“Anyway, I think Scorpion was as shocked as I was, so he tried to just let the guy go easy. Yeah, he told him he could just leave the twenty pounds and get the hell out of there with all his skin still on and all his bones together.”
“So you call that ‘easy,’ huh, do ya?” Heavy Sam said laughing, his face looking like a stormy sky that has been briefly, but unconvincingly, invaded by a ray of sunshine. “I’ll remember that if you ever say I’m stickin’ it to ya!”
Stitches grinned uneasily, unsure of whether he had just dug a hole for himself, and then continued. “For a moment, I thought this guy was gonna go along with it. I mean, he was pretty big and all, but he didn’t look like the fightin’ type, and there was a lot of us and just one of him. All of a sudden, he just pulled a sword out, cut Scorpion’s head and arm off in one good lick, and then gave ‘em another lick for good measure and just cut him clean in two.
“We was all kind of scared after that, but he went around shaking our hands and tellin’ us something like he don’t like to fight, just likes to make money. Then took a partial payment from us, gave the twenty pounds to Tats, and trusted Tats to sell it. That’s what happened, Heavy Sam. Honest it is. Oh—but there is one more thing. He calls himself Brass, and some of the gang call him Mr. Brass. I asked about it afterwards, and apparently he gave quite a licking to some guys with brass knuckles a ways back.”
Wheels were turning in Heavy Sam’s mind. In spite of his savage temperament, hidden deep inside was a businessman, who spent no small amount of time pulling the levers. The businessman liked this guy. Strong, straight-forward, and interested in making money.
But the savage inside did not. It told him that Mr. Brass was too dominant. Perhaps if he had merely belted Scorpion he could have seriously entertained the prospect of a business relationship, but when a guy takes out a sword quicker than a flash and hacks a man like Scorpion into pieces before he even realizes what hit him, you’d have to be kidding yourself to think he’d sit comfortably for long in any kind of subordinate position.
I’m not an unreasonable guy, Heavy Sam told himself, the hurricane in his mind calming to a mild thunderstorm. I’m just practical. And there are two kinds of people in this business. Those who can work for me, and those who can’t work. Sorry, Mr. Brass, but you can’t work.
Chapter 8
As Righty clung to Harold’s back, soaring high above the forests and fields below, his mind raced at a comparable velocity. He realized he was at a crossroads. Furthermore, he realized this was a far graver crossroads than the one he had approached nearly a year ago, the day he went and buried those seeds in the ground. Given that SISA’s criminal penalties had not been enacted yet, he was only guilty of theft at the time—at the worst. And given that Rog had sought to return them to his wholesaler, they had really ceased to be Rog’s property and became Mr. Hoffmeyer’s property, with Righty merely being the agent charged with transferring the goods to him.
And since Righty had paid Mr. Hoffmeyer every last penny for the seeds—albeit under the pretext that they had been damaged—he had paid nonetheless, thus making Mr. Hoffmeyer whole. Thus, realistically, his main risks at the time had been getting fired and having his reputation destroyed in Ringsetter.
Once he actually began selling the Smokeless Green, he realized he had ratcheted up his risks considerably—to include getting killed and spending decades in prison. But as big as those risks were, they were mollified by the fact that physically the risk was solely to himself. As for financial ramifications, he figured Janie would escape these too because after just a few transactions he had set aside enough money for Janie should he be killed or sent off to prison.
Also, there had been almost no publicized crackdown on the Smokeless Green underworld, which led him to believe that his risk of prison was relatively small anyway. Furthermore, he had felt that he could get out of the business at any time he so desired if things got too hot.
But what he realized after today was that almost all of the above had changed and what had not changed already likely soon would. The days of his freelance trips up to the junkyard to do business with Tats and Spider were likely over. The market was being consolidated fast, and it sounded like Heavy Sam didn’t exactly believe the small business model would be best for the city of Sivingdel.
Whether he liked it or not, if he was going to avoid being squashed under Heavy Sam’s boot, he was going to have to form a crew. And it was going to have to be a big crew. And he was going to have to be at the helm of that crew ruling it with an iron fist in a paramilitary fashion, dealing out death for all but the smallest infractions. He knew that in the realm of the underworld—where there were no courts to handle financial disputes or prisons to rectify grievances—violence would have to be used liberally both to correct past wrongs and to dissuade enemies from considering future wrongs.
It would be an environment in which his wife, son, and even distant relatives could become fair game if his enemies felt bold enough to strike them. And he knew that as dangerous as the situation was it would only be made worse if he approached it with anything other than a fully committed manner—never looking back and never considering retreat for the rest of his life.
He either needed to go back to the forest today, destroy his secret garden, and never again engage in this occupation, or . . . .
