The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «Quiet jobs are boring», said Lucinda, with a hint of arrogance.

  «Always the same. Ambitious, yet with the instinct of a superhero. A deadly cocktail.»

  «Hmm... very funny. I just do my best, in my own little way. If I can help someone - and make a little money out of it, because one has to earn a living, you know - I do it willingly.»

  «You have to introduce me to some of your girls, one of these days...»

  «Oh, you'd like it for sure, but I fear you could find yourself with a couple of fractured ribs.»

  They both smiled.

  «We should eat something, or Bjorn will be sorry. We haven't touched a thing.»

  «I'm really not hungry, Bill. I leave it all to you. By the way, I can't stay much longer, tomorrow morning I'll have a lot of work to do.»

  William thought it was an excuse, but he tried to be condescending.

  «Of course, I'll have a full day too. We're managing another complicated contract. As usual, I would say.»

  «And they keep dumping all the problems on you? Make them pay you more!», Lucinda suggested, a little annoyed.

  «Easier said that done. Anyway, it's the same old story, better forget it.»

  «Bad times. Things were better when we were younger.»

  A cliché was certainly not the best choice, but Lucinda couldn't find anything more effective for shortening the conversation without being rude.

  «I think people also used to complain back then, but we were young and carefree and probably looked on the bright side of things. Better change the subject, shall we?»

  «Definitely. Also because I have to go now. Are you leaving too?»

  «A few more minutes, time to say goodbye to Bjorn. Don't worry about the bill, I'll pay for it.»

  «Okay thanks. Good night Bill.»

  «Hi Cy. See you soon.»

  They kissed on the cheek. Lucinda walked towards the exit without turning, under William's watchful eye, who stood looking at her a few more seconds. Bjorn Johansson, who watched them the whole time, approached William and discreetly asked him if everything was okay. William downplayed that little argument to avoid the second awkward conversation of that evening. They spent several minutes talking about this and that, about metalball games - they were both “Red Stripes” fans and were sure they would win the championship that year - and home brew.

  Once outside the venue, a gust of cold wind awakened his senses, which were a little sleepy due to fatigue, alcohol and too much talking. He mulled over when to call Lucinda back and which words to use not to hurry her or be intrusive. A good approach could be to send her some electronic messages from time to time, just to keep in touch.

  He went to the collection point with a blank expression. Hands in pockets and eyes fixed on the pavement. The last run of the social carrier was scheduled for midnight, he was well ahead. He got in and took a seat almost like he was sleepwalking. The coaches were pretty empty, except for the usual militiaman on duty and a fairly elderly couple. The two aged people looked intimidated by the militiaman and they were careful not make a sound.

  When the carrier was near Liberation Square, William's numbness was interrupted by an unpleasant scene. Four militiamen standing and a person in his fifties lying on the ground. It didn't take too long to realize that a beating had just occurred. The violence of those in the street was backed up by the sneer of disgust of the militiaman standing inside the coach, who perversely sympathized with his colleagues by showing his disappointment towards the man on the floor. William wanted to fight back, to take action, but he felt powerless. Militia often committed abuses and other despicable practices just for fun. It was intolerable, as was its facade of legality and fairness.

  The card seemed to refuse to enter the front door reader, and he wasn't even drunk! In small amounts, alcohol helped him relieve the headaches, but unfortunately not that night, because he had had an annoying pain in the right corner of his forehead all the time.

  He would like to throw himself down on the bed, without even undressing, but the N-27 reported a high priority message and got his attention. It was like taking a cold shower, that little sleepiness was wiped out in a second and the adrenaline started pumping through his veins. It was not good news, Scarlet Militia Downtown Headquarters was summoning him, with forty-eight hours notice, for a preliminary meeting about the sabotage charges brought against him by Minneman Company. He felt dazed for a few moments, as if time and the world outside were frozen in a macabre slide. Over the next minutes he stood completely still and reread several times to make sure he understood the notice well; then, not yet satisfied, he began to spell the text out, to convince himself that all that stuff was really happening to him.

