The rest of his body was concealed beneath a blanket, but Righty figured the rest couldn’t be much better.
He pulled a small stool over to the bed.
“Hey there, pal,” he said, using a degree of familiarity that somehow felt fitting to the circumstances but that would have been unthinkable days ago.
A quick rasp from Pitkins’ mouth suggested he had been startled, but with his injuries the best he could do was move his head slightly towards Righty at a speed that would have made falling molasses look like greased lightning.
“Simmers?” he rasped.
“Tried to duck on me, didn’t you? You know we had a lesson planned today.”
A slight rasp and a barely perceptible movement at the corners of Pitkins’ mouth suggested some appreciation for the attempt at levity.
Righty cast a stealthy eye over his shoulder, got off the stool, and then leaned forward just a few inches from Pitkins’ ear.
“Look, friend. I’d like to stay and talk longer, but the guards won’t let me, and I don’t think you’re in any shape for it either. But I want you to know this. I’m gonna get you out of here, and I’m gonna find your wife.”
Pitkins groaned in pain as he moved his head more in Righty’s direction, where it appeared he just might be able to see him through a pair of razor-thin gaps in the bruising.
“Please,” was all he could muster.
Righty felt a lump the size of an apple in his throat when he saw a clear substance trickling down the puffy mounds around Pitkins’ eyes.
“What’s her name, friend?”
“Donive,” he rasped.
“Donive,” Righty said back in confirmation.
“Can you stand a little good news?”
“Huh?” Pitkins rasped.
“Your dog’s alive. I gave him some meat and some water. He’ll make it.”
Pitkins’ grotesque face seemed to smile, and Righty felt the lump in his throat grow to the size of a watermelon. He coughed a couple times to regain his composure.
“Simmers?”
“Yes.”
“Guh . . . green.”
“Green?” Righty asked in bewilderment.
Rasp. “Healed dog. Spicy Green healed dog,” he said amidst incredible rasping, leading to severe coughs.
“Spicy Green’s illegal,” Righty said cautiously, aware it had once been lawfully sold as a culinary spice in Sodorf City.
“Heals,” Pitkins responded simply.
“Okay,” Righty said confused.
“Bring,” Pitkins rasped. “Bring Green.”
“You want me to bring you Spicy Green?” he asked, fully understanding the question but thinking Pitkins had perhaps lost his mind.
Pitkins moved his head up and down slightly and then appeared to doze off.
Righty stood up, walked out, and began making his way down the hallway.
“I’ll walk you out,” the deputy said cheerily.
Chapter 34
As Righty walked out of the jail, his head was spinning, though he didn’t know which was the greater cause—the images of the bludgeoned pulp that was left of his sword instructor or the fact that at this moment the biggest drug kingpin in all mankind was racking his brains trying to think of how he was going to quickly score some Smokeless Green for the last man on earth from whom he would have expected such a request.
He realized he had no better place to look than Pitkins’ house, since he said it had healed his dog. As far as he knew, Spicy Green was nothing but Smokeless Green with a bit of pepper added to it, and he did not know of pepper to have any healing properties.
Would regular Smokeless Green work just as well?
As he got into the carriage, the irony dawned on him that it would practically be a tie between taking the carriage to the edge of town, walking to Pitkins’ house, and finding Spicy Green (even if he found it there right away) and then walking back until he found a carriage and returning to the jail that way versus hopping on Harold’s back right now, flying to his ranch and picking Smokeless Green right off the plant, and then flying back.
But he had no idea where Harold was at right now, and even if he did, hopping on a bird’s back in the middle of town and taking off would draw a little more attention to himself than he cared for at the moment.
His anxiety lay not with Pitkins, however, but with his wife’s situation. Every minute that passed without him finding her was an increase in the probability she would be killed, violated every way imaginable, or both.
Were the situation reversed, he would sure hope that as he lay there pulverized in a jail cell that his friend would move a hell of a lot more quickly to find Janie than he was doing to find Donive. Heck, her name was all he had to show for his efforts so far.
