The Engine What Runs the World

by Quinn Buckland

  The Boss nodded, “Someone is eager to get things done. For tonight though… we drink.”

  “Constance comes too,” he demanded.

  “Of course,” the Boss said with a grin. “Metal Jaw, cut her free.”

  As the ropes that bound her to the chair fell free she rubbed her wrists where they had been. She sneered and raised her middle fingers on both her hands. The gesture meant nothing to any of the men from the underground. Smoke assumed it was intended to be a rude gesture, but he could tell the Boss, Metal Jaw and Cobble took no notice of it.

  “Come,” the Boss said with a grin, “It’s been too long.”

  Smoke and Constance followed the Boss and his henchmen with Metal Jaw holding the rear to be sure nobody tried to run. They were led through the center of the floor until they came to a small dilapidated looking place that appeared as if it should have been condemned several generations before.

  Hey,” Constance said “What’s a narc? We don’t have that word on the surface.”

  Smoke had hoped she wouldn’t have openly stated she was from the surface within earshot of these people. The damage was done though. “A narcotic trafficker. It’s just faster and easier to say narc.”

  Constance nodded her head and kept quiet.

  Metal Jaw opened the door and waited as the party let themselves through. The inside didn’t look any better. The living room that had been viewable from the main entrance was furnished with rotten couches and gas lamps that had been broken since before Smoke had been born. The smell of mould filled the air around them as The Boss opened the door to the basement. A flood of memories came back to Smoke as he reminisced about his days coming to this house and taking a load off with several glasses of mulch liquor.

  The basement was almost like stepping into another building. Bright lights filled the room allowing for maximum visibility while still maintaining an atmosphere fitting for a drinking hole. Several faces Smoke recognized stopped and stared as he slowly walked past and entered the Boss’s personal booth. Metal Jaw and Cobble both stood at attention outside the booth as the Boss ordered three glasses of the finest booze they had in the joint.

  The barkeep leapt at the opportunity to serve the Boss, as he probably did every time the Boss entered the establishment. “So,” the Boss said over the sound of the band’s music, “you’re a private detective on the first below. I gotta say - I expected much worse to come of you when you left. I’m pleased to see you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

  He peered over to Constance, who was gazing over at the band. They were a heavy set group dressed in waist coats and slacks fitting for the scene in the fourth floor. The singer had a monocle hanging from his lapel that swung back and forth as he sang. Each man wore top hats that had been heavily soiled by many years of wear and use in the underground. They sang a song about a battle between metal workers.

  Smoke didn’t want to appear as if he had been distracted or hesitating at a loss for words. Nevertheless he planned his words carefully, suspecting the Boss believing him to be at a loss anyway. “It wasn’t easy getting a foothold up there,” Smoke finally said. The worst thing he could do was to seem boastful of his supposed success. “The worst part was securing the skins to get started and make sure I could survive until I got a job. Luckily the first below is the sort of place where people go missing and others actually care. I think I’d have starved to death if I’d have set up shop on a lower floor.”

  The Boss burst into a fit of laughter. This is what Smoke had anticipated him to do. He had known the man all his life and knew what pushed his buttons to activate anger, happiness or laughter. Laughter was the best reaction he could have hoped for in his predicament.

  “You’ll kill me Smoke if you continue to make me laugh like this,” the Boss said between hiccoughs brought on by the laughter.

  Smoke smirked as he tried to not give away his plans. Everything hinged on the Boss’ complete and total ignorance from as to what laid hidden behind Smoke’s eyes. The barkeep finally arrived with the glasses of liquor. Smoke brought the cool brown liquid to his nose and took in the scent. He watched as Constance mimicked his movements, doing her best to not appear rude. He smiled visibly at the smell before taking a small sip. He didn’t know if the alcohol would be drugged or not. If it was he would only take as much as his body would be able to combat. A small sip would suffice. Constance took a large drink and placed her glass in front of her.

