The smoky, dark atmosphere, lit by oil lamps, is filled with the voices of too many people for a place of this size.
The tables covered in green cloth, practically new but already a little worn, whitened at the egdes, stained with coffee, are surrounded by all sorts of humans: there are women in cocktail dresses and women in pajamas decorated with Pokémon prints, men in suits and ties, in shirtsleeves, in shorts and tank tops. Some smoke cigarettes, some expensive cigars, there is even a woman in her sixties with an elegant cigarette holder, from which she occasionally takes long inhalations and then blows out rings of grayish smoke, which rise to join the rest of the haze that permeates the room.
In one corner there is a colorful and old slot machine, with a line of four people waiting to play. None of them knows that the machine is rigged, and that they will never win anything.
The smell that permeates everything is of sweat, smoke, a lavender deodorant that should theoretically neutralize the first two but that only seems to make the situation worse, sugar, alcohol, ink. It's the smell of a place where a lot of money circulates.
Hyerasolem looks on contentedly, hands on hips, a slightly crooked smile on her face. She's just been to the hairdresser, ordering the most expensive treatment there was just for the sake of spending, and the result is that she is now sporting tri-colored hair: dark mahogany on top of her head, bright orange all the way down, yellowish gold at the tips. She wants everyone to understand that she's the boss, that she's got the dough, the cash, the money.
The small door that leads into the place opens and a large man enters, barely fitting through, squeezing himself. He is tall and fat, broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced with a two-day-old beard, dark eyes set between folds of skin, and he wears a dark gray suit that is anything but tailored, too long for him despite being enormous, so much so that he had to roll up the sleeves to reveal his chubby hands.
«Emma» He says, with a strange cadence «There's business to take care of»
«What happened?» Hyerasolem replies, not without sarcasm, taking out a wad of banknotes to fan herself
«Iago is dead»
«And Iago was...?»
«My brother»
«Then it's a family business».
Hyerasolem's gaze suddenly becomes determined. She loves solving family matters, because she knows her husband won't blame her if she were to use "unethical" techniques.
«Who did it?» She asks, folding the wad of bills, rolling them in her palm, back and forth
«You won't believe it...»
«Of course, if you don't tell me, idiot»
«You idiot!»
«Do you want to avenge your brother or not, moron?»
«A ghost»
«A ghost what?»
«It was a ghost. Now don't laugh, because otherwise I'll kill you. A ghost killed my brother, there's evidence, footage and everything. They didn't even find the body of his wife and son yet. Maybe the son ran away».
Hyerasolem smiles. She knows that ghosts exist.
«Consider this Casper guy dead» She replies, «Our family won't let spirits under the sheets beat them»
«Technically, he's already dead, right?» the man replies, wrinkling his nose
«Oh, stop it! Don't be an idiot! And condolences, by the way. Did you even talk to your brother, uh? I don't remember him»
«We'll give our condolences to the ghost» the man sneers, revealing a set of yellowish teeth, large and slightly irregular, the kind that seem to be made for biting off children's fingers «To any ghost we meet. They all look alike, right?»
«Right» the woman replies, nodding, even though she knows full well that ghosts are very different from each other (and that they are not "dead" as many people believe) «I'll put together a team for you in an afternoon. I know these misfits» she points her thumb around the room, while a mixed group of Asians and Caucasians conveniently start screaming because of a deception they've just discovered, attacking a little Indian man «I know who we can use»
«We're talking about my brother, Emma. I'm enough»
«You alone?» she looks him up and down, then snorts a half-laugh «It'll take a lot to turn you into a ghostbuster. You can't even bust your own ass, lazy man»
«Idiot»
«Idiot you»
«I have to talk to some people now. I'll come over later»
«Buy some toilet paper»
«There was all the toilet paper we needed! What the hell are you doing in your free time, wrapping yourself up like a mummy?»
«I use the toiled paper to clean up the unpleasant mess you leave behind, you disgusting man»
«I'll go buy some toilet paper»
«Go. And buy yourself some dignity too».
The man snorts, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. It's a murderous look, one of those that implies violence, when you come home, but Hyerasolem doesn't notice, she's walking toward one of the card players to say something to him.
The man leaves the room. He's decided that he'll take out all the hatred he feels for his wife on those damned, disgusting ghosts. The spilled blood of his brother, Iago Runner, was calling, and he always answered to the blood.