Harold was at the edge, ready to see what was the matter, his beagle-like nose having sensed Righty’s unease.
After Righty explained what happened, Harold barked, “Get on!”
Righty didn’t argue, but hopped right on Harold’s back and was being flown at a speed so brisk the earlier velocity that had impressed him so much this afternoon seemed like a stroll.
For a moment, he almost rebuked Harold for flying straight across Pitkins’ large estate out in the open without first sending the konulans to scope out the area, but he had a growing respect for Harold’s judgment and didn’t utter a peep.
When Harold landed right in front of Pitkins’ front door, he announced, “Pitkins—Rich Simmers here!!”
He noticed the door was ajar and appeared to have been kicked open sometime recently, given a large indentation in the door roughly the size of a man’s boot.
He proceeded inside, again calling out “Rich Simmers here!” several times.
He heard a soft whine coming from ahead, and he walked forward briskly to investigate.
His heart nearly broke as he saw the soft eyes of a beautiful Great Dane looking up at him. It was covered in blood and had clearly been beaten nearly to death but had somehow pulled through.
He again heard the soft sound reverberating from his nasal cavity like a gust of whistling wind.
As Righty squatted down and sat next to the beautiful creature, its eyes flicked back and forth, and its nose twitched, apparently trying to decide whether the guest was friend or foe.
Righty extended his hand very softly and lightly petted the beast’s back.
“Water?” he asked.
A happy whimper answered yes.
Righty found a jar and then a bowl, filled it, and brought it to the animal.
It lapped it up greedily but whimpered again when attempting to stand up.
“Easy there, fella,” Righty said softly, stroking his back. “Food?”
“Wuf!” the dog barked affirmatively and smiled.
Righty searched around the kitchen until he found a few scraps of meat and then brought them to the dog. He wolfed them down voraciously and then smiled.
“Pitkins?” Righty inquired.
“Mmmmm?” the dog whined with a query of his own, perhaps wondering if he was nearby.
“You just relax there, fella,” Righty said gently scratching his ears. “I’ll get you some more food, and then I’ll go find Pitkins.”
The dog looked hopeful.
Righty brought him some more meat and water and then gave a good-bye pat to the dog’s head.
As Righty walked across the kitchen towards the door, a piece of paper caught his eye.
He turned, thinking it was likely to be nothing, but picked it up when he saw it was a note:
You’re a stupid man, Pitkins, making it come to this. A man will come by your shop tomorrow to pick up three of your best swords. The bag of money you threw to the four winds will serve as down payment for the next ten swords after that. Once you settle that debt, you can have your cute blondie back.
Don’t dillydally. I don’t know what will be left of your princess if you do.
Sincerely,
You Know Who
“KASANI!!” Righty yelled at the top of his lungs. He sprinted outside and leapt atop Harold, planning on directing him to Rucifus’s mansion immediately, but then caution marched to the front of his thoughts, demanding an audience before he made any major decision.
“Take me to the woods, Harold. We’ve got a major problem!”
Chapter 33
“Thompson,” Righty said to a konulan, as soon as they landed, “go back to my ranch. Bring back all the konulans except five.”
Righty could see he was in shock that Righty would leave so few konulans guarding the ranch and knew something urgent was afoot. He was off and out of sight in moments.
“You four,” he said to the remaining konulans, “are about to embark on your most important mission yet. The wife of a very dear friend of mine has been taken by a very bad person. She needs our help. Bad things are going to happen to her if someone doesn’t help her soon. And—”
His train of thought derailed as he realized his focus on Pitkins’ kidnapped wife had caused him to forget about Pitkins himself.
Pitkins . . . where the hell are you, buddy?
He didn’t know Pitkins well except for what he had observed during sword practice, but that had been more than an enough to develop the deepest respect Righty had felt for any man in his entire life.
So just what the hell would such a man do in a situation like this?
“He’d go kick some ass,” Righty said aloud, answering his own question to the perplexity of his animal friends, who weren’t privy to his private conversation.
“Harold, show the konulans where Rucifus lives. Have them surveil the premises for any word on Pitkins’ and his wife’s whereabouts. I’ll wait here. There’s nothing else I can do until I learn more.”
