Agabiro was silent on the way as they left behind the disappointedly pouting demoness and the excitable imp. Silence was suddenly something he appreciated very much in comparison. He simply listened and nodded as Jade explained his part of the plan.
It hadn't missed his attention that Jade had avoided answering Zuricka's question. So this was something he didn't want to talk about, wasn't it? Always good to know. But he left it at that. Not that he was scandalized - it was, understandably, impossible to scandalize him, he had seen and done too many things for that. It just didn't matter for now.
He had much to think about; anticipation to see his plan in action occupied his mind. He welcomed being left alone with the doll. Not that he was nervous, he had no reason to be, he had killed many men before; rather he was excited because this was the first test run of a weapon he would use to kill Whitehill. He wanted to inspect it, and more than that, he wanted to use it already.
The doll, he observed, was a show of excellent craftsmanship. But, as it resembled Jade, it was also largely harmless-looking, frail and soft. He didn't think that it would arouse anyone's suspicions. Other than the button eyes, of course. They looked suitably disconcerting, but they also destroyed the illusion of a harmless Asralie, and invited suspicion. When visiting the bishop, he would have to wear a pair of sunglasses. For now, however, they were perfectly fine.
He heard the soft sigh of the violin despite the distance, as it commanded him to enter the doll. And as he obeyed, he immediately realized something.
The doll didn't only resemble the Maestro. In a manner of speaking, it felt like it was the Maestro. That was clearly, unmistakably his presence. His soul, or at least part of it, inside the doll. Agabiro wasn't sure if this was a very clever or very stupid idea on Jade's part. Of course, he would have more control, but at the same time be more at risk. But then, from what he had seen, the Asralie liked risk. Good, because he was going to get it. But not tonight. Tonight would be... peaceful, for a murder.
He stretched his newly acquired limbs and got going. The body felt surprisingly elastic and good to move in; much like a real body. He strode out into the deserted street, and took a turn towards the end where shop lights and car lights were showing, to rejoin the circulation of the city.
If his calculations were right, which they generally were, the lawyer should soon be on his way home. His hovercar was still parked in the garage under the office, the same car he saw in the file: an elegant, grey one, a year old at most. It took him all of four seconds to get it open and place himself on the back seat, then lock it back again. He slid down a little, so the lawyer would not immediately be alerted when he gets in, but soon enough it wouldn't matter either way.
He waited for maybe five minutes only when the mark showed up. Precautions had been unnecessary; the man threw himself into the front seat without a single look in the back of the car. Then he closed the doors and checked the rearview mirror before backing out of his spot. And found a pair of button eyes looking back.
"Good evening," Agabiro said in the quiet, engaging manner of a polite nightmare. "Yes, maybe it's a dream; does that really matter? For now, I'm here, aren't I?" The man visibly swallowed, but didn't scream. It was the sane, persuasive tone; Agabiro could be good with his voice when he didn't want to use bloodier methods - like now. It could really work miracles. "Speaking of dreaming, you look tired. Do you sleep enough? Maybe you should see a doctor. You aren't so young anymore. I should guess having a new wife tires you out." He leant back in the comfortable seat, crossing his legs. "I wonder if you can tire her out too. I doubt, though. Your face looks really quite grey. Not as grey as your hair, but still. And you aren't very fit either, so it's understandable. Eww- now that I look at you closer, I wonder what she sees in you at all. Why, I'm sick just looking at you. Although you are successful, that's true. Money is attractive. That must be it. If you were honest, you might say you bought her, didn't you? Hired her is maybe the more proper expression." His voice only amplified the voice of the lawyer's subconscious worries. And that's why it worked. It was true. Or the victim thought it was, which made no difference at all. "You don't think she loves you, do you? Poor naïve boy. She's so young and pretty, she could have any man. In fact she probably does. You did work late today too, what do you think she is doing while you are away, pining after you and your flabby stomach? No, put that phone down. It wouldn't change anything, she would just lie about it anyway. What do you think of that? She married you because you were rich and pretends she loves you. Isn't that despicable? And then she cheats on you, even though you bought her, you practically own her. Why, in the middle ages nobody would have said a word if you killed her for cheating on you. Don't you want to do that? Kill her? Oh, I know you do." Suddenly his tone became sharper. "Now, don't you start the car yet. How eager you are to murder. Can't you see what a horrible person you are? You convinced this poor inexperienced young girl to marry you, and then you want to kill her because you think you own her and you can't even trust her. Why, I think people like you deserve to die. You disgust me, body and soul. What? Put down that gun, coward. You'd kill yourself while she screws one poolboy after the other, and leave her everything you worked hard for? Some punishment, I say." He wasn't being consistent, but nor was he trying to be; nor were nightmares, and they still worked. In fact, they worked all the better. There was nothing to argue with, because he wasn't trying to make a sensible argument. He was trying to cut where it hurt the most, to destroy. "No, if you are going to kill yourself, at least kill the despicable whore first." His voice took on a conspiratory, whispering tone. "Make her pay. In fact, why not scare her really badly? Make it look like you are taking her out for a nice dinner, so she won't suspect anything, and just when she starts to enjoy herself, kill her. Hmm, how does that sound? A gunshot to her pretty little head, and she pays. Another to your own, and it will be all over. Wouldn't you like it to be all over?" It was almost too easy, really... This man just asked to be dead. "Just think about what I said. No, what do you mean by 'me'? You are alone in your car, it was locked, wasn't it? You most certainly didn't see an Asralie with buttons for eyes appear in your car out of nowhere. Are you crazy? People will think you are. It was just a dream, remember, you are tired. Nothing of the sort happened. But don't forget what I said. Think about it. And now sleep, you are tired."
That was a job well done. As the man's head sank down onto the dashboard, Agabiro got out. He still had to have a little chat with the wife and prepare her for the event. He had to tell her how much she loved dining out with her husband; and that he would never hurt her, even if he looks like he wants to, that can only be a joke and they would have a good laugh together afterwards.
Besides, he wondered how much of what he had said was true.