  “Today, following a formal request for damages made by the alleged injured party, 'Minneman Company', represented by Minneman Ralph and its attorney, Thomander Garreth, for alleged sabotage, as shown in the specifications attached, Our Most Excellent Institute, by the grace of their distinguished figures, the Commander-in-Chief, High Officer DeMartini Raphael and the Lead Investigator, Officer Rea Patrick, considered it appropriate and not postponable to summon the 'Deveux William', whose guilt has not been possible to ascertain so far, as he is not a self-confessed criminal yet, to hear his own version and / or to denounce what is due with regards to events, persons or things that are still unknown, specifying also that this option granted by Our Most Excellent Institute fits with the rigorous pursuit of justice and cannot be interpreted as a possibility to access either a special act of mercy, or a penalty mitigation, though we remind the 'Deveux William' that Our Most Excellent Institute is well disposed to indulgence towards those who show to be cooperative by confessing their guilt, thus contributing to lighten the burden upon officials and officers in charge. Such 'Deveux William' must adhere to this summons within the mandatory term of forty-eight hours following receipt of this message. Please note that failure to comply with the deadline will result in immediate arrest by two or more agents and forced transfer to Downtown Headquarters, plus the charging of fees as per the attached table, as well as a one third additional penalty in the event of conviction. It is strongly recommended not to carry unnecessary items and not to wear showy clothing.”

  The letter was accompanied by a long series of attachments regarding procedures and regulations, in addition to the file containing the accusations made by Minneman Company, minutely detailed and full of footnotes inserted by Militia. William stifled a curse word. He turned off everything on impulse, as if he felt the need to get away quickly from those bad news, and then went to bed. His heart was beating wildly, he almost felt like he had something mechanical in his chest. He was not sleepy anymore so he just stayed in the dark, staring at nothing, blinking his eyes repeatedly. He struggled not to wallow in self-pity and thought instead about how to proceed, what to do or say and how he could defend himself. He tried to mentally program the next forty-eight hours not to leave anything to chance and when he thought he had defined what to do well enough, he fortunately managed to find some comfort and calm down.

  Chapter II

  Lucinda Merritt's childhood had been very tough. With a tyrant as a father and an alcoholic and complicit as a mother, because she was too coward to resist, she soon understood that she would have to rely solely on herself. The abuse she had suffered, it hardened her over time. She got used to expect the worst, to have prejudices towards everyone and to be wary of everything.

  After switched various jobs and once she got financially self-sufficient – so that she could make her own choices - she decided she would do everything to help the less fortunate girls rebuild their lives. First, she challenged herself with exhausting training sessions to strengthen her body, then focused on perfecting self-defense with special courses and, when she judged to be ready, she set up an all-female security agency. Among her acolytes there were misfits, drug addicts, women with a criminal record and, more broadly, anyone who needed to clean herself up, to rejoin society,
to restore confidence and self-esteem.

  The experience gained during her youth pushed Lucinda to act with a humanitarian but also a utilitarian spirit, with an ambition that led her to want to assert herself as a successful, respected and even feared business woman.

  She called her girls gentle blades, because they had to move with grace and sweetness, but, if necessary, be razor-sharp. They were an unusual group of escorts, expert in self-defense, who were usually hired by businessmen to attend business meetings that could present risks to their safety. Within a few years their services got more and more in demand and they became a symbol of power and vanity, although, where necessary, they could act as bodyguards tout court, as they were skilled in weaponry and in the art of combat. Lucinda molded them in her own image and made them amazons disguised as pin-up. To honor the passion their leader had for the Far East, the “blades” decided to refer to the myth of Onna-Bugeisha, the female warriors of medieval Japan, from whom they hoped to borrow wisdom, inner balance and spirit of self-sacrifice.

