The tiger-suited man was there, barking orders at the small catlike creatures. Now Largo finally got a good look at them. They were hairless and had large, comical ears. The bare skin along their sides and legs changed colors as they went through their routines. At one moment they were striped with purples and at another spotted red. When they ran and jumped, they pulsed with a dozen colors, as if fireworks were going off under their skin. So beautiful, he thought. To be able to create such things.
He could have spent all afternoon there, but he needed to go to his flat, have lunch, and get back to the office without being late for once. It was heartbreaking to leave such beauty behind for something as mundane as another round of idiotic deliveries, but when he remembered the cocaine in his coat, it wasn’t quite as depressing.
After pedaling the last few blocks, Largo ran up the filthy stairs to his flat and locked the door. He put the harness and knife on first, got his bag, and then went to the tin box under his mattress and took a few coins for lunch and a Trefle call. Before he left, he laid a short, thick line of cocaine on the back of his hand and sniffed it up. At the bottom of the stairs, the rush and sense of well-being and beauty were overwhelming. Largo took off on his bicycle, thinking of Remy naked in her flat, her skin crawling with light and colors, catlike and perfect.
As the ride progressed, however, he began to worry. What if she’d had another attack?
He stopped at a crowded little café called Fräulein Sabel, where the couriers often had lunch. Several of them were there when he arrived, including Parvulesco, who pointed to his beer, asking if Largo wanted one. He shook his head and pointed to the public Trefle on the back wall. Parvulesco nodded. Largo made his way through the crowd and put a couple of coins into the slot on the Trefle’s side. An operator answered and Largo gave him Remy’s number. After a dozen rings he hung up. She never let the Trefle ring more than two or three times. That meant that either she was sick or she had gone to the theater. When the Trefle returned his coins, he put them in again and had the operator connect him to the Grand Dark. After a few rings, Ilsa answered. Largo waited while she found Remy and had to put two more silver coins into the Trefle so that the operator wouldn’t end the call. A moment later Remy answered. The cocaine and the sense of well-being had worn off and it was a relief to hear her voice.
“I’m fine, darling. You shouldn’t be such a goose.”
“Honk, honk,” he said.
She laughed. “I do have one bit of bad news, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Una wants us to put up the new show sooner than anyone expected, so I’ll be stuck here doing rehearsals all night.”
Largo scratched his head and looked back at the other couriers. Half of them were drunk—which was normal—and the other half were looking at him in disgust. All except Parvulesco. “That’s all right. I understand,” he said, disappointed but happy she would be with people who would look after her.
“We’ll celebrate your promotion tomorrow.”
“That sounds like fun. I might stop off later and see Rainer.”
“Give him my love. And Largo?”
“Yes?”
“Honk for me one more time.”
“Honk, honk,” he said.
“I love you, goose. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
When he started out of the bar, Andrzej and Weimer shouted, “Honk! Honk!” Energized by having survived Machtviertel and hearing Remy’s voice, Largo casually spun and kicked the table, knocking bottles in all directions and spilling beer on both of them. Their yells of surprise followed him as he walked—not ran—out quickly. Parvulesco and a few of the others laughed. Largo was already on his bicycle when Andrzej and Weimer came running out of the café. He knew he’d pay for it in some way, but he couldn’t resist shouting, “Honk! Honk!” as he rode away.
With the last of his money, Largo bought a skewer of meat from a cart and ate it while riding to the office. None of the other couriers were back when he arrived.
As he went inside, Branca checked both his watch and the office clock. “Will wonders never cease. You’re early.”
“I hope the shock isn’t too great,” said Largo.
“I am taken aback, but will endeavor to survive, thank you.”
Largo walked to Branca’s desk and said, “Am I off on another adventure this afternoon? Perhaps the South Pole or the swamps of one of the southern colonies?”
Branca laced his fingers together and looked at him. “Careful, Largo. Not everyone here has as vivid an imagination or as fanciful a sense of humor as you.”
Largo realized that he’d been speaking to Herr Branca the way he would to another courier. The worst Andrzej could do was break his nose. Branca could ruin his life. Largo took a step back. “Sorry, sir. I just had an altercation with some unpleasant characters and I’m still a little . . .”
“Overwrought?”
“That’s a good word for it.”
“Do you have your knife?” said Branca.
Largo opened his coat to show him the blade in its harness.
Branca said, “Did you show it to these ruffians?”
“No. It didn’t occur to me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure,” said Largo.
“Were they people you know? Were they people that perhaps I know?” Branca stared at him.
Largo looked at the floor and shook his head. “I doubt it, sir.”
“Oh well. These things happen. In the future, though, you might consider at least revealing your weapon. I’ve found that the possibility of a sudden, violent end has a mollifying effect on even the most enthusiastic bully.”
“That sounds like good advice. I’ll remember it.”
“See that you do.” Branca went through the papers on his desk before speaking again. “Now, as to your possible expedition to the South Pole, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”
Largo shuffled his feet, hoping he hadn’t bought himself another punishing assignment.