Righty felt his thoughts trail off at this point, as he realized something very important. He had not the faintest idea why he should continue. It was becoming increasingly more dangerous. He had enough capital now that he might be able to start a few legitimate businesses and from there form a completely legitimate business empire. Or, he could simply content himself with a simple life running his current store. Or, he could even retire right now from everything and live off of his savings.
So, why, why, WHY continue?!!
His inability to provide anything remotely approaching a logical answer to this question vexed him considerably. But deep down in his gut, he suddenly felt he had the answer. It wasn’t logical, but maybe that didn’t matter. It was destiny. Destiny had given him most of the skills needed not only to survive, but to thrive, in this world. His years of boxing had given him unarmed combat skills few, if any competitor, could ever match. His years in the lumberyard had added layer upon layer of imposing muscle to his body that could serve as a warning to any potential enemy that he would be a nightmarish foe and that could readily demonstrate this fact to those who failed to heed the warning.
His unexpected passion for learning had given him a business acumen likely to rival most, if not all, he would encounter in this new world, and this passion had shown no sign of abating, in spite of the fact he had no idea of its source. The fortuitous opportunity to swipe those seeds now seemed to him to be the transparent intervention of the gods. The arrival of a monstrous bird loyal to him unto death was yet another sign and was yet one more edge he would have over his enemies. And Harold’s recommendation of a master swordsman and sword smith added yet another deadly arrow to his quiver.
As the enormity of all these facts impressed itself upon his mind, a calm swept over him, as he realized the dilemma had been resolved. Destiny had decided this matter for him, and if he had learned anything from his study of history so far, it was that there was nothing more dangerous, or more foolish, than to oppose destiny.
As Harold touched down near Righty’s crops and Righty slid off, Righty noticed Harold was a bit more somber than usual.
“Falon for your thoughts?”
Harold moved his beak muscles in a manner Righty had come to interpret as a smile, although to a less-experienced observer it may have appeared like a snarl that portended a most savage attack.
“It’s nothing, Master,” and as soon as the word had left his mouth, it shocked him as much as Righty, who shot a quick glance at him to see if he was joking. Harold’s face was now impenetrable. Harold gulped, as he realized the implications of what he had just said, but he wouldn’t take it back.
Tristan had been a fine master for a time, but he had been gone far too long, and Harold, like Righty, was a creature of action. And Harold had to admit working for Righty made his long surveillance missions for Tristan seem as exciting as counting blades of grass.
If ever a man could earn the right to replace Tristan, Righty was he. But since Righty had no supernatural powers with which to strike him dead in the blink of an eye, perhaps he could be a bit less formal than he had been with Tristan.
“Sorry, I get a little confused sometimes, since that’s what I used to call my old boss.”
“Well, how about just plain old ‘boss’ then so that neither one of us gets confused,” Righty said, joking. “Or just plain old Righty works fine for me,” although now that the word “boss” had escaped his lips he realized it did have a rather nice ring to it.
Silence.
“What is it, Harold?” Righty insisted. “We’ve worked together long enough for me to know something’s on your mind.”
“Well, it’s just that now that you’ve got that sword it seems you barely need me. That is, except for transportation.”
Righty exploded with genuine laughter. “Are you kidding me?!! Except for transportation?!! I’d only be a quarter of a way there on horseback by now, but instead I’m already back! Do you consider that a small thing?”
Then Righty noticed something that had escaped his eye a moment ago. Something savage lurking in Harold’s eye.
“What? Are you sore that I lopped off that guy’s head rather than letting you drop him from two hundred feet?”
Harold gave his unnerving smile again and began to profusely deny it, but the subtle savage glint in his eye had briefly grown unmistakably large before Harold managed to suppress it altogether.
“Harold,” Righty said calmly. “When a threat needs taken out immediately, I’m going to do so if it’s within my power. If it’s killing you miss, don’t worry. If my gut is right—and it usually is—you’ll do enough of that before this is all over that you won’t just get your fill but will become sick of it.
“And if you’re worried that I don’t need you to watch my back anymore just because I’ve got a piece of steel hidden there, you’ve got about a thousand times as much confidence in me as I do. You’ve saved my life once. And if I survive another year in this snake pit I’m in, I’ll have you to thank many times over. But remember, the best weapon’s a secret weapon. By using my sword today, I sent a message that I can kill in the blink of an eye. But I also sent the message that I have a sword hidden in my shirt. The next person who attacks me just might find that information useful. So I took a step forward but maybe took one back.
“If you were to come flying out of the sky and start hurling people around like snowballs every time I’m in the smallest bit of a jam, it wouldn’t take long before people began to wonder whether I somehow trained a bird to defend me. This would not only cause some people to see me as weak but could also cause them to seek to hunt you down at all costs. News of such a bird would travel far and wide. Kings would envy such a weapon.” (Righty noticed no small amount of pride enter Harold’s eye at this statement.) “You should only show yourself when my life depends on it or when I tell you to. If your arrival becomes predictable, someone will lay a trap for you.
