Righty then grabbed Stitches by the back of the collar and stood him up.
“How many others?” Righty barked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Stitches cried.
Righty punched Stitches so hard in his right arm that the bones splintered beneath the blow.
“How many others in the junkyard work for Sam?”
Stitches hesitated longer than Righty would have preferred, so he slammed him down onto the ground stomach first.
Righty then got on top of his back and put his right arm behind his back. He then started slowly compressing the wrist.
“How many others in the junkyard work for Sam?” Righty repeated.
“Five,” Stitches howled. “Please don’t break my wrist!”
“I won’t if you talk. Now start talking!”
“Crabs, Chalky, Ben, Chris, and . . . .”
More squeezing.
“Ahhhh!!!”
“Who else?!”
“Spider!”
Righty let up on his wrist.
“You’re lying about Spider!” Righty accused.
“Just recently,” Stitches pleaded. “He’s jealous because you’ve been showing a preference for Tats.”
“What has he done? I want specifics!”
“He was there last time I spoke to Sam! He told him what you looked like and everything else he could about you, since he’s seen you a lot more times than I have!”
“What else?” Righty asked calmly, not putting any more pressure on Stitches’ wrist.
“He sold his share of the Green to Sam, and then Sam gave him some low-grade Green and told him to sell it in your name so that people would stop buying any Green associated with Mr. Brass.”
“What else?” Righty asked, this time giving a less-than-gentle squeeze to Stitches’ wrist.
“That’s all! I swear!”
“You’ve done well, Stitches, and believe me, you’ve saved yourself a lot of pain.”
He wasn’t even going to waste his time asking what he planned to do at the police station. Righty was interested in facts, not “would-have-dones.”
Righty rolled Stitches over while simultaneously slipping brass knuckles onto his right hand. He then sent a strong overhand right crashing down into Stitches’ forehead with the power of a sledgehammer, shattering his skull and ending Stitches’ inconsequential life instantly. He would have preferred to end it at that, but unfortunately he knew he had a bit of theater to put on if he was to begin constructing the invisible fortifications of intimidation.
Chapter 23
When Righty arrived at the junkyard that day, at around 5 p.m., he was not overly surprised to find the normal meeting spot empty. It was far earlier than the usual hour at which the gang met. He walked for about fifteen minutes, until he came to what appeared to be a path leading towards some rather shabby looking houses.
As he headed down this way, he noticed a couple of young toughs walking in his direction. He began to think he was going to have to smash two more heads really soon, but this idea was changed—to his relief—when he heard the sincere greeting: “Mr. Brass!”
He didn’t know either of their names—or at least couldn’t remember them if he had been told them—but he did vaguely recognize their faces.
“You’re in these parts early, Mr. Brass!” one of the young men said good-naturedly, as if seeing Righty earlier than expected was a good omen.
Righty extended a hand warmly to each of the young men and shook each firmly.
“You’ll soon learn that my greatest weakness is names, so please don’t take offense if I’ve asked for yours previously.”
“It’s all good, Mr. Brass,” the same talkative young man said. “I’m Chalky. This here’s Crabs. They call me Chalky ‘cuz if I’m not at the junkyard, I’m usually at the pool hall. As for Crabs here . . . ,” he then pointed to Crabs’ neck grinning. Two crabs could be seen in a death struggle, though it appeared the one on top would be having the other for dinner. It had snipped off one of its opponent’s pincers and rammed the other right through its back.
Righty felt a vicious chill sweep through his body as the two names were revealed, but it did not reveal itself on his face.
“Are we meetin’ early tonight?” Mr. Brass, Chalky asked, “‘cuz I’m ready to go make some of that paper, you dig?”
“It may be a little early,” Righty replied calmly. “I first just needed to go check on Tats. We got into a bit of a scrape last night, and I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“I can dig it. I can dig it,” Chalky said happily, and Righty was beginning to wonder if Chalky had partaken of a generous portion of Smokeless Green today or was just blessed with a sunny disposition.
Chalky had the look of a man who would like to ask more than a few questions about the “scrape” but had wisely thought better of it.
“No worries. No worries, Mr. Brass. Tats lives just down this way.”
Righty was glad to see that both Chalky and Crabs permitted him to stay behind while they led the way. Had either attempted to escort from behind, Righty may have lopped both their heads off. To say he was feeling a bit on edge would do injustice to the phrase.
About five minutes later, Righty’s hand went back for his sword when someone walked right out in front of his path, but he brought it back empty to his side when he saw it was nothing more than a little girl. She looked like she was about five years old. She had dark black hair, innocent brown eyes, and a pretty dress.
