The International Businessman

by Daniel Lawlis

Thus, uncomfortable though he felt in the bar, he decided to reenter.

  The bartender looked at him suspiciously when he sat down again, suggesting he had made less than a favorable impression by occupying space while consuming so little. Hoping to ameliorate the man, he ordered a box of the most expensive cigars and threw a generous tip in to boot, and that seemed to have the desired effect upon the bartender, who thereafter looked at him with pleasing benevolence.

  Tats puffed away, not having towards tobacco any of the aversion he had to alcohol. After all, it had not been fits of tobacco-induced rage that had motivated his father to terrorize his family. He made it a point to give many of the passing girls the up and down so that when the true object of his interest passed it would not seem he had any unique interest in her.

  His stratagem proved a bit risky at times, as any sign of interest towards the girls brought forth more reciprocated attention than he would have liked. Only with a generous tip and a little groping could he send them on their way without offending either their professional or physical vanity.

  When Rose walked by at around 2:59 a.m. he acted as if he hadn’t seen her, although he gratefully noted that she had clearly seen him. He took a long drag on his cigar and then blew a large circle through the air in the general direction of the bartender, but only so much so that it appeared he wanted the acclamation of the bartender rather than to envelope the man in the small cloud.

  The bartender clapped approvingly of the aesthetic “O,” and Tats earned further flattery once he handed the man an additional tip. Then, he bid adieu, in broken Seleganian, saying something to the effect of, “No honest man stays in the saloon past three.” The bartender smiled politely, and Tats headed outside.

  By the time he reached Valiant he noticed there were indeed multiple girls beginning to make their way out of the tavern. And, he remarked with an inward groan that there were some barrel-chested men with arms larger than his thighs scowling about, surely looking for any signs of trouble from overzealous customers.

  He got more than one stern evaluation, but his quiet, sober demeanor quickly informed them he was no troublemaker. And they had seen him smoking and liberally tipping like a good customer at the bar, and generous tippers were always to be treated kindly.

  “Have a good night, sir,” one of the bouncers said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Tats responded, tipping his hat.

  He had been glad that in one of the brief respites from their scrutiny of him he had already seen which direction Rose was heading in. She was riding a beautiful white horse, which should make it easier to follow, but he still didn’t want to let her get too far ahead.

  He calmly mounted Valiant, and around this time more people began spilling out of the bar, quickly diverting the scrutiny of the bouncers elsewhere. Tats was on the move.

  He stayed a respectful block behind her but didn’t want to stay much farther back than that, as a sudden turn down a small street followed by a subsequent turn might leave him suddenly lost in the middle of this city. In fact, Rose did suddenly make a turn, just as he was contemplating this possibility, but fortunately by the time he made the same turn he was able to see her still ahead.

  Nonetheless, he tightened the distance a tad, as he noticed there were one or more turns Rose could have taken after the first turn that would have rendered her invisible in the night. Occasionally, a lone horseman or a carriage passed them by, but the streets were almost deserted.

  For around thirty minutes, Rose the tour guide continued to take Tats—he hoped—closer and closer to the requested destination. She made a few quick turns that seemed to justify Tats’ decision to tighten the following distance. In fact, even at the reduced following distance, Tats struggled to spot her after a couple of quick turns.

  Then, for around twenty minutes there were no turns at all. Tats noticed there were no business establishments in the area, only houses. And it seemed the farther Rose went, the larger the houses were, for there was a continually greater gap between each one.

  Finally, when it seemed this would continue until morning light, Tats noticed Rose slowing down. Tats instinctually brought Valiant to a complete halt and moved a bit to the side of the street. Sure enough, Rose stopped too and began to adjust her hair, as promised.

  Tats would have been content to call it mission accomplished, but he noticed a little farther up the road there were some horses moving in Rose’s direction. With that peculiar instinct that criminals are born with or acquire quickly in their careers, he reached into his stash of Green and extracted some. He felt for some odd reason that Rose might be in danger, and as he was no Mr. Brass, he thought he just might need every advantage he could get. Plus, another part of him rationalized, he just might need that extra boost figuring out how in the hell to find his way from here to a place of lodging.

