Of Chiefs and Champions

by Robert Adams

  Kogh Ademian shook his head and said, "I'm sorry as hell, Arsen, you know damn good and well I'd do it if I could, but I can't, so I won't. Don't no fucking body make black powder in that kind of quantities no more. You've shot with those assholes Bagrat runs with, and you know: it comes in one-pound cans anymore, and don't nobody keep that much of the stuff on hand these days, mainly because the fucking shit is dangerous as hell, it don't just burn, like smokeless powder does, it fucking explodes, and even sparks will set it off. I don't even fucking know where in the hell you could get that much. Maybe Bagrat could tell you where it's made, huh? Nobody, but nobody, uses the fucking stuff no more for real, and the onliest reason it's still around even is on account of them muzzle-loading freaks."

  "Look, Arsen, you want recoilless rifles? I got 'em. You want bazookas or LAWs? I got 'em, tons of the fuckers. You want tactical missiles? I can get the fuckers. You want modern explosives or napalm, even? You tell me what you want and how much you want and it's yours. Mortars of any size you can think about, artillery, machine guns, and more ammo and shells than I want to think about sometimes, with my fucking office right smack in the middle of every fucking thing."

  "But, son, I couldn't lay my hands on any quarter of a ton of black powder if you held a fucking gun to my head."

  "And speaking of that, you and me, we're gonna have to be real careful, more than we have been, see. You remember that Eye-talian private dick what useta work for Uncle Rupen, the one what got the goods on that no-good nigger-fucking tramp of a wife he had, that one? Well, he come sniffing around here and the Richmond place, too, last week. He's working for our fucking insurance company, and those fuckers are some kinda upset because they having to start paying a little money, 'stead of just collecting it, like they done for years."

  Arsen frowned. "What'd you tell him, Papa?"

  Kogh smiled. "To begin with, the same fucking thing I told your Uncle Bagrat, is what. I told him I couldn't understand what all the fucking shitstorm was being kicked up was all about. Ain't nobody gonna start no revolutions or even rob a fucking bank with a one-fucking-shot flintlock reproduction gun."

  "But I give the fucker the tour, anyway. I showed him all our security setups and took and introduced him to my chief of security, and the fucker fin'ly left here, but I got me a fucking hunch I ain't seen the last of the fucker. So we gonna have to play it real close from now on, I think. Sam Vanga's real fucking good at what he does, Rupen told me that a long time ago, and he knew the fucker better'n me. So you can bet the bastard'll keep digging, and we don't want him to find nothing, do we, Arsen?"