubicle and get him started."

"Can you wait a couple of minutes? I haven't had breakfast."

"Tough," she snapped.

He shook his head sadly and clicked his teeth. "All part and parcel of working for your sister," he sighed. "Family and work should never mix. Coming?"

"Might as well," I said, finishing my toast. "I wouldn't want to miss my ride." I looked at the table and put a hand in my pocket. "Do we leave tips?"

"Not in Shankar's. Nor the Skylight. The big guy pays the waitresses top rates. They sign a contract when they join, promising not to accept gratuities."

"It's strange not tipping," I said. "I feel like a cheapskate, like Steve Buscemi in Reservoir Dogs."

"Great movie," Adrian said. "They don't make them like that any- more. Don't worry," he said, clapping me on the back, "you'll get used to it. There's lots of differences when you sign on with The Cardinal."

The next few months were tedious and long. I'd never sold anything in my life, or had to deal with the public face-to-face. Never had to go into a meeting with somebody I knew nothing about, whose trust I had to earn and then slyly exploit.

I was expected to be a great salesman. I was under orders to pick up in weeks what others spent years learning. Sonja chose my clothes, enrolled me for elocution lessons, worked on my posture. She taught me to read people at a glance, how to scrutinize faces, note nervous tics and shrugs of fake confidence. A couple of nights a week were devoted to security footage. She'd bring home a box full of discs scavenged from some of The Cardinal's many shops and stores. We'd watch face after face, body after body, analyzing, discussing, theorizing, until I wished I'd been washed up on a desert island at birth and never seen another human.

I blew a lot of my early meetings. I'd lose my way in the middle, the paperwork would become overwhelming, my tongue would run away from me. I'd forget what I was selling. Sonja didn't mind. She said I had one thing most other salespeople would have killed for-the freedom to screw up. I didn't have to worry about a mortgage, my job, a family, bills. This was mere education.

In time I improved, learned how to read faces, to fish around until I found the right bait to make the sale. Every customer was different, each wanted something unique, and the trick was tapping into that. There was no set patter, no definitive approach. Some needed coaxing, some bullying, some bribing. Sometimes you had to throw every policy in the book at them, in the hope one would stick. Other times you needed to focus on one lone premium.

The most important thing I gleaned-the reason The Cardinal put me there-was that it's re action which makes a man powerful, not action. I thought plans could take you to the top, that success came from knowing more than everybody else, preparing better, moving faster.