Harold took off headed high into the sky. He was going to need some serious altitude to fly above the city without becoming a spectacle.
Righty spent the time uneasily walking around in a large circle inside the woods, his heart rate as high as if he was charging into Rucifus’s mansion sword in hand, lopping off heads and tearing out guts.
More than once he considered heading over there without further waiting, but his desire to see this through successfully restrained him barely like a cage taking a beating from a wild animal inside struggling to get out.
Just when he thought he was going to have to either start heading towards Rucifus’s home or go crazy, a konulan went flying by his ear, and Harold’s welcome landing gust tickled his face.
“Whatta you got?”
“Pitkins is in jail,” Harold said somberly.
“JAIL?! What in the blazes?! His wife was kidnapped for Kasani’s sake!”
“The other konulans are still eavesdropping amongst the workers in the yard. They aren’t particularly talkative today. We came as soon we had a morsel worth sharing. All the windows are closed, so no news could be gotten that way yet.”
“That’s it?! That he’s in jail?!”
“He killed a bunch of people,” little Billy spoke up.
“What?!”
“We couldn’t get all the details, but it sounded like he basically turned Sodorf City into a war zone. He killed deputies, bouncers, and a huge chunk of Rucifus’s thugs at her house,” Harold said.
“Deputies?” Righty said with such bewilderment, looking away, it seemed the question was to himself.
“Does that really surprise you so much?” Harold said in a voice that sounded accusing but with a hint of jocular sarcasm.
He glanced uncomfortably at Billy. The konulans’ playful, innocent nature made him feel uncomfortable talking about acts of violence in their presence, though he was sure they were all well aware of his recent rampage in Sivingdel.
“Yeah . . . but Pitkins is different. He’s a good man. He’s not like me.”
“Maybe those deputies were on Rucifus’s side,” Harold responded.
“I’ve got to see him. Billy—can you lead the way to the jail?”
“I can go ahead of you and look for it. I’ll fly right by your left ear if I find it. In that case, follow me. If I fly by your right ear, there’s trouble.”
“And what do I do then?”
“That’s your decision,” Billy replied with a series of chirps Righty thought might be laughs.
“Harold, keep checking back with the konulans at Rucifus’s mansion. Once the others arrive, I won’t be able to communicate with them, ‘cause there’ll be too many people around. Don’t have them all congregate at Rucifus’s. That would be a waste of time. Have them scour the entire city listening for Pitkins’ name . . . and more importantly his wife’s name. Until we know that, we don’t really know who we’re looking for.”
Harold took off with a mighty flap of his wings a
nd began a nearly vertical climb, while Billy—a far less conspicuous creature—enjoyed the benefits of his small size and went horizontally towards the city, ready to start looking for the jail.
Righty took off on foot bitterly noting the irony that while he had gotten first-rate transportation to Sodorf City, he was now relegated to a rank even below that of the common man, who typically had at least a horse to accelerate his terrestrial movements.
He walked along quickly, almost trotting, and as soon as he saw a carriage that looked available for hire, he hopped in, handed two solid gold coins to the driver, and said, “To jail.”
He hoped Billy had seen him get inside the carriage and simultaneously felt foolish for thinking it would be such a Herculean task to find the jail. Perhaps his excessive use of aerial transportation had made him a bit forgetful of some of the niceties of land-based travel.
His worries about Billy getting lost evaporated when he suddenly saw him perched on his knee grinning. He then flew out of window but not before whispering into Righty’s ear, “Don’t worry; I’ll be nearby.”
Righty’s heart was pounding heavier than ever. Pitkins wasn’t even in this filthy business, and yet both he and his wife had fallen victim to it. It brought back to Righty’s mind unspeakable fears that he had quelled recently with the purchase of his remote ranch for his wife but that now came back to his mind with full force.
If it can happen to someone not even involved in the business, it’s only a matter of time until your turn comes.
His heart began to race even faster at this ominous thought. He felt partly responsible, even though he clearly had no collaboration in, or foreknowledge of, Rucifus’s actions, but what he did know was he was going to rectify it or die trying.
“Here she is,” a kindly voice said from ahead.
