Meeting Mr. B; the price for fame and fortune

“Good evening, Miss Poppin, I’m Special Agent Sarah Barton with the FBI. Thank you for agreeing to meet me,”

“No need to be so formal, Agent Barton, call me M. I’m more than happy to cooperate with law enforcement. I’m just not sure what it is I can do for you.”

The interviewee was super star M Poppin, a rapidly rising singing sensation who, merely two years ago, was just a local dive bar singer that had gotten her lucky break and was now rocketing up the charts and selling out arenas all over the country. She had agreed to meet the agent on her tour bus after the performance she gave that evening.

“Thank you, M. And please, Sarah. I’m here investigating the disappearances of multiple persons - - “

“- - - that’s horrible!” the singer exclaimed. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I agree. It is horrible. The reason I’m coming to you is that an AI analysis of all the missing subjects revealed some interesting coincidences. First is that they were all fans of yours. Not that hard to believe because it seems who isn’t nowadays.”

This comment elicited a blushing gesture from the star who was reclining in her chair.

“Secondly, they were all last seen or last heard from while attending your show. After your performance, it’s like they vanished off the face of the earth. No social media, no texts, no phone calls, nothing. And lastly, and this one was something that came out of left field was that they all disappeared on a full moon. We think the chatbot was having a moment when it came up with that one,” the agent snickered when she finished.

M echoed the snicker as she contemplated everything the federal agent had told her.

“I’m still not sure how I can be of help,” she queried.

“We know that your every performance is recorded with multiple cameras from multiple angles across both the stage and the crowd. We were wanting to copy the footage from the performances where these victims were last seen and see if we could find them in the crowd to determine if they met someone at the show that may have a better idea of what happened.

Although M was smiling at the agent, inside she was laughing. You can look all you want but you aren’t going to find them in this world.

“Yes, that would be fine, but for the lawyer’s sake we will need a warrant ordering the release of that footage.”

“I understand. I just wanted to come here tonight and lay some groundwork for why you would see this coming,” Agent Barton stated.

As the female officer continued M’s thoughts drifted to the reason for this visit. She knew exactly what happened to those people and her sitting in this lavish tour bus was the result.

She recalled her time just those two short years ago as a struggling lounge singer, going from dive bar to dive bar, hotel lounge to hotel lounge, begging to play her music so she could get some exposure, hoping to get her big break. She got it one night in a seedy little joint, but not exactly the way she expected.

After finishing her set, she was arguing with the owner about her compensation. He was stiffing her for what she should have received claiming she hadn’t brought in the patrons he expected to see from having her there. He was taking his losses out of her pay. She was arguing that attendance wasn’t her fault. He told her to take what he was giving her and have a drink on the house, or she could just leave, he didn’t care. She was sitting at the bar nursing her freebie when a man at the end of the bar started up a conversation with her.

“Tough business isn’t it, kid?” he said, taking a sip of his drink, looking straight ahead instead of at her.

“You got that right,” she exclaimed. “Bust your ass and end up getting stiffed at the end of the night. Hard to make a living.”

“Indeed. What if I was to say that it didn’t have to be this hard. That with the right contacts things could be so much easier?”

She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure they could be. But I don’t have those contacts. Do you?”

He turned to look her right in the eyes. M gasped as she peered into two of the blackest eyes she had ever seen on a person. They froze her motionless in her seat.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. The words slipping from his mouth like a naked body sliding across silk sheets.

M was mesmerized. His eyes captured her; his words held her in a soft embrace.

“I can offer you a contract that I will guarantee you fame and fortune in no time at all. By this time next year, you will have more money and fame than you know what to do with.”

This sounded too good to be true to her and as riveting as he was, she was skeptical at best.

“OK, right. I’d love to have that but I’m not doing anything kinky or whacked out for this kind of notoriety,” she said.

The man laughed a small laugh.

“No, my dear. Nothing like that. Nothing like that at all. All I require is that you bring me a soul. Once a month, on the full moon. As long as the souls keep coming, your fame and fortune will continue. You will receive an injection of youth and vitality, increasing your gifts and rejuvenating your body. However, if the souls stop, your contract will be considered breached, and you will lose everything. I will then collect on your default.”

M looked at the man and laughed. She thought he was totally nuts and she would be off her rocker to even continue the conversation.

“Sure, OK. Yeah. And pigs will fly and you know where Hoffa is buried.”