Just as he began to think this was a trifling detail, little Billy flew into the carriage and onto his lap. As Billy’s face looked intently at Righty’s, the theory occurred to him that while the little fellow’s brain was sure small, it quite efficiently read faces because he could practically feel the little devil reading his mind.
He picked Billy up and whispered, “Donive. Her name’s Donive.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. Billy flew out of the window with such a flutter the driver shouted, “Feel free to close the windows if necessary. Sounds like a bird’s trying to keep you company.”
“It’s gone, thanks,” Righty replied.
Giving her name to Billy and seeing his enthusiasm suddenly made him feel like that little pebble of information might turn out to be a gem after all.
Righty let that optimism sustain his otherwise low spirits to the edge of town, where he then told the driver, “Here’re three gold coins to wait an hour. If I’m not here, they’re yours. If I am, I’ll give you double what I paid last time for trip to the jail.”
“Thank you, sir!” the man replied, pocketing the money so quickly it appeared he was worried Righty might change his mind at any second.
As soon as a look over his shoulder confirmed he had walked out of sight from the carriage, he yanked his boots off and then began to sprint towards Pitkins’ house.
A gust of wind came by him, and the next thing he knew he was looking right at Harold.
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Rucifus’s house?”
“There’s nothing I can do that the konulans can’t, and in fact they’re far more useful than I am during daylight. But as for right now, you appear to need a lift.”
Righty’s quick jump onto Harold’s back was his answer.
Several minutes later, he jumped off with five feet still between him and the ground and went sprinting into the house.
The dog flinched momentarily before seeing it was the man who had given him water and meat earlier, and he quickly lay back down.
Righty considered it a good omen when a bag lying on the kitchen table almost immediately caught his attention. He sniffed its contents cautiously from a few inches away. It certainly smelled different than Smokeless Green, but the spicy odor stinging his nostrils left him little doubt it was the substance Pitkins asked for.
He took another look at the dog and the amount of blood caking its coat. He squatted down and saw the remnants of a huge gash on its head where the blood had to have come from, but rather than a large open wound there was nearly fully healed flesh.
“How you feelin’ there, fella?”
“Wuf!!” and a smile were the reply.
Righty brought the dog some more meat and water and told him softly, “Just take it easy there. I’ll be back.”
The dog smiled and then began wolfing down the meat.
Righty grabbed the bag of Spicy Green, tied it securely, put it inside a coat pocket, and then sprinted outside to Harold.
Harold knew Righty like a book and whisked him to the grove of trees closest to where the carriage was still waiting.
Righty arrived there nearly out of breath, hopped in the back, and threw several gold coins into the man’s hand
. The carriage took off.
When Righty made it to the jail, the sun had set nearly completely, and darkness was quickly gobbling up what little was left of daylight.
Righty walked up promptly to the jail door, but when he attempted to turn the door it wouldn’t budge.
He knocked loudly, and after a few minutes a small peephole appeared where before there had been only wood.
“You again?!” a gruff voice asked.
“I’ve got some papers I need Pitkins to sign, or I’ll be out a pretty falon.”
“The hangin’s next week, not tomorrow morning! Come back then, and not a second sooner!!”
The peephole slid shut with a clack as loud as the man’s exclamation marks.
Righty knew that short of kicking the door down, he had certainly reached a dead end.
When he turned around and saw the carriage had taken off leaving him stranded, he figured he had nothing better to do with his time than take a stroll around the jail.
As he headed behind the jai, he felt foolish for having expected to possibly see direct access to the tiny barred opening he had seen in Pitkins’ cell. Instead, there was a tall fence with seemingly razor sharp spikes on top about twenty feet away from the wall.
Frustratingly, he could see the tiny openings from the cells.
He thought about waiting for Harold to give him a lift over the fence, but at that very moment he felt a wave of urgency that made even his prior scrambling about that day seem like a casual stroll around town. His mind went back to the deputy’s cruel eyes, and he realized those eyes had soaked in every aspect of his appearance and carefully stored it.
And for what purpose?
If Pitkins is alive, it can only be because Rucifus thinks it convenient for him to be so. After all, no Pitkins, no swords.
She must see some pretty serious trouble on the horizon for her to suddenly care so much about having top-of-the-line swords.