  He inched ahead slowly, keeping far to the side of the road, seeking refuge like some solitary creature in the shadows afforded by the trees. He could see now that there were two horsemen approaching Rose. One of them attempted to make conversation, and he could hear Rose mutter something while attempting to steer clear of their pathway.

  They manifestly diverted their course to stay in line with hers. One of them whistled, and the other one cackled.

  Tats sniffed the entirety of the portion he had grabbed in the dark from his stash, grabbed some more, and gave it to his horse. Then, he hopped back on and removed his large dagger from his boot. When he heard Rose scream, he threw caution to the wind.

  He dug his knees in hard to Valiant’s side, prodding him forward, a superfluous act, as Valiant had already sensed the interest his master had in the young damsel’s distress. Valiant galloped forward viciously. Tats could see that one of the men had grabbed Rose and snatched her from her horse and placed her on his own. Tats noticed a buggy speedily heading their way, and he knew this was an organized kidnapping.

  Valiant seemed to have formed his own plan of attack, independent of whatever instructions his master might give him, and so impressed was Tats by the conviction with which Valiant went charging towards the horseman not holding Rose that Tats felt obligated to at least let his noble beast demonstrate his strategy.

  Tats barely held on to the reins as Valiant suddenly reared up, kicking the man savagely in the neck and face repeatedly, while standing on his hind legs. Blood shot from various wounds, and the malefactor went tumbling backwards, the back of his head softening his body’s fall against the concrete. Valiant then went charging towards the man holding Rose.

  She was trying to kick, scratch, and bite, but the man seemed imperturbed, as he resolutely brought his victim near the carriage, which, Tats could see, now had an open door, looking like the inside of a tomb into which Rose was to go.

  Tats decided it was time to show Valiant he could take the offensive as well. With the reins still tightly clasped with his left hand and his dagger in his right, he leaped up on top of Valiant’s back, and when he got near to Rose’s abductor, he jumped through the air towards the man and sliced across his throat with his dagger.

  Blood began to spurt out, sprinkling all over Tats’ face. Tats landed awkwardly on the neck of the horse and quickly let himself fall to the ground—thankfully, feet first.

  He then snatched Rose forcefully off the horse, lest it crash into the side of the buggy and hurl her to her death.

  He directed her to Valiant and had her climb on top, as her own horse was about halfway down the block still, although it was sauntering sheepishly in the direction of the tumult.

  Tats then noticed a man step down from the buggy seat. He reached for a cane, which Tats had no doubt would prove to be a formidable weapon against his short dagger. He had no intention to allow the cane to enter the contest.

  He slashed viciously at the man’s wrist and then quickly plunged his dagger to the hilt in the man’s throat. The next thing Tats knew the buggy was taking off, being driven by someone who did not
wish to take part in the gladiatorial contests.

  When Tats turned around, however, he noticed that there were about thirty men surrounding him on all sides. Instinctually, he sensed they were not combatants or in any way involved with the would-be abductors.

  “What’s all the commotion for?” one of them asked.

  Tats felt instinctively that a bold approach here was not only the best, but the only, course, especially considering that if he did not state the purpose of his business now he was sure to be seen as a threat if and when he returned here.

  “The lady was being abducted by a group of villains. I merely did what any gentleman would have under the circumstances.”

  “Is that so?” asked a large, moustached man. His compatriots grinned and looked at him reverently, suggesting he was their leader.

  Then, as suddenly as the man’s snide sneer had reached its zenith, it disappeared.

  “Wait a moment . . . come closer you!” he said, looking directly at Rose.

  Tats pulled gently on Valiant’s reins, bringing Rose closer.

  “I know her,” said the moustached man. “She works for the boss.” Then, with his face softening considerably, he said, “Son, you just may have earned yourself a reward. Those men probably work for Howard Helmes, the boss’s biggest competitor. Or, they may have just been predators. Either way, the boss don’t like her goods damaged.” He turned a hardened eye towards Tats as if to drive the point home.

