“Well, I get the feeling you’re itching to advise on these matters, so please be my guest,” he told Harold, feeling a bit relieved. Harold would either give him good advice and lower his stress levels; or he would give bad advice, and at least identifying it as such would give Righty some small sense of accomplishment.
“There’s no way but forward. The situation with your wife’s easy. You worked late and then fell asleep at your store. She doesn’t have a key, and Robert closes the store at eight o’ clock, so how could she contradict you?”
Righty felt one tiny load of stress slide gingerly from his back, but he knew that story had a lot in common with the annuity story. It had “USE ONCE” written on the front and back of it.
“Not bad for a bird,” Righty jested. “Go on.”
“You’ve already come to the point of realization that you couldn’t continue in this line of work without taking leadership of the junkyard gang. While your strong preference for them not to know about me is wise, you will probably not be able to hide it forever. I thought about it a lot while you were asleep, and I think you did the right thing. Tats stuck by you in a previous fight and stuck by you in this fight, and furthermore, he entered into it at an opportune moment and saved your life. You then saved his life and then saved him from arrest.
“Like it or not, if you are going to head up an organization, you will have to award trust incrementally to those who are loyal to you. Tats has been. You are going to have to depend upon those closest to you not only to run your business but to save your life. I’ll do what I can, but there’s only one of me, and I’m not invincible.
“Heavy Sam is stronger than you because he has more people working for him. You’re going to have to expand if you want to survive against him, let alone beat him.”
Righty thought most of this made sense, and he kept his mouth firmly shut, waiting for whatever else Harold might say.
“But you have to punish disloyalty by the severest measures. The resulting intimidation will be an iron shield against traitors. You will have to show your men that you reward loyalty handsomely and treachery mercilessly. I had a master once who only knew how to do the latter, and he was ultimately brought down by his own servants. Had he known how to do both, he would most likely be the current ruler of Sodorf and Dachwald.”
This piqued Righty’s interest considerably. Harold never liked to talk about his past, and Righty found it fitting that Harold was practicing what he preached when it came to awarding trust to the loyal by revealing this information. Righty certainly felt he had been loyal to Harold.
But his mind had latched even more firmly onto Harold’s advice about treachery.
“Stitches,” Righty said calmly, that fine detail having just worked its way into his consciousness. The setup in the alley was unmistakable. Stitches had served him on a platter, which meant he was working for Heavy Sam. Kasani! How many others in the junkyard might be working for Sam?!
There was going to be an opportunity very soon for him to apply Harold’s advice. Harold gave him an affirmative look but said nothing else on the matter.
“But shouldn’t I lie low for a while?” Righty asked.
“Now, more than ever, is when your men are going to need to see you strong. As bad as what happened last night seems, you should take into account that it was the first time you ever went out with them onto the streets to see how they ran their business. Your presence was supposed to be a display of force and encourage bold action against Sam so that your men could at least get their lost territory back. What kind of a message will it send if the first time you go out and try to rally them with your presence you barely escape with your life and then you go into hiding?”
Righty hadn’t thought about that angle of it yet. He had mostly been thinking of the situation vis-à-vis the police. From that angle, it definitely made a lot of sense to lay low for a while. But Harold was right—their only justification for giving him boss status, rather than merely buying merchandise from him as an independent operator, was that he owed them something beyond just a product. Leadership. He was supposed to be out there infusing them with courage and guidance, and running away with his tail tucked between his legs might have made a lot of sense for Righty the Contractor, but not for Righty the Boss.
If he really thought lying low was the answer, he needed to track down the gang and tell them that in person and explain why the risks were so bad now that they should let the entire operation grind to a halt and stop making money immediately. And then he thought of something worse: If he did that, they just might go elsewhere. Heck, they might go and approach Heavy Sam himself for work, and the next thing Righty knew he would be dealing with about five Stitches, just waiting for the moment to plunge a dagger into his back.
Like it or not, it was time to get back to work.
“Harold, take me to The Garden.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be prudent to stop by the house first?”
Kasani! He had to contend with the duties of a husband as well.
“All right, briefly,” he said.
Once Righty got home, he found Janie was gone. He felt a small sense of relief and was about to pen a brief note apologizing profusely for falling asleep at the office last night and warning her he had another long day ahead of him, when he saw a handwritten note for him:
Dear Richie,
I missed you last night. I won’t make any accusations now, but we need to talk. I’m going to need you more than ever soon, but I would prefer to explain why in person. And I need to know you’re not going to leave me at home alone at night anymore.
Janie
Janie was rarely the type to build up counterfeit suspense, so her statements aroused Righty’s curiosity considerably. She had something important to tell him, and it didn’t sound like “Goodbye” just yet.