His mind wandered back to the deputy and his purpose for scrutinizing his countenance so closely.
If Rucifus chose the city jail to be where she attempts to exert pressure on him, she’s also going to have a very keen interest in knowing of any visitors he might receive.
With your build and Seleganian accent . . . .
As he realized Rucifus was probably mere hours from knowing of his visit to see Pitkins, and of his insistence on seeing him, the full cascade of his collaboration with Pitkins began to dawn on him.
You could end up not just losing your largest business contact but going to war with her.
And that was just half of it. His entire business had been simplified into two separate customers: Tats, who in turn supplied all of Sivingdel, and Rucifus, who was the biggest supplier in Sodorf City. The fact they were brother and sister didn’t exactly help.
You could end up at war with the majority of the underworld in conjunction with an immediate loss in all your customers and ability to make money.
“For another time!” he whispered to himself harshly under his breath, as he began scaling the spikes. Seconds later, he was twelve feet off the ground and was one horizontal bar away from where the sharp spikes began.
There wasn’t enough room for a foot and leg to be squeezed between the horizontal bar and the vertical spikes, but there was for a hand and an arm.
Surprising even himself, he yanked his body up with an explosive pull-up, and as he neared the height of the movement he pushed viciously with his feet against the vertical bars and threw his body into a cartwheel movement.
He braced himself for impact as he went flying over the spikes, but to his relief the soft ground spared his knees any damage. His feet stung as if they had been slapped with a wet rag, but he barely noticed as he made his way quickly, crouched like a cat, towards Pitkins’ cell.
It felt like an eternity crossing the hundred yards to his cell, but once he was there he realized he was far from being out of the woods yet. If he spoke loudly enough to get Pitkins’ attention, there was some risk a guard might overhear him.
Expecting a dozen dogs to start growling viciously the moment his knuckle made contact with the outside bars, giving them a quick three raps, his ears almost began to ring with the flood of adrenaline and paranoia sweeping over him.
Nothing.
Rap, rap, rap.
It sounded so slight it might be his imagination, but then he heard something trying to move in the cell below, accompanied immediately by a stifled groan.
He’s awake . . . go for it, you fool!
He pulled out the securely tied bag, shoved it between the bars with some difficulty, and then let it plop down inside the dark bowels of the invisible cell.
Silence.
Then, in a voice so slight as to almost be inaudible, he thought he heard, “Thank you.”
Righty turned to sprint back to the fence but then stopped himself.
“Pitkins?” he whispered.
“What?” he barely heard.
“Promise me one thing. Don’t try to escape until I contact you. Otherwise, Donive’s as good as dead.”
“Deal,” he thought he heard.
Righty then went back across the field in a low crouch at a speed approaching a brisk jog and then without hesitation leaped up against the bars and began to scale them.
He executed the same cartwheel motion, but this time the impact against the dirt road sent bolts of pain shooting through both of his feet and knees. He ignored it and began a brisk walk. It was nearly pitch black out, the sliver of the moon doing little to alleviate the victory of darkness.
With the most urgent task now completed, his mind immediately began to insist he ponder the ramifications of what he was doing:
Will Tats stand by you if you go to war with Rucifus?
Can you expect anything but war with Rucifus if you use force to rescue Donive?
This line of inquiry brought to mind his incredible lack of force at the moment.
Just what in the hell are you planning on doing—slashing your way through a small army of thugs, throwing Donive (whom you’ve never met) over your shoulder, and then riding off into the sunset?
The absurdity of it all frustrated him, and yet for the first time since he could remember he felt like he had a genuine purpose in all that he was doing, something that had eluded him for months now, as he accumulated wealth but not satisfaction and had not the slightest idea what his vision was for the rest of his life besides hoarding wealth and putting his family in danger.
He could fly Harold to his ranch and get several able-bodied men onto Harold’s back and have them back—hell, he could probably convince the enigmatic combat genius at his ranch to come play a part with him.
But do you really want even more people learning about Harold?
And it wouldn’t just be Harold, they would inevitably witness conversations with the konulans, the secret would soon spread far and wide, and he would lose his most important edge in this business.
The Infiltrators Page 19