  “But”, he said, his face growing suspicious, “there’s still questions to be answered here. Rose don’t live here. And I can’t exactly say I’ve seen you around these parts. So, just what in the heck is Rose doing so far from home, and just who in the hell are you?”

  Tats could tell the goodwill earned by his good deed had had a short but pleasant life.

  “Who in the hell am I?” Tats repeated with authority and a small touch of disdain. “I am your boss’s brother.”

  “Haaaaaaa!” The man let it out almost more like a dying rasp than a laugh before then doubling over briefly in a fit of giggles. “Now, listen, son. I kind of like you. Truth be told, I admire a guy who’ll stick up for a woman, and I can see you can handle yourself pretty well, and I won’t shortchange your horse none either. And if you were to tell me a believable lie—say, ‘I was following this fine lass to her home with the intention of leaving her a rose on her doorstep along with a love note’—I’d let you go on your blessed way, and it would be the lady who would have to do her explaining to the boss as to what in the heck she’s doing around here.

  “But if you insist on getting smart, then I’m gonna start to dislike you real fast,” he said. His eyes had a certain calmness about them that suggested inflicting injury was something he could do out of pure professionalism and without raising his voice.

  “Bring a torch here,” Tats said with authority.

  Moustache beckoned one of his underlings, who came scurrying forward.

  “Now, no funny business, mister,” Moustache warned.

  “None,” Tats agreed. “I just want you to get a good look at me.”

  Moustache gulped once. He could tell his subject had no shortage of confidence, and he was beginning to second-guess his own skepticism.

  Tats moved closer, until he was just six to eight inches away.

  “Hold the torch close,” Tats said, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on those of Moustache.

  The man did as Tats ordered, and Moustache didn’t so much as blink either.

  “Are you going to tell me you see no resemblance?” Tats queried. “My name is David Havensford, although I go by ‘Tats.’”

  Tats could tell he was about seven-tenths of the way there. Moustache seemed a bit unnerved as he looked into his eyes, suggesting he did see an uncanny resemblance to a gaze he dreaded.

  “Reach into my front left pocket,” Tats calmly, but authoritatively, instructed the torchbearer.

  “Am I gonna take orders from him all night?” Torchbearer groused.

  “Do it,” Moustache ordered calmly.

  Torchbearer reached into Tats’ pocket and extracted a small painting.

  “Look at it,” Tats said. “That’s my sister, and that’s your boss.” Tats was privately hoping his vision had been correct when it had informed him he had seen several of these men issue from the property where Rose had signaled his sister’s abode. If not, he was barking up the wrong tree.

  Moustache blinked once. Tats was sure it had been the first time during their stare down.

  “Take them inside. Secure them, but be gentle.” He looked really calmly at Tats, the most conflicted balance of fear and aggression he had ever seen. He looked like he was about to say some threat like, You better be who you say you are, but bit his tongue at the last minute, perhaps as he thought of the possible consequences of him being who he said he was.

  Several men approached Tats and Rose from behind. They ordered Rose to dismount from Valiant.

  “We’ve got to take our precautions, understand?” Moustache said to Tats and then shook his head at one of his men who was getting ready to tie Tats’ hands behind his back. The man then walked to Tats’ and Rose’s front and tied their hands in front of them gently.

  “Bring them to the main door. I’ll see if the boss wants to see them tonight or if it will have to wait for tomorrow.”

  Tats and Rose were led on foot, with Valiant and Rose’s horse being included in the procession. They went up the street, entered through a large opened gate, and began walking up a road leading to the house.

  It seemed the walk was nearly a mile, but Tats was mightily distracted by the breathtaking array of first-class manicured plants that adorned the sides of the road underneath the spotlight of the moon, as it seemed such scenes existed only in fairy tales.

  As he neared the house, its grandeur quickly eclipsed that of the manicured gardens. Gold adorned the windows, and every angle and every spiral seemed as if they had been designed by the best craftsmen who ever lived.

  “Wait here,” Moustache instructed Tats, Rose, and the dozen or so men guarding them.