“Knowing where Hoffa is buried is another contract entirely,” the man replied, deadpan serious in his response.

From seemingly nowhere a document appeared in front of the singer. It was written on what looked like some extremely old parchment paper. The letterhead across the top of the page reading “Ferr Entertainment Enterprises, Inc.”

Intrigued she took a look at the wording of the document, and it stated everything he had said. It also outlined a salary and payment schedule to her with the figure increasing exponentially as time went on. There was some fine print at the end she glanced at quickly, but she kept looking back at the money. It was more than she had ever dreamt about.

“OK, I’ll bite. Where do I sign?” she said. She thought she would humor the man, play along with his game, not thinking a crazy person could really legally bind her to anything.

From his jacket pocket he produced an old-looking quill pen, reaching down the bar to give it to her as he drew near.

As she grabbed the pen she yelped as it pricked her finger, a rivulet of blood dripping down onto the paper, staining the page near where her signature would be.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “I like to have my clients use my lucky pen to sign their contracts with me.

She sucked her finger, causing the bleeding to stop.

“No harm, no foul. It startled me more than hurt me.”

“Fine, my dear. If you could sign right here please,” he indicated the line on the bottom of the second page where, strangely, her name was printed below it.

She took the pen and signed a barely legible signature thinking if it was barely readable she could get out of any craziness she had signed up for.

“Thank you, lovely. My turn,” the man said, taking the pen from the young lady, he proceeded to sign on the line next to hers. M watched as he gracefully signed his name. Mr. Lou C. Ferr.

“My associate, Mr. B will be assuming his duties as your personal assistant and bodyguard now.”

The singer jumped as a huge man suddenly appeared next to her. Where in the hell did he come from?

“Are you ready for this?” Mr. Ferr inquired.

“Why not? Sure, I’m ready for fame and fortune,” she chuckled as she threw her hands up into air as if she had nothing to lose.

A quick look around by the contract wielding stranger ensured the bar was empty.

“Excuse me,” he yelled. “What does a man have to do to get a drink in this hole in the wall?” he shouted, intending to provoke the owner who was in the back cleaning up.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Shouting at me in my own place?” the owner was more than miffed to be treated to so rudely in his own establishment.

Ferr laughed. “Hell indeed.”

The owner came around the bar, a baseball bat in his hand, intending to impose his will upon the rude man sitting in front of him.

His advance was stopped short by Mr. B. What happened next seemed like a dream, unreal in every way to M.

Standing in front of the pub owner, the large man opened his suit coat and shirt to reveal his massive chest. Unbelieveably the bodyguard seemed to split down the middle, his torso opening up into a giant shark tooth filled maw.

Shocked into silence the bartender stood there as the huge mouth enveloped him, a scream escaping his lips all too late as he was absorbed into the mouth, disappearing from sight as he seemed to evaporate into the gaping chasm of the giant open jaw.

When there was no trace remaining of the owner, Mr. B seemed to stitch himself back together, straightened his tie, put his sunglasses back on and took a few steps back.

“Now, it’s time for your first installment due to you,” the stranger stated. He stood up, locked the front door, pulled the shades closed and nodded to the large man standing patiently.

Mr. B looked at M. She felt uneasy with his gaze seemingly staring through her body, directly to her soul. He reached up, taking his sunglasses off again.

M felt her heart skip a beat. His eyes seemed as though they were fire. Burning into her, she felt her body react passionately to his stare. Her body moved as though it was being controlled from outside of it. She felt her clothes slowly falling to the floor. The large man was doing the same, the singer gasping as she took in the spectacle of his enormous, unrobed physique.

What happened next she still wasn’t certain of, even the next morning when she awoke. She remembered being laid on the bar where she experienced blissful satisfaction like she had never felt before. It went on for what seemed like hours before there was finally a release from the hulking shadowy figure providing her with those feelings of ecstasy. She rolled over in her bed looking at the nightstand. She was shocked to see a large stack of cash. On it was a note that read: “Just a little something to help you get on your feet, Regards, L. Ferr”

Throwing a robe on she went to her kitchen where the mystery continued. Standing there, in his suit and sunglasses was the enormous figure of Mr. B. He was busy making a meager breakfast that he set on the table for her.

“Could you possibly explain to me what happened last night? I am confused beyond all belief.”