  Lucinda meticulously took care of their preparation, both taking care of aesthetics and perfecting their training with daily sessions, to make them ready to face any kind of threat. A job well paid and very much in demand, yet dangerous. Things had not been the same since a freshman, Justine Douglas, died of poisoning during a mission. She had been too shallow, unprepared. She had drunk, as a joke, a cocktail prepared for a client, with whom she had got close. She had not taken the necessary precautions, had not observed and monitored the origin of that drink and who could contaminate it. She paid dearly for her self-confidence.

  Lucinda could not find peace, she was consumed by guilt. She blamed herself and thought she had sent her on an assignment much too soon, that she would have to train her more, physically and mentally. She knew that novices tended to be too confident. Too much adrenaline, too much desire to prove themselves. They lacked caution and experience, which both took time. Lucinda got obsessive in managing her business since then. She tripled her efforts to ensure their physical and mental preparation was perfect and they were aware of the risks involved in their particular job. She did not want to leave anything more to chance.

  «What? You already back? », she asked Florianne Gilbert, frowning.

  «That bastard, Jamison... he thought he'd hired a hooker.»

  «Won't you please explain?»

  «What is there to explain, Lucy? You know the letter of engagement better than I do. No sexual favors. That scum clearly forgot to read it.»

  Lucinda took a deep breath.

  «Flo, did he harass you?»

  «Oh no, of course not, I nipped him in the bud.»

  Lucinda's eyes widened.

  «My Goodness, you didn't beat him up, did you?»

  «Relax, I know the rules, I'd never get into a mess like that. I just chewed him out a little.»

  Lucinda dropped onto the back of her chair.

  «Damn... Carl Jamison is a new client and not just one of many. He manages procurement of supplies on behalf of Guild of Transportation. Are you absolutely certain he hit on you? Maybe he just wanted to be nice?»

  She already knew the answer, but given the significance of the client, she could not but ask those questions.

  «Well, I left him drunk and the last thing he said before I went away, was - I quote – come on, let me lick your... shall I go on? If you want, I'll list all the things he's said and done in the last two days.»

  «Asshole. Sometimes I forget who we're dealing with. The richer they are, the more megalomaniacs they are. They feed us, and we thank them, but we're not their property. There are other... providers for those things», said Lucinda, very annoyed by that latest episode of sexism. She paused, then began to talk again, joining hands like she was strangling someone.

  «Fuck! A one-week contract to be terminated after just two days. Jamison must surely be so well-connected that he won't pay us a single credit, and we'll even have to pay damages.»

  Florianne Gilbert lowered her eyes, as if she wanted to exonerate herself.

  «Lucy, I just want to take a shower and go home if that's okay with you.»

  «Go home!», Lucinda replied without thinking, immediately starting to type wildly on her computer keyboard to try to calculate the economic impact of that lost profit.

  What was William saying, that I want to play superhero and save the world? He should see me now, she murmured once she was alone in the room. Pretty upset, she called her assistant, Janine Meltzer, to get a report about “blades” on assignment and how business was. She was always well aware of trend, but she thought she'd better look at the figures. Losing a big client was something that annoyed her very much. Apart from accounting, which she had delegated to Janine, she managed almost everything on her own, as she wanted to constantly monitor her agency's work. She was rigid with the girls, about their behaviors, the degree of professionalism that they had to maintain outside of work. She did a lot for them and demanded that they did their best in return.

  William was puzzled by the kind of economic activity Lucinda had chosen. He did not doubt her abilities, but he thought the risk profile was too high, more suitable for those who had experience of armed forces or police than a self-made young lady with a strong desire to avenge her childhood abuse. He did not see her compromising and being tough enough to deal with powerful and ruthless businessmen. He could not imagine she could even teach other girls how to defend themselves and how to respond harshly, if necessary. Sometimes he wondered if he had put her on a pedestal too quickly, if he had not idealized her to the point of forgetting his dark past and the scars inside her, which made her a strong and determined woman, not a little bird. However, he preferred to keep those feelings buried in his soul. There was no need for further concerns, their relationship was tempestuous enough. Lucinda Merritt was slender and athletic but, above all, she was the woman with whom he hoped to share most of his life. That's all he needed to know.