  “That’s really good,” Constance said. He could see the alcohol take a mild effect on her as she smiled. If the drinks were drugged he would find out soon.

  “What is this?” he asked with genuine curiosity as he took a sip of the liquor. The alcohol had reminded him of the whiskey he had drunk on the second above, only it wasn’t whiskey.

  “Would you believe we’ve finally found a way to make an alcohol out of darkplant that’s actually okay to drink?” the Boss said with a ham-fisted sense of pride.

  Smoke knew the Boss had nothing to do with the creation of this alcohol; he’d have left that to the chemists who typically designed his narcotics that the narcs would deliver to the various floors. “Really?” he said trying his best to sound surprised, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Neither did anyone else, but I put my best guys on it and now we’re going to be selling everywhere, maybe even up to the towers. My contacts have yet to get back to me on that.”

  Smoke continued to eye the Boss and pretend to listen to what he was saying. During the walk he had seen the revolving pistol sitting in the holster on Cobble’s hip. If he was careful and maintained the same sleight of hand he had learned in his days he should be able to grab the revolving pistol without him noticing and get the drop on the Boss. That’s only if he were lucky, and the Boss would most certainly have been prepared for such an eventuality. Smoke looked to the revolving pistol again through his peripherals and saw the latch on the holster was specifically designed to prevent a sleight of hand theft. That was good for him, which meant it would take that much longer for Cobble to pull his revolving pistol out.

  He would have been stripped of any and all weapons when he was knocked out so he wouldn’t have had any way of defending himself in a fight. What they didn’t expect was Smoke’s hidden blades built into his boots. They weren’t very long, but they were spring loaded and could poke a lot of holes in a person as fast as he could move his foot. He clicked his heel on the floor in a manner that would have made walking harder, a design to prevent the blade from extending during regular travel. He felt with his other foot to be sure the eight inch blade had extended. He avoided making a sigh of relief when his foot felt the long sharp piece of metal. He slowly moved his foot to the Boss while he took another sip of the alcohol. Constance seemed to be okay and had even sobered up a little.

  He could see the Boss’s face twist as he brought the blade to his belly. “It’s that time then,” the Boss said calmly. “I guess I should have known you’d have an ace up your sleeve that my men would have overlooked. Bunch of fucking idiots.”

  Metal Jaw and Cobble had turned by this point and had pulled their revolving pistols. Smoke had been impressed Cobble had managed to release the anti-theft device from his pistol as quickly as he did. The Boss looked to his men and scowled. “Back up,” he screamed loud enough the entire drinking hole had turned to see the commotion. “Back the fuck up!”

  “So,” Smoke said as he maintained his calm expression, “still surprised?”

  The Boss smiled, “Not in the least. If it has to be anyone, I’m actually pleased it’s you. I was afraid I’d have to die of old age.”

  Smoke felt a wave of unwanted pride fill him as he quickly moved the blade upward, stopping at the ribcage. He pulled the blade away and watched as his father’s insides spill out. The smell of blood mixed with the smell of alcohol gave the air a bitter sweet scent. Smoke repressed a memory and exited the booth. He moved over to the Boss and took him in his arms. Cobble and Metal Jaw kept th
eir eyes on Smoke, unsure as to what they should do. They knew the rules and they knew they had failed their duties as body guards.

  Smoke could almost feel Cobble’s eyes burn into the back of his skull and he rested the Boss’s head in his palm. “Just let it happen,” Cobble said reluctantly.

  Blood poured from the Boss’s mouth and spattered forward as he spoke. “It’s yours now,” he said as he closed his eyes. “It’s all yours.”

  The Boss died in Smoke’s arms, leaving him with a mixture of sorrow, relief, happiness and disappointment. “Goodbye father,” he said quietly.

  Smoke stood to face Metal Jaw and Cobble. He knew they were smart men and they would obey his commands. When they didn’t put down their revolving pistols he felt panic mix with the emotions he had already been battling. “What now?” Metal Jaw asked Cobble. Smoke wouldn’t let the snake get a chance to reply.