Branca turned his eyes up from the papers and looked at him. “No little joke this time?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Now, I did have you scheduled for a rather important delivery this afternoon, but the parcel has been delayed, so you’ll be doing it bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Might I ask where the important delivery was going, sir?”
A Mara brought a letter from the back room. Branca made a note of it and set it on his desk. “If you must know, the armaments factory,” he said.
“Schöne Maschinen?”
“The very same.”
The factory had dominated the landscape of Lower Proszawa for as long as Largo could remember. Its belching smokestacks dictated whether there was sun or days of perpetual gloom. It occurred to Largo that in all the years he’d stared at the factory, he’d never seen anything but Black Widows, juggernauts, and supply trucks enter or leave the place. No people. Tomorrow, though, he would do it on his bike. The idea made him feel very small. And yet the prospect of seeing the factory’s interior was exciting—and one more thing he could tell Remy tomorrow during their celebration.
Largo spent the rest of the afternoon making deliveries to the wealthiest areas of Kromium and one to the Empyrean, where his new shirt seemed to make him acceptably invisible to both doormen and the local police. After Machtviertel, it was a dull way to end the day, but at least these customers gave proper tips, and by the time he rode back to the office his trouser pocket was heavy with silver and small gold coins.
When he handed in his receipt book Branca barely glanced at it before setting it aside. He said, “I have some good news for you.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Our superiors have approved the stipend for the purchase of clothing more suitable for the chief courier.” Branca took a white envelope from a desk drawer and handed it to Largo. “I trust you remember our earlier conversation. These are
clothes to be worn only when you are making deliveries or conducting other company business.”
“I remember,” said Largo.
“Good. I hope you also remember your promise that I will not have to accompany you when you make your purchases.”
“Absolutely. I have a friend who works in the theater. She has a good eye for costumes, that is, clothing. She can help me.”
“Interesting,” said Branca. “What theater, may I ask?”
“The Theater of the Grand Darkness.”
Branca’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never attended any of their productions, but I’ve certainly heard about them. Are you sure she’s a suitable advisor?”
“Completely. She herself doesn’t dress like her characters. In fact, she was the one who suggested I wear this shirt today.”
Branca considered that for a moment. “That is more encouraging. Very well. Have her advise you, but remember that we aren’t looking for gigolos or ballerinas. You’ll be representing the company, so simple, professional attire is what you want.”
“I’ll explain that to her. Don’t worry. She’ll do a good job.”
“Good, because if you come back dressed like a buccaneer or a limp-wristed dandy, the price of the clothing will be deducted from your salary.”
“I understand,” Largo said, wanting to get away from Branca and his lectures. “We won’t let you down.”
The older man murmured, “It’s not a matter of letting me down. It’s not letting yourself down. It’s a good motto to follow both in business and in life.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Largo, doing his best to look thoughtful while imagining the bastard falling down a very long flight of stairs.
Branca glanced at the clock. “With the Schöne Maschinen delay there are no more deliveries for you today, and as most of the other couriers have finished their rounds, you may go.”
Largo’s mouth went dry at the phrase most of the other couriers have finished their rounds. That probably meant that Andrzej and Weimer were lurking around somewhere. Perhaps it was time to take Branca’s advice and reveal his knife. Still, it was a hard thing to imagine doing. The threat would only enrage Andrzej more, provoking an attack. With the police already on the watch for him, Largo wondered how stabbing another employee would appear to them.
“Good night, sir,” Largo said. He left the office but not the building, instead going to the employee toilet, where he splashed water on his face. He knew he could run, but with bullies like Andrzej there would always be tomorrow and the day after that. Besides, he’d promised to meet Margit after work. He was anxious to hear her explain the scene in Machtviertel.
The more he thought about Margit, the more nervous he became about the flyer he’d given Branca earlier in the day. What if the police came back and found it? It would be bad for him, of course, but with company records they could trace it back to the Black Palace and Margit. It was obvious that she was mixed up with radicals, but it was becoming just as obvious to Largo that he didn’t want to be the cause of her going to prison.
He knew what he had to do.
Largo walked by Branca’s office as if he were leaving. When he saw that the old man wasn’t there, he went to the wastebasket and started pulling out trash, piling it on the floor next to him. When he was almost to the bottom of the basket he heard someone clear his throat behind him.
“Are you looking for something in particular, Largo, or have you simply developed a passion for trash collecting?” said Branca.
Largo didn’t bother looking back but began refilling the wastebasket. Worse than being caught was that the flyer wasn’t with the other papers.
He stood up and said, “I’m sorry, sir. I thought I might have dropped something in the trash on my way out.”
Branca continued looking at him in his usual probing, disapproving way. “I’m afraid that the morning trash is gone and currently resides in the large receptacles by the loading dock. They’re quite easy to get to if you’d care to spend the rest of your evening burrowing through filth.”
Largo stood and brushed dirt off his trousers. “No, sir. It wasn’t that important.”
“What was it? I can keep a watch for it in case it wasn’t taken away properly.”
Largo wiped off his hands and edged his way around the room to the door. “It was nothing, really. Just a trifle.”
“I see,” said Branca. “In that case, good night once again—and for the last time, I hope.”