  Janine Meltzer, very efficiently, presented reports and action plans as her boss requested. Then she waited for the right time give her one last non-financial information.

  «Oh, Lucinda, there's something else. That client you spoke to last week, Sarkov, asked after you.»

  Janine Meltzer never used to cut her off or just speak to her, except for important matters. Lucinda immediately took her eyes off the terminal.

  «What for?»

  «He asked after you... I mean, he asked for you personally. In short, he wants to hire you for that assignment, or he will probably not sign the contract.»

  «What? And why?»

  Janine shrugged.

  «Maybe he likes you. I tried to investigate, but he didn't explain his reasons.»

  She turned to go back to her room but Lucinda kept talking, so she stayed a little more.

  «Zakhar Sarkov. That man gives me the creeps. He's one of the most powerful entrepreneurs of Eurasian continent. And I'm afraid he's just as corrupt too.»

  More than talking to Janine, Lucinda was thinking out loud. She began to drum her fingers on the edge of the screen of her travel computer, which she now used mainly for office work.

  «I can't give him such a thing. He'll believe he can get everything he wants. He may be used to treat his entourage like that, but it's different with me. Of course, he would pay well, but we're not so desperate that we have to accept at all costs.»

  She lit a ginger cigarette while Janine waited by the doorway.

  «Yet I don't want him to be a threat for us. What should we do?»

  «You tell him you're the boss and you can't deal with such things. It's a matter of prestige, especially towards your employees.»

  Lucinda waved her right hand's index finger as if to say it was not a bad idea. She blew a puff of smoke and stared at Janine with narrowed eyes, as if she was squeezing her brain.

  «But Sarkov is not just anyone, it would be too little to stop him. No, I have to find something else.»

  She s
norted heavily and that time she started to tap on her right cheek.

  «You may leave, Janine. I'll think of something.»

  «Whenever you want me, I'm over there.»

  Janine closed the door and Lucinda leaned back in her armchair, contemplating next moves.

  William decided not to wait for the forty-eight hours. It was a huge hassle and he'd better get it over as soon as possible. Provided that the issue would be resolved there and then, he hoped, but it would be much too easy, so he was prepared and resigned to repeat that routine further times. He really had to face Scarlet Militia just once: the day of deportation to Numbered District. He previously lived in the middle-class neighborhood of Harrington, a residential area mainly inhabited by employees and workers of aluminum factories. He was not stunned by the news of the forced transfer, because some friends and neighbors had met the same fate before him. Militia was not used to justify its decisions or to negotiate with citizens, so the reasons for those deportations were not clear. Rumors spread about some buildings being not healthy or risking to collapse, other people speculated about hygienic-sanitary risks, yet Militia did not release any official statement. Indeed, it took advantage from those rumors to justify clearly unreasonable decisions.

  That damn morning was fixed in William's mind. An unpleasant-looking militiaman, certainly not an officer, came to pick him up around six o'clock, while the sun was still shy, with just a few shards of light in the sky. The henchman looked bored, more than sleepy. He had just to carry out a mere formality, to follow a protocol, and he evidently wished that the subject annoyed him as little as possible. William, who had hoped to escape the threat, had to resign himself quickly. The militiaman urged him to collect as much as necessary and follow him, warning him about the harmful consequences of any sudden moves. He spoke coldly as if he were reading the instruction manual of a household tool. Since it was very early, William spent several moments to realize what to do and what questions he would have to ask the cop. He looked around trying to figure out what would happen to all his stuff, but the enforcer lost no time in reassuring him that his belongings would be carefully cataloged and packed, and then transferred to his new address. The militiaman's scornful giggle stated something different, that his personal things would probably be examined and categorized and what was considered harmful would be accidentally lost.