But he figured he would have to put this on the back burner for now. He had things to do. First, he went to the store and did some quick checking around to make sure Robert was there and that everything was running smoothly. He told Robert—truthfully—that he was extremely grateful for the hard work he had done and for keeping everything operational and increased his pay to twenty falons per hour—a one hundred percent increase.
He noticed that Robert’s jaw just about hit the ground. “When I’m gone, you’re in charge,” Righty said, shaking the young man’s hand.
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” he said.
Righty was spending less and less time in his store, and the last thing he wanted was to lose Robert, whom he had spent many an hour training on every aspect of the business. If he lost Robert, that would mean finding someone new and training him from scratch, which would gouge deeply into Righty’s time on other, more-profitable, activities, or tempt him to shut down the store altogether, which would mean a loss of his one source of clean money and a loss of a late-night alibi.
Thus, he felt it wise to reward loyalty handsomely, as Harold had recommended. He knew that very soon he would be dealing with the flip side of that coin. Stitches.
But he knew the store’s validity as a late-night alibi was waning. Perhaps what he needed was a store in Sivingdel. While setting it up, he would naturally have to spend quite a few nights in town until he found reliable help to run the place. He liked the idea but found it too stressful to contemplate seriously at the moment.
For now, he had several hours of sword practice to knock out and twenty pounds of Smokeless Green to pack. It was going to be another busy day.
Chapter 22
Around four hours later, Righty was soaring above the sky on top of Harold. However, he was far better secured to Harold today. Harold had warned him that the acrobatic maneuvering today would likely send Righty flying off to his death before Harold had even the faintest hope of rescuing him. Thus, Righty had fashioned a leather harness to Harold’s back that kept his waist and legs securely fastened.
But Harold told him that while this was a drastic improvement over
bareback flying, and perhaps ought to become par for the course just in case any routine flight suddenly turned into a high-speed retreat or pursuit, the harness was still severely insufficient for what had to be done today. Righty then fastened a leather strap around Harold’s massive torso that, when the time was right, he could use to secure even his upper body against Harold’s back, essentially gluing him to his body.
“It looks pretty impromptu,” Harold said, “but I happen to agree with you that this job needs to get done today. Later, you can make something better. I would advise holding on tight.”
Righty had thought a lot about Stitches while he did his morning ritual of three hours of sword practice. He was trying to put himself into Stitches’ shoes and determine what he would do next. He surely couldn’t be so stupid as to come back to the junkyard. Not unless he believed Righty had been killed. But the fact that twenty men went into the alley to kill Righty—and probably Tats—and twenty men were found dead would probably be sufficient to put Stitches on notice that Mr. Brass had probably squeezed out of there somehow. At a minimum, he would want to find out if Mr. Brass were dead before returning to the junkyard.
Righty considered it highly likely that Sam had some people in the city police force on his payroll, and thus, the word would likely spread like wildfire amongst Sam’s crew that somehow the target had not only escaped the noose but had even sent his would-be assailants to the grave. Thus, he considered it safe to assume Stitches knew by now the mission was a failure.
That left Stitches with four options. He could go back to the junkyard and just hope he never saw Mr. Brass or Tats again, as either of them would immediately pin him a traitor. Surely, Stitches couldn’t be that dumb. Thus, Righty classified this as a technical option, but not a realistic option.
He could go back to Sam. After all, Stitches had done his part, and the men Sam would really want to kill for failure were already dead. But Sam could easily conclude that Stitches had tipped Brass off. How else could he explain the twenty men being killed and there not being any dead from Brass’s gang? If he were Sam, he would conclude Stitches had warned Brass to be ready for a small army, after which Stitches then pretended to sell out Brass while really leading Sam’s men into a death trap. Under that logic, Stitches would die.
But even if Sam thought Stitches had done his part to the letter, Sam could still conclude that he was of no use to him. After all, he was a double agent but could no longer fill that role. Could Sam keep him as part of his group nonetheless? Doubtful. He would have to know Stitches had a target on his back now about the size of a small building. That meant people would be looking for Stitches. And if Sam kept Stitches, and people were hunting Stitches, Stitches would—wittingly or unwittingly—lead those men right to Sam’s hideouts.
Thus, if Stitches had any smarts, he would have to know Sam would kill him. But Righty didn’t want Sam to kill him. That was Righty’s job. If anyone else did it, the lesson would not be learned.
Stitches’ third option would be to go to the police. While far shrewder than the first two options, he would surely know that Sam had men working for the police who would then kill him outright or turn him in to Sam. Nonetheless, this option, while risky, afforded more than a snowball’s chance in hell. Stitches might be lucky enough to get the protection of an honest cop, who would see to it that he got whisked out of the city to a more protected place. And Stitches might give some incriminating information about Mr. Brass.
