"In." Says the figure. A voice like darkness itself. I get in.
We pull away, the driver unseen behind an opaque glass screen. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I begin to make out some details. My host, whose invitation to meet him here I accepted only hours ago, sits silently. He faces forward, eyes concealed by dark glasses, both hands atop a black cane with a black skull handle.
"If you want to fix your team, I can help you. The cost may be high but the results will be worth it if you're willing to pay."
That was all the note said, along with a time and place to meet. It was signed by a Mr. Black.
Finally the car came to a stop. Through the heavily tinted windows I could just make out the city skyline in the distance. Portlands? The Spit? I couldn't be sure.
"Your team" he said, without looking at me "They are in trouble."
"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly, we did play pretty poorly last game but - "
"It was not a question." Faint trace of an accent... German? Russian? I couldn't place it exactly.
"To find their way once again, the Black Aces must commit to the Path of Blackness" he continued. "This is essential. To do otherwise will be to fail, and a 5th title will be forever out of reach. Can you commit to the Path of Blackness?"
I swallowed, though my throat was dry as dust. "Uh, sure?" I croaked.
A long pause as he gathered himself to speak. "First, we must change what you drink."
"What we drink?" This was not what I had expected.
"Yes, no more Old Speckled Hen. That is a beer for losers and Englishmen. From now on, only Black Label or Johhny Walker Black."
"All right" I said "Black Label it is. Are there any bars in particular where we should drink?"
"The Black Bull."
"Got it, Black Bull." I was making notes quickly, lest I forget these important directives.
"Next, music. From now on, game day music must be only Norwegian Black Metal, or Black Sabbath. The good shit, no Ronnie James Dio. Or AC/DC's Back in Black."
I was starting to see a pattern. "What about Frank Black?" I asked him.
A sharp intake of breath, and his brow seemed to furrow just slightly. "I will accept that. Frank Black. NOT Jack Black. He is a putz."
"Got it. Jack Black is a putz."
"Filllllm..." he said, drawing out the word like a piece of soft licorice. "Only film noir until the season ends. No comedies, no rom-coms, no movies with Tom Hanks. These are abominations and will cause weakness. I recommend The Killers as a good starting point, or The Maltese Falcon. These will serve you well in your quest."
"What about Men in Bla-" He cut me off mid-sentence.
"Yes, yes, Men in Black, of course." A dismissive wave of his hand, and I caught a brief flash of a silver ring set with what I could only assume was a huge Alaskan Black Diamond. "But only 1 and 3, not the second one. That one is scheisse."
"If you can follow the Path of Blackness faithfully, you may yet find your way back to glory. But if any one of the Aces strays..."
"I understand." I said. "I will bring your message to the team."
"See that you do." He reached out to push a black button in the back of the driver's seat in front of him, and the car instantly came to life and began to roll forward slowly.
"What about payment?" I asked. "We haven't spoken about that."
"Your victory will be my payment." he said.
"What if we fail?"
"Don't. You will not like what happens if you do."
The street lights streamed past dimly through the blacked out windows as we made our way back into the city. In time we came to a stop and my door was abruptly opened by a large black man in a chaufeur's uniform. Mr. Black said nothing as I got out. I was left in front of the Black Bull as the car pulled away into the night.
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