“Hungry,” she said and held out her hand.
“Hey, Lisa,” Chalky said, “we’re kinda busy here, and he don’t know you.”
Righty looked down at the girl. She was thoroughly dirty. He had never been one to welcome panhandlers, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to turn her away. He thought that if there were one place on this green earth where a panhandler might actually need money for food rather than for vice it had to be this forsaken junkyard.
As he reached down into his pocket for a coin, he realized he had no change. Since he had already committed himself to giving the girl something, he realized he would have to part with at least one bill of the smallest currency he had. This happened to be a one hundred falon bill.
He bent down to one knee and told the girl, “This is for food or for clothes, not candy,” he told her.
She smiled mischievously and said, “Okay.”
“My two friends here will tell me if you spend it all on candy,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Food,” she said simply.
“That a girl,” he responded and handed her the money and patted her lightly on the head.
At that moment, he reminded himself of a picture he had seen recently in a book he had been reading about visual deception. Looked at from one angle, a kind-looking gentleman could be seen. Looked at from a different angle, a terrifying gargoyle stared menacingly. He realized that if a person looked at him from the angle of what he had just done for the girl, he might be seen as a bit of a chivalrous gentleman.
Looked at from the angle of what he had in his bag, the terrifying gargoyle might seem tame by comparison.
“Yo, that’s right, Lees,” Chalky said, apparently invoking Lisa’s nickname, and then he pointed to his eye and then to hers. She smiled and went running off.
Chalky again looked at Righty as if he was wanting to say or ask something but had thought better of it.
“See to it that money doesn’t go to drugs,” Righty said.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brass. Lisa’s mom’s got it pretty rough. It’ll go to food.”
About fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a squalid shack that attempted to pass itself off for a house.
“Yo, Tats. Brass is here,” Chalky announced.
There was no answer at the door.
“Yo, Tats.” Chalky then banged on the door several times.
It then opened partway, and Righty saw a single eye scanning around diligently, perhaps searching for any sign of
a setup.
As soon as the eye fell on him, the door opened.
“Thanks for the tour,” Righty said, handing a hundred-falon bill each to Crabs and Chalky.
“Mr. Brass, there’s really no need,” Chalky said.
“A man’s time is money, Chalky.”
Chalky saw by the look in Mr. Brass’s eye that there wasn’t going to be a debate.
“Tell the gang to be there in two hours,” he told Chalky calmly.
Chalky got the hint, as did Crabs, and they both began walking away.
Righty looked at Tats and saw a mixture of emotions. Surprise appeared to be the dominant one, but in a close second place was embarrassment.
“It’s not exactly a mansion,” Tats said, his face turning red.
“Stick with me and you’ll have one,” Righty said calmly. In fact, Tats was well on his way towards being able to afford a decent house but was unsure how to go about it. He had been burying money inside his shack like a pirate on a deserted island, being distrustful of banks. Yet he was also so unfamiliar with the process of getting a home that, even if he had the money right then and there to buy one, he would have been worried of getting cheated in the process or perhaps arrested as a thief just based upon his appearance.
“Where can we talk alone?”
Tats paused for a moment and then opened the door wider, inviting Righty inside.
Righty could tell Tats had a lot to say but was struggling with what to say and what not to say, as well as what to ask and what not to ask.
“You keep earning more of my trust and respect,” Righty began. “I told you to lie low in that fight, and you could have just hidden and let me get slaughtered. I would have without your help.”
“That was some pretty serious swordplay, Mr. Brass. I don’t mean to presume, but it seems you’ve been practicing.”
Righty grinned good-naturedly.
“Tats, you’re on the right track to learning yourself. You’re my number one man in this crew. In my absence, you’re in charge.”
Righty could see Tats was about to burst with curiosity but was restraining himself. There were few things Righty admired more in a man than the ability not to ask too many questions, especially when dealing with an authority figure.
“You’re probably wondering just why in the hell you and I are having this conversation here without the impediment of jail bars between us.”
Tats nodded slowly and then broke into a grin about the size of a small mountain.
“Let’s just say I look after my own. But both for your protection and mine, I am a firm believer in keeping everything on a need-to-know basis. The only thing I’ll say right now on the subject is that if there ever comes a time when you absolutely need to know for your own safety or for the wellbeing of this organization, you will.”
Tats nodded solemnly.