  “As blood heir to the position of Boss of the Cartels, won by both blood rite and the death of the former boss, I will be taking charge of the fourth below Cartel in this area,” Smoke said in a voice he wasn’t entirely sure was his. He did his best to not look at Constance, who would either be keeping a straight face or have a look of utmost horror. He decided he didn’t want to know at this time. “That said, you two and all who were under my father’s command will now answer to me and obey my orders to the letter. Understood?”

  Both Cobble and Metal Jaw stood straight and simultaneously chirped, “Yes sir.”

  “Good,” Smoke said to the two men. “First things first. I want you to take Constance and I to the lift to the fifth below. I have every intention of returning here to give you all your orders and to take control. Until then I have a couple jobs to do. First job will be to take the package to the statue as agreed upon.”

  “You plan to carry out the mission?” Cobble asked in shock.

  “I took the job and as the Boss I now have a duty to remain honour bound to my brethren. After that I have my own mission that must be dealt with.”

  The lift had been held for him. The driver had been informed the Boss was coming and he was sending a package to the fifth below. Smoke had always found it fascinating how the Boss could hold and command a lift while people from the towers couldn’t do a thing about the lift times in the odd moments they came to the underground. He believed it came from a mutual respect and the free protection that came with it. Smoke saw the look of confusion on the lift driver’s face when Smoke came walking up with Cobble, Metal Jaw and Constance. “Where’s the Boss?” the driver asked.

  “I’m the Boss now,” Smoke said without missing a moment.

  The driver took a moment for the new information to register. He nodded his head and prepared to take Smoke to the next floor. “Ready when you are, Sir.”

  “One last thing before I go,” Smoke said as he turned around. “Constance, you are going to hold my place as the Boss of the Cartel until I return.”

  “Smoke no,” she started.

  “That’s an order,” he said sternly. “Remember our deal; you’ll do as I say until we both go back to the surface. Besides, they need someone strong to keep them all in line.”

  Constance grimaced. She looked as if she wanted to argue. In a flash her face softened and she nodded, “Alright,” Constance said sadly. “Just don’t take too long.”

  “I promise to be back as soon as I can,” he said with a smile. He turned to the lift driver, “Alright, let’s go.”

  8

  Constance was going to be livid with him. Smoke held no illusions to her being angry at him for forcing her to stay within the den of murderers and thieves. The Cartel was no child’s game but he knew Constance would be able to take care of herself and bring a sort of purity to the Cartel. Even short lived purity would be an improvement.

  Things in the tavern had happened quickly and he hadn’t been given a lot of time to deal with the consequences and how he was going to get out of there. He made a call and he would have to live with it. He knew men like Cobble and Metal Jaw were men of loyalty and honour towards the Cartel boss, but Smoke’s sudden return and spontaneous take over didn’t seem to fill them with glee. They seemed more shocked and angry for what had happened to what was now their previous boss. That being said, they hadn’t gunned him down; this was something he was grateful for and had counted on.

  He had wanted to place Cobble in charge of the Cartel. He would have made an excellent leader who wouldn’t have had the level of ruthlessness his father had shown and would have given back to the economy of the fourth below as well as the lower floors, possibly bringing together the gangs of the fifth and the slavers of the sixth. That had to wait though.

  Smoke had been correct when he said that he alone could slip through the floors with a higher likelihood of not being noticed. He had been up and down the floors countless times without being detected. Having Constance with him on the lower floors would have been great, but with the package job, he had to make detours. The risk of being spotted and gunned down became a high risk; Constance undoubtedly would have gotten hurt or killed. While he had no doubt towards her abilities to take care of herself, the reality that he had been noticed by people from the second, third and fourth below gave him a great cause for concern.