In a deep hushed tone, the enormous man started spelling out the situation. M had indeed made a deal with the devil for fame and fortune. She was required, as stated in the contract, signed in blood, that once a month, on the full moon, she was to offer up a soul in exchange for fame, fortune, youth and vitality. Mr. B was not only her bodyguard and personal assistant, but he was also a portal demon. He would go about the task of harvesting the soul for his master then transfer her portion of the agreement to her. She would be pleasured all night after the soul absorption before he would release the infusion of power, fame and vitality. The kicker of the deal was, the stronger the attraction to her, the greater the pleasure in the transference. She was trying to wrap her head around this but also happened to think, if that’s what it was like for someone who didn’t like me, I can’t even imagine what it would be like after someone who actually cared about me.

Still only half believing the whole cockamamie story, chalking it all up to some bad acid the bar owner had slipped in her drink, she proceeded to go to her gig the following night. Ever present was her new acquaintance Mr. B, who actually took care of matters, ensuring she was set up properly and properly accommodated at the hotel lounge where she was singing.

Her first hint that the whole thing might actually be true was when a video taken at the hotel was uploaded to TikTok. It seemed like overnight there were at first, thousands of hits, then eventually topping a million. Gigs seemed to come flying out of the woodwork, all handled eloquently by the mysterious Mr. B.

On the first full moon she was wrapping up at a bar, talking to a fan. The female fan was following M outside, chatting her ear off when she bumped into the huge assistant. Before M could protest, he had devoured her just like he had the first bartender. The story she had been told was true. The night of pleasure after that sacrifice was climax, after climax, after exhausting climax. She woke up the next day unable to move for an hour, unable to get out of bed for two.

As her fame grew, so did her thirst for the monthly injections of power. She would selectively pick what seemed the biggest fan from near the stage, luring them into a secluded area for the transference. The ease at which she was able to casually discard a human life would normally be foreign to her, but she found herself not caring or concerning herself with it. Unbeknownst to her, this was a side effect of the contract. The fine print. If she had bothered to read it she would have seen that with each victim her humanity would melt away like the wax from a brightly burning candle. Disappearing slowly until the point where nothing was left, then her own soul would be forfeit.

“When could I pick up that footage?”

“Hm? Excuse me,” Poppin replied, unsure of what was being asked by Agent Barton as the pop star was shocked back to the present.

“I was wondering when I could get the concert footage,” Barton repeated.

“I will have it ready for you tomorrow evening if you ‘d like to come and watch the show, as my guest in the VIP seats, then swing by afterwards to pick it up right here.”

Gushingly the federal agent responded, not being able to contain herself.

“That is extremely generous of you. I certainly appreciate it. I will have to admit, I’m a huge fan and there’s no way I could afford those seats on my salary.”

The menacing smile by singer didn’t necessarily scare the agent, but it did make her feel the uneasiest she had felt in a long time.

“By the way Agent Barton have you met my bodyguard, Mr. B?” M’s dress slipped off her shoulders, falling to the floor as the agent turned around to see who was behind her.

Sarah emitted a loud, audible gasp. Not because of the huge nude hulking figure of the man standing silently behind her, but because of the parking lot illuminated brightly this late in the evening. In her haste to get the interview she had completely overlooked the fact that tonight was a full moon.

The resignation letter of Special Agent Sarah Barton was a shock to her supervising officer at the Bureau. It was even more confusing when she never bothered to come in to clean out her desk. When her personal effects were delivered to her parents the mystery deepened even further when it was learned they hadn’t heard from her in weeks either. They assumed she was working undercover; it had happened before. They said she had dreamed her entire life about being an agent and didn’t think she would ever resign, especially in the middle of such an important case.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss Poppin. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Please call me M.”

“Thank you, M. My name is Special Agent Baxter Montgomery. I’m here to see if I can talk to you about a former agent that came to speak to you about two months ago, a Special Agent Sarah Barton. There’s been some inconsistencies in her sudden disappearance, and you were her last appointment before she resigned. I was wondering if you might be able to elaborate about her visit with you.”

“I would love to chat, but unfortunately I am extremely busy tonight. If you could possibly come back tomorrow evening I would have more time to discuss that matter with you.”

“That would be fine. I can make time for that. See you tomorrow evening then. Thank you Miss Poppin.”

“Wonderful! See you tomorrow Agent Montgomery.”

As the agent departed an evil smile crossed the singer’s face. Looking at her calendar she positively beamed with satisfaction that tomorrow evening was a full moon.