“You’re on the right path for me arranging for you to get both a sword and sword lessons from one of the world’s finest sword smiths and swordsmen all in one. But as for now, I fear you have a rather unpleasant task in front of you.”
Tats’ face had gleamed at the first part but grown solemn and apprehensive at the last.
“First, I have to show you something, and I apologize for doing this within your house.”
Tats’ face didn’t flinch when he saw Stitches’ severed head with both eyes gouged out and the word “TRAITOR” carved across his face.
“He had it coming,” Tats said calmly.
“That he did,” Righty agreed.
“I put my life and freedom on the line today to make sure I got to him before he did something really stupid like go and talk to the police. I want you to both know and see that I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
Tats looked a bit apprehensive, as he realized this was where he was going to be asked to complete some onerous task.
“Stitches gave some names before he died of people in our outfit working for Sam.”
Tats’ face grew even more apprehensive, but it seemed to Righty it was the apprehensiveness not of a guilty man but of one who fears being forced to contend with the accusations of the dead.
“Don’t worry. Your name wasn’t mentioned.”
Tats’ face relaxed slightly.
“But there were five names,” and Righty listed them.
Tats buried his head in his hands for a moment.
“Spider and I grew up together.”
Righty said nothing but looked at him unflinchingly.
“But, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s been acting really strange lately. Just the other day, he said something to the effect of, ‘So, is this your and Mr. Brass’s gang now?’ Spider and I have always been competitive with each other. But I’ve suspected that this time it’s gone beyond mere rivalry. He’ll disappear when a lot of the gang is meeting in the junkyard, and when he comes back he won’t say where he’s been.
“By itself, it was nothing strong enough for me to make the accusation, but I have to say it seems consistent with what Stitches said.”
That was enough in Righty’s mind. The underworld deprives bosses of the luxury—or, as some would argue, the burden—judges have of reviewing inculpatory and exculpatory evidence for months because in the underworld if the judge fails to act quickly he himself will be killed.
“You’re going to kill Spider today in front of everyone,” Righty informed him matter-of-factly and then explained exactly how and what the signal would be.
Righty didn’t think less of Tats when he saw several tears escape from tightly closed eyelids.
“It’s okay, Tats,” Righty calmed him. “Truth be told, I would have preferred to beat Stitches until he was a cripple rather than killing him. But in this line of work crippling an enemy is little better than handing him a dagger and then turning your back to him. A crippled enemy is still an enemy. Only a dead enemy ceases to be an enemy.
“Look at it this way, by taking care of this problem, you’ll not only be protecting your own life, you’ll also be safeguarding your family. When people see you’re willing to kill the friend you grew up with for disloyalty, they’ll know you’d do the same to them or worse without a second’s hesitation. That means a lot less people will ever seriously think about hurting you or your family. Which, ultimately, means fewer people get killed.”
Tats nodded his head forcefully but couldn’t quite raise his head.
“All right, enough about Spider. What about the others?”
“As for Crabs and Chalky, Stitches is lying,” Tats said resolutely. “Everyone in the gang knows that Stitches has hated Crabs and Chalky for years. He hates Crabs because he stole his girlfriend. He hates Chalky because he made so much money off of Stitches at the pool hall that he’s owed him money for the last ten years.”
Righty himself felt a bit of relief upon learning this news, but he wanted to poke around a bit more.
“And no strange disappearances or weird behavior with them?” Righty asked.
“None,” Tats said, looking him squarely in the eye.
Righty decided Crabs and Chalky would be spared for now and felt a small burden glide off his own shoulders. He was learning really fast there would be plenty of necessary killings. No need to burden his soul with innocent blood.
“And Ben and Chris?”
“I can’t say yes or no with them, Mr. Brass,” Tats said, but his face seemed to be pleading that they be given the benefit of the doubt.
“They’re good kids, just fifteen and sixteen each. They’re brothers. That’s why they don’t have nicknames yet. They only recently started hanging out with the gang. I don’t know of what beef Stitches would have with them, though, so I can’t vouch for them. Couldn’t they be put under investigation?”
Righty wasn’t itching to kill anyone, much less a couple of teenage brothers, but he knew there was going to have to be some preference towards erring on the side of preemption. He didn’t want to wait until his enemies were twenty steps from a police
station with a lot of nasty gossip in their mouths, or until they had set him up for a vicious ambush, before he eliminated them.
“Think, Tats. Any strange behavior? Any reason Stitches might have had beef with them? Or even with their family?”
“I can’t think of any, but Stitches was a vicious little snake, as you yourself learned. It was always hard to know what Stitches was really thinking.”
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 51