  He shook his head and thought about the fifth below. This was by far the most dangerous floor so far and they’d only get more dangerous as he descended. This was the floor of the Worms. The Worms were a gang that ran the fifth below. While being akin to the Cartel they were less organized, had much less skins and even less influence. Though what they lacked in skins and influence they made up for in sheer brutality with the shoot first and not bother with the questions mentality. They were people Smoke had dealt with before though had no intentions of dealing with again any time soon.

  He looked to the package he had agreed to deliver. It was small, only eight inches long and six inches wide, the package wasn’t thick by any means, perhaps nothing more than a few papers or maybe a small narcotic delivery. It couldn’t have been anything substantial, though if they needed someone like Smoke to deliver the package, they must be expecting Worm activity in the area. This concerned Smoke heavily. He didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a group of Worms or in some sort of feud between the Worms and the Cartel.

  The Worms had a habit of killing Cartel members with extreme prejudice if they ventured to the fifth floor. Though Smoke was no longer a part of the fourth below, some of the Worms may recognize his face and take him out. Some may just see him as an intruder and take him out anyway. He’d have to be on high alert until he’d be able to make it down to the sixth below. That was a whole other problem he’d deal with once he got there. For now he’d have to deal with what was directly ahead of him.

  If he had planned on making a direct route to the lift to the sixth below the Worms would leave him alone. As far as they were concerned, if a person is going any lower, there’s nothing they can do that’s worse than what they could experience down on the lower floors. It was when a person wandered or strayed from the path - that was when a person’s life was in danger. Smoke had traveled through the fifth below many times, but always the road to the lift and nowhere else.

  As the platform of the lift landed softly on the ground of the fifth below, Smoke gave the lift driver a quick fleeting good-bye and continued along his way. The floor was dark, darker than any of the floors before it. The place made him feel uneasy and forced him to keep his guard up. He had always hated the fifth floor for what it was.

  The buildings surrounding him were dilapidated with boards and bars over the windows and doors. The tin siding that had once been attached to the outside of each house had crumbled and fallen off; most of the siding pieces lay strewn across the front yards. In the spaces in front of the houses before the sidewalk and dirt roads were several darkplant gardens.

  Smoke did his best to keep his head down and stay out of the lights. If he managed to stay in the shadows he’d be able to make it to t
he statue of Pedro Argos and plant the package unseen. At least that’s what he hoped. He’d do his best to be gone and down to the sixth floor as quickly as he could. A part of Smoke told him to walk along the sidewalk and do his best to not bring attention to himself - an idea he considered for a moment before dismissing it and remaining hidden in the darkness.

  He could feel eyes on him as he moved. He wasn’t quite sure if the eyes he felt were real or imaginary - he assumed the former but hoped for the latter. He almost seemed too conspicuous staying in the shadows and for a moment regretted not listening to his inner voice. He couldn’t afford to be seen however so within the shadows he’d have to stay. He’d be much less conspicuous staying in the shadows than if he were to suddenly emerge from them.

  As he moved he did his best to control his breathing. If he took a breath too sharp or let too much air out at one time there would be the possibility he’d be noticed. He had known it wasn’t going to be easy getting to the statue without being seen, but it wasn’t an option.

  “Out of the shadows!” a voice bellowed from across the dirt road. The voice sounded equal parts annoyed and amused.

  Smoke sighed as quietly as he could. He knew he had been spotted and knew the eyes he had felt were as real as he’d feared. This was not looking good for him. “Come on, out with you!” another voice shouted as several hammers belonging to a dozen revolving pistols cocked back.

  Smoke shook his head in his own form of self-pity and the knowledge that he would die. “I’m coming out!” he said loud enough for them to hear.

  He stepped out to see twelve young men wearing softcloths around their faces, which hid their identities from their noses down. Each of them held a shiny revolving pistol in his direction. He could see from their eyes they had no idea who he was and what he was doing there. He took in a deep breath. He did his best to hide the shock that they didn’t just open fire; they actually gave him a chance to show himself.