Righty snapped out of a daydream full of broken images he fought to repress—all belonging to Pitkins’ grieving face or the corpse of his wife.
He looked at his watch. An hour had passed. He tossed another solid gold coin to the man and started to get out of the carriage but then stopped himself.
“How many more of these will assure I can find you here reserved for me throughout the next hour?”
“Oh, I think two would be sufficient.”
“Great—here’re three, and you’ll have another three to take me back.”
“Thank you sir!” the erstwhile reserved man said with enthusiasm.
Righty stepped out of the carriage a bit uneasily and headed towards the jail.
Two heavyset deputies looked at him suspiciously as he approached the main doors.
As he walked in, he was greeted by the soles of two boots pointed directly at him and the backside of a paper. A tuft of unkempt hair poking above the paper was the only other clue that there was a sentient being in the room.
The crumpled paper obscured most of the contents, but Righty saw the words “massacre,” “Pitkins,” and “bloodbath” more than once.
“Hehmmm,” Righty said, clearing his throat lightly.
The paper lowered, and he saw a pair of cruel eyes glaring at him from behind a large pair of glasses.
“Yes?” was the flat reply.
“I’m here to visit a friend.”
“You keep company with criminals?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what’s your friend doin’ in a place like this?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.”
A deputy sauntered in with a hot mug of coffee, looked at his colleague and then the guest, and then proceeded over to a desk, but not without shooting a few sideways glances over at Righty.
“Who you here to see?”
“Pitkins.”
If there had been tension in the room before, it now seemed like a relaxing foot massage compared to what followed once that seemingly harmless name issued from Righty’s mouth.
The other deputy now stared directly at Righty with undisguised hostility beaming from his eyes. The eyes behind the deputy’s glasses grew even crueler—a feat Righty wouldn’t have believed possible seconds earlier.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, a threat ostentatiously in his voice.
“Of sorts. I’ve got business to discuss with him.”
“He won’t be conductin’ any business ever again. The hangin’s scheduled for next week.”
“The hanging?”
“Did you just drop down from a cloud, boy? This man killed almost a dozen deputies and about twenty civilians beyond that. That means he swings, you see.”
Righty felt panic wash over him, as he realized he had no plan of action, but a gut feeling told him not to do anything brash before he had found Pitkins’ wife. Rucifus could probably pull some strings and get Pitkins off if he decided to play ball, but once he was dead—or if he escaped—his wife was as good as dead.
“Well, DAMN IT, he owes me money, GALLOWS OR NO GALLOWS!!” Righty thundered in a voice so loud he practically knocked the glasses off his inquisitor.
A long silence ensued, broken first by the footsteps of a deputy who poked his head in to see what the commotion was all about. He quickly figured one of the deputies had done the shouting and turned and left.
“Now you just cool your heels, son,” the deputy said, moving his boots to the ground, setting the paper aside, and giving Righty his full attention.
He turned to the other deputy—“Chris, take him back there. He’s got five minutes. If he tries any funny business, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” the deputy said, standing, and he beckoned Righty to follow him with a scowl on his face.
Righty felt a sense of doom and gloom as he strode down the dank hallway, the hacking coughs of nearby inmates doing little to add a sense of cheer to the miserable ambience.
Just when a feeling of intense claustrophobia was about to set in, the deputy inserted a long key into a door, turned it with some struggle, and then opened up a creaking steel door.
“Five,” the deputy said, looking at him with a juvenile sense of self-satisfaction.
When he saw the deputy show no sign of moving from the side of the door, Righty put a couple gold coins in his pocket.
“For a little privacy.”
“You got it,” he said with undisguised glee before quickly putting a frown back on his face.
Righty heard the deputy’s footsteps growing more distant down the hallway as he walked inside and saw a lifeless body stretched out on a bed.
Righty, if anybody, had seen his share of aftermaths of whippings. After one fight in particular, a boxer at his school was visited by everyone from the gym for about a month while he recovered from a match that nearly cost him his life.
That, and perhaps that beating alone, prepared Righty for the pulverized sight before him.
Pitkins’ usually trim, business-like face with a razor-sharp jawline was swollen into something resembling a giant piece of fruit. Both eyes were sealed shut with large, rat-sized lumps protruding around them.
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