While the name itself bore little in common with the name Richard Franklin Simmers, the last thing Righty wanted was a tantalizing news article describing some mysterious man with professional-level boxing skills who had begun showing up at a junkyard and selling high-quality Smokeless Green while dressed as if he were going to work at the bank. A man who used the alias Mr. Brass. That, in conjunction with even a mediocre drawing, would have Righty on the run from the law far before even a scintilla of his grandiose visions for his future had been realized.
That left Stitches’ fourth and best option. Run like the wind. That was what Righty would do if he were Stitches. Leave the country. Or at least find a new city. But Righty knew that just because option four was Stitches’ best option didn’t mean it was the one Stitches was most likely to take. Truth be told, Righty had no clue what Stitches would do.
Thus, it was that at 3 p.m. on that day he was on Harold’s back flying high over the city of Sivingdel searching everywhere. They had already been soaring above the clouds for over two hours, but Harold had spotted no sign of the scarred traitor.
That was when Righty decided it was time for a change in course. It was the police option that was the worst for Righty, so it was time to start surveilling the area near the police station for any sign of Stitches. Righty had had the foresight to bring a map of the city with him, and he instructed Harold where to go.
For the next several hours, Harold flew about in circles, keeping the streets approaching the police station within view. Then, when Righty was starting to become unbearably tormented with images of Stitches stealing away into the countryside while Harold wasted his time surveilling the police station, he heard what he least expected from Harold: “I see him.”
Righty almost gave the order right then and there for him to swoop down and pluck him right off the ground like a ripe tomato off the vine, but then he started to feel nervous. What if—no matter how fast Harold flew—someone caught a glimpse of Righty’s face? What would happen if this became a newspaper sensation?
He realized to his horror that he did not have the time for such careful reflections and that, since he had decided to go ahead in this lifestyle—risks be damned—he had better get used to making tough decisions like this on the fly. Because it would be far from the last.
“Get him, Harold,” Righty said.
“There are a lot of people around,” Harold said, in a matter-of-fact voice.
Righty felt his gut tighten and then twist. “How far is he from the police station?”
“Oh, he’s a ways off yet. He probably won’t get there until about another forty seconds to a minute.”
“GO!! GET HIM!!!” Righty commanded, not having time to rebuke Harold for making light of such dire circumstances.
He barely remembered to duck his head down towards Harold’s neck and strap down his upper body before Harold began a nose-dive descent.
Righty felt his stomach creeping farther and farther up his throat and felt like his entire body was being squeezed to a pulp by the unbearable speed.
Somehow he managed not to scream out loud, although it was his full inclination to do so. But a low groan escaped his lips.
Every second that went by seemed to bring such a great increase in velocity that it almost jeered at the prior second’s speed. It seemed to Righty that this alone was going to kill him and that he need not worry about police, Heavy Sam, the newspapers, or anything else. By the time ten seconds had gone by, Righty would have sworn before his maker that he had been in free fall for an hour.
It seemed as if his head was going to explode. He would have possibly even told Harold to abort the mission, but at this point he was in a state of shock and couldn’t utter a word.
Suddenly, he heard voices, and then more voices, but no sooner did he perceive that than he was almost thrown out of the harness by an abrupt change of angle. The free fall had ended, and they were traveling horizontally. But no sooner did he realize that than they were headed straight up into the air.
Although it was a slightly different sensation than the free fall, it shared a lot in common with it, particularly the feeling it gave to Righty that he was about to be crushed to mush by the speed. Then, he felt Harold’s position change to horizontal once more.
Righty stayed close to Harold’s neck, full harness still on, for at least a couple minutes afterwards, but he became increasingly distracted by screaming.
“PUT ME DOWN!! PUT ME DOWN!! FOR KASANI’S SAKE, LET ME GO!!”
Curiosity
got the better of Righty, and he unfastened the upper-body harness and sat upright. He turned around and saw Sivingdel disappearing quickly over his shoulder and saw mountains approaching. The screams below continued.
“Tell him to shut the hell up or you WILL let him go!”
Harold passed along the message to Stitches, who then did shut up.
About twenty minutes later they were amongst the mountains, and Righty told Harold to land.
Righty undid his harness to be ready, and as soon as Harold set Stitches down onto the snow, Righty leaped off Harold’s back and lunged at Stitches.
As for Stitches, no sooner did his feet hit the ground than he started sprinting as fast as he could on the snow.
But Righty was faster. He grabbed Stitches by the back of the neck with his left hand and gave him a hard uppercut to the kidneys with his right. This knocked Stitches to the ground, who then immediately, lying on his back, put his feet up defensively. Righty grabbed both feet quickly, spread them wide apart until Stitches body formed an upside down Y, and then smashed his foot down into his groin area. This elicited a howl of pain.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 50