“Good night,” said Largo, and he hurried outside to his bicycle. As he got on, he debated one more time whether he should run or keep his promise to Margit. Finally, he decided that running wouldn’t do anyone any good. As he waited by the gate he pressed his arm against his side. Though he knew it was too dangerous to use the knife—Damn bullocks—the pressure of it on his ribs was reassuring.
To Largo’s surprise, Parvulesco leaned out from behind a nearby delivery van. He came over a moment later and offered Largo a cigarette. Though he wasn’t normally a tobacco smoker, Largo accepted it. Parvulesco tapped a cigarette for himself, lit Largo’s, and then his own.
“Why are you hanging around this dung heap?” said Parvulesco.
“I’m supposed to meet Margit,” said Largo.
“What would Remy say?”
“Ha,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Parvulesco laughed. “By the way, that was marvelous, what you did in the café today. Andrzej and Weimer came in from lunch smelling like a saloon pisser. Branca didn’t take it well.”
“I suppose Andrzej is looking for me?”
“With murder in his heart, I’m afraid.”
Largo looked around. “I suppose I deserve it. What do you think? Should I run?”
Parvulesco put an arm around Largo’s shoulder. “Stay here with me. You’ll be fine.”
Largo raised an eyebrow at the smaller man. “You’re going to protect me from that mad gorilla?”
Parvulesco smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Largo had no idea what his friend was talking about, so he smoked and waited for Margit and what seemed like an almost inevitable beating. He’d barely finished his cigarette when Parvulesco said, “Here they come.”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Andrzej heading his way with Weimer and several other couriers.
“Waiting was stupid,” said Largo.
“Not for this,” said Parvulesco.
The approaching couriers all grinned, except for Andrzej. As he got closer and saw Parvulesco, however, a mean smile spread across his broad face.
“There they are, lads, a couple of sodomite sisters. Having a postbugger smoke, are you?”
Weimer and the others laughed. Naturally, thought Largo. The rules are the same everywhere: the leader laughs and so do you. The laughter appeared to encourage Andrzej to continue. Largo looked over his shoulder, calculating his chances of running from the mob. They weren’t good, he decided. And showing fear at this point would just make things worse.
“I wonder which of them gives it and which one takes it up the ass?” said Andrzej. “But no. Now that I say it, the answer is obvious. Parvulesco is a prancing fawn, but Largo is the type who would enjoy the taste of dirt when he gets his ass in the air in an alley.” Andrzej looked back at the others. “Should we help them out, boys? Give them what they like best, a good cocking? We could drag them into one of those trucks.”
As Andrzej said the word trucks, a large man appeared from around the side of the delivery van where Parvulesco had been waiting earlier. He wore leather pants and jacket, and while he wasn’t as tall as Andrzej, he was half again as broad and all of it was muscle.
“Look,” said Andrzej. “It was a threesome they were having. Well, the more, the merrier. He can go in the truck with the others—”
It was clear to everyone from his tone that Andrzej had meant to go on longer, but he was stopped when the man from the truck drove a heavy boot into his midsection. Andrzej fell with a w
heezing groan. As soon as he was on the ground, the truck man began kicking him in the ribs and groin. He stopped just long enough for the disoriented Andrzej to roll onto his back in an effort to crab-walk away. With that, the truck man dropped his weight onto Andrzej’s chest and punched him in the face until blood flew from his nose and mouth.
“Don’t stop, Roland,” called Parvulesco calmly. “His face isn’t nearly as ugly as his heart yet.”
When Weimer took a couple of steps toward his friend, Largo got between him and Roland. He opened his coat, making sure that Weimer and the others saw the knife. Weimer stopped in his tracks. He looked from Largo to Roland, who was back to kicking the now-immobile Andrzej. “Please,” said Weimer. “He’s going to kill him.”
“Don’t worry,” said Parvulesco. “This isn’t the first time Roland has had to educate an idiot. He knows when to stop.”
The big man kept kicking. Largo looked at Parvulesco, who said, “Roland, dear, I think he’s learned his lesson. Don’t you?”
Roland stopped midkick and looked at Parvulesco. His teeth were still bared and Andrzej’s blood was splattered down his shirt and leather jacket. He looked down again to Andrzej. Roland prodded the prone man with his boot. “If you think so,” he said. “They can take him away.” He pointed at Weimer. “But he has to apologize to you and Largo first.”
Weimer looked back at the other couriers for support, but no one stepped forward. He looked down at Andrzej, then to Roland, and said, “I’m sorry.”
Roland put a hand to his ear. “Are you a mouse? Say it like a man so everyone can hear you.”
Weimer frowned, took a breath, and in a louder voice said, “I’m very sorry. Can I please take Andrzej away now?”
Roland shrugged. “I’m done with him for now,” he said, and gave Andrzej one last kick in the ribs. As Weimer and the few remaining couriers gathered around and tried to get him on his feet, Roland grabbed Largo and pulled him over to where Parvulesco waited, a lit cigarette in his hand. Parvulesco kissed Roland lightly on the lips and made a face. “You’re filthy,” he said.
The Grand Dark Page 11