“The day may come when my enemies learn who I am and who my family is. From that day forward, those who can’t attack me directly will attack me through my family. I’ll need you then even more than I do now. The day I lose you will be the day I quit this business. You’re not my servant. You’re my right-hand man. My partner. And I want you to know I would give my life for you too.”
To Righty’s surprise he saw tears streaming down Harold’s beak. Righty then found himself surprised by his own words because not only were they true, he had only realized those things upon saying them.
Seeking to lighten the mood a little, Righty added, “It’s a shame you don’t have a girlfriend because the day will come when I will need more than one of you. In fact, I’m starting to feel I do already.”
Harold felt overjoyed by Righty’s words, and his last comment shifted his thoughts to the konulans.
(not unless things get desperate; they’re too unpredictable)
As for Righty, his own comments had prompted a bit of reflection. He felt grateful that his son was far away studying under the esteemed professor, and the monthly correspondence he received from him evinced a growing intellect, which assured him all was well. However, now that he thought about it, he realized every letter began “Dear Mother” and contained neither a question nor a comment as to the wellbeing or continued existence of his father.
Chapter 9
“All rise. The court of the Honorable Judge Willington is now in session.”
This was it. Senator Megders could feel his heart beating as fast as though the trumpet had just sounded to begin a race. The audience was relatively thin. Another good sign, as it suggested the gravity of this hearing had not worked its way into the press and thus had not made it to Senator Hutherton’s attention just yet.
“First matter of the day: Selegania v. Stephenson. The Court recognizes Senator Edward Megders, Esquire, as counsel for Mr. Stephenson.” The word “senator” had perked up the eyebrows of the soporific deputy prosecutor, who heretofore had been thinking far more about his next case that day, rather than the present, which he had dismissed in his mind as an overly bold action by Mr. Stephenson. He had completed the drafted plea agreement the same day he received the notice of substitution of appearance by Edward Megders, as well as Mr. Megder’s other filings, and he had considered it an act of folly on Mr. Stephenson’s part to gamble with such high stakes when he had been mere days away from being released with a slap on the wrist.
He now considered the folly his own, as he realized he had allowed himself to walk into the courtroom against a heavy hitter thoroughly unprepared. What he had moments before viewed as a mere nuisance he now viewed with the same apprehension as the sight of the scaffold.
“Senator Megders, do you prefer to be addressed as ‘senator’ or ‘counselor’ when in the exercise of jurisprudence?”
Now Mr. Meier felt cold sweat begin to pour down his forehead. Judge Willington often addressed Mr. Meier rather gruffly, as he did with all but the most experienced litigators, so this opening deference did not bode well.
“Your Honor, I would prefer to be addressed as counselor.”
The nerve of the man! Such directness when speaking to a seasoned judge! But when no rebuke came, three friends joined the drop of sweat now racing down his forehead. Mr. Meier felt his throat tighten.
“Very well, counselor. You have submitted an extremely well-written brief in support of your client’s motion to dismiss the criminal charge due to SISA being unconstitutional facially and as applied to the present case. I must say, I found your arguments both convincing and eloquent and am inclined to dismiss this criminal charge for the statute’s violation of Article 8 of the Constitution of Selegania. Do you have any oral argument you wish to offer?”
“Your Honor, in the interests of judicial economy, and considering your favorable reception to the motion to dismiss, I believe I will reserve any necessary oral arguments for my rebuttal period.”
“Very well, counselor. Counselor Meier, you may begin your opening statement on behalf of the Republic of Selegania.”
Mr. Meier thought he had to be dreaming. He hadn’t even read the thick brief that had landed on his desk last week. He was a green attorney, with just two years as a deputy prosecutor, and most of that time had been spent drafting generous plea agreements that defendants and their attorneys gladly accepted. He realized now that this should have caused the closest scrutiny to be given to the brief, and a tear nearly escaped his eye as he painfully recalled the smug way in which he had tossed the brief aside as soon as he saw it was a motion to dismiss.
The defendant had been observed selling Smokeless Green by the chief of police for Kasani�
�s sake!! This was supposed to be an open-and-shut prosecution!
“Deputy prosecutor, the Court does not have all day!”
Mr. Meier nearly wet his pants when he realized all eyes were upon him.
Mr. Meier slowly stood, certain that what would emanate from his voice would be a croak or a rasp and was rather relieved to hear only a slight quiver.
“Th-h-his substance is a poison!” he said with a passion that stemmed not from any genuine knowledge of, or concern for, the properties of calinus ominesferus (also known as Smokeless Green) but rather from his fury at the unfolding of this nightmare, and thus, he was relieved to find a means to disguise his rage.
The brief relief afforded by this outburst quickly faded, as he faced a silent courtroom and many attentive eyes, amongst which were included the judge’s, no less.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 42