Death's Reckoning

by Will Molinar

  Cubbins kept his eyes fixed on the exotic men as they all grouped together. Tempers were high. They were an impressive group of men to be sure. Their muscular yet compact frames heaved with the recent exertion, yet they recuperated fast.

  “Thank you for time here,” Unri said and nodded to him. “Please, believe. We come to help only. Very bad man come here. Will make great trouble for all.”

  A glimmer of hope lifted Cubbins’ spirit for a moment. He had the idea in mind that this was the break he was waiting for. However, the situation needed caution.

  He took a good long look at Unri and his cohorts and decided to trust them for the time being.

  “Let me hear all that you know, and we’ll go from there.”

  * * * * *

  They had all the men at their mercy now. It took some time waiting for each one to come stumbling into their trap, but Jerrod thought an understanding was close to fruition. The men had no other choice but to play along, and they knew it.

  He and Zandor had them all lined up in the front room of the opulent house, and while a couple of them continued to glare at them from time to time, the toad McGivens and the shit face Ginatti were beaten and docile. It was Jerrod’s intention to keep them that way.

  “You boys had a nice little run here, all these years,” Zandor said. He gave a whistle and smiled. “Very impressive. Not sure I woulda done it any different myself. That takes some courage what you’ve done. You should be applauded for that.” Zandor leaned forward and put his foot on one of the chairs near an ornate table, resting an elbow on his knee. “But understand this: it’s over. All that’s gone now, here and forever. You all gotta know that, right? Put that real tight in your minds, and it’ll be easier from here on out. No doubts. Doubting gets you killed.”

  Most of them hung their heads, but that bastard Ginatti shook his head towards the end of Zandor’s speech. “You can’t do this. Not without our consent, you dumb pricks. You don’t have a single clue in those thick heads of yours. You need all of us, or you would’ve killed us by now.”

  Jerrod grunted, looked at the others, and pointed at Ginatti. “You boys think we need him? Or can we get along without him? He’s only one man. I think we can get someone to fill in for him while he burns in hell. Whadaya think?”

  The men understood the threat very well. If it was a choice between themselves and letting the lone Ginatti take the brunt of Jerrod’s wrath, it was obvious what they would choose. It was in their glances.

  “Wait a minute, fellas,” Zandor said and looked at Jerrod. “Let’s be reasonable here. There’s no need to lose our heads.” There was the ever so slight emphasis on the word “lose” that made Jerrod smirk.

  “Listen here,” Zandor said and looked back to them. “We all want the same thing, and that’s to get paid. Right?” There was a murmur of general agreement, and even Ginatti couldn’t argue. “Good. The way I see it is we need each other. Now, I respect the fact you boys kept it going for as long as you have, but the truth is you got lazy, and lazy doesn’t pay. Your only option is to accept this and move on.”

  Ignacio, the man responsible for coordinating things in Sea Haven, spoke up. “What do you propose? I’m willing to listen. What do you want from us?”

  Zandor let out a lustful howl and slapped his knee. “Whoo-hee! That’s what I like to hear, son. Positive thinking looking to the future instead of focusing on the past.” Some of them looked at Zandor as if he were mad, but others relaxed at his show of levity.

  “First thing to understand, boys, is that I don’t propose many changes. You’re all making money, right?” They all agreed this was the case. “Fine, that’s fine. But I think more revenue is to be had here.”

  Zandor stood tall, but to Jerrod’s mind he was nothing more than a midget with stilts. He put his hands on his hips, and he said, “You all need to think of me and my partner as you thought of ol’ Tanner. In charge. In fact, think of us as his sons come to collect on the family business. Think on that and think hard. This is how it’s gonna be.”

  A few of them looked defiant, just a glimmer of it in their eyes, and Jerrod knew the situation would take time to solidify. But he also knew that greed outweighed pride most of the time, and survival trumped everything regardless of who it was.

  “The thing you wanna make real clear in your minds about us,” Zandor said and paced back and forth in front of them, “is that we know people, we have people hired, lots of people, all kinds of men that work for us, all over the continent. So keep in mind this ain’t just the two of us. You got a whole organization behind you, protecting you, protecting your interests in how the gaming tents and the arena run.

  “These are the kind of people you need backing you, to make sure this never happens again. Plus, we got plans in motion to make sure the arena and tents make even more money than it did before. You ain’t gonna lose a thing. I’m pretty confident you’ll make even more money once we’re up and running, even with our cut.”

  For the first time since their capture, all of the men looked relieved, even excited. Perhaps they realized their situation could pay out well for them. It wasn’t disaster; it was a new start.

  “We need more people at the tents,” Ignacio said and flicked his chin to Jerrod, “because he killed a lot of the managers. Everyone knows about it. It’s no secret.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be, slug,” Jerrod said and stepped forward.

  Zandor put his hands up. “Easy, now. That’s all in the past, so let it go. If they were good at what they did, they wouldn’t have got caught in the first place. We’ll get better people. People that won’t be skimming off the top.” The men looked embarrassed as Zandor put emphasis on his next statement. “No more.”

  Jerrod smirked as the men squirmed. Dealers skimmed no doubt about it, and now things were changing. They should’ve been embarrassed. Jerrod would have shut that practice down real quick if it was up to him, and now it was.

  “We’re gonna clean the whole place up,” Zandor said. “That alone will see a substantial increase in profits. Makes sense, yeah? Fair enough?”

  Jerrod had to admit it. Zandor was good. Very smooth, a little off putting, maybe to make people drop their guard, but very smart. He knew how to talk to people, how to make them see things how they were, how they could be.

  “Plus, I got a way to get the arena back up to the level it was before Castellan shut the place down. We’ll bring in lots of foreign spectators. The arena will have an attraction no one will be able to resist, believe that.”

  He interested them, every single man in the room including Jerrod.

  Later, they came to an understanding. Jerrod and Zandor would run things as if Tanner McDowell were still alive. All operations went through them and them alone. They were in charge, and Jerrod left it to their imaginations of what would happen if the men crossed them.

  Some of his men arrived in the next couple of days at McDowell’s mansion, Zandor’s as well. Jerrod didn’t recognize the sailors and didn’t trust them either. He told Marko and his fellows to keep an eye on them.

  After the verbal agreement was made with the prisoners, the six men would continue to do what they did and pick up Tanner’s take with the tacit agreement that the secret of his death would remain. Even Jerrod’s and Zandor’s men didn’t know the full truth. They only told them Tanner would not see anyone under any circumstances. The men only need to worry about their tasks on hand.

  Zandor pulled Jerrod off to the side at one point and spoke with him. “This is how it’ll work. We head back to town, take this Ignacio guy with us. We leave a lot of our boys here to watch out. But we let them alone for a bit. Let them get back to work like normal.”

  Jerrod nodded, happy they were heading for home. The place smelled like piss and fish. They put two men back on guard duty at the shack per normal, Stan and McGivens. The rest went about their regular duties sans Ignacio who was going back with them on their hidden boat.

  The vessel was
right where they left it, and early evening of their third day they rolled along south with a light breeze.

  “What a beautiful night,” Zandor said as they made way, sails up. “Couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  Jerrod lit a smoke and grunted.

  Ignacio looked sullen. Zandor wagged an admonishing finger at him. “You should be happier, bub.” He sat back, his hood down for once. His smarmy stupid face so tan and weathered, scrunched up in a wicked smile. “We’re gonna make you a very rich man. That’s why you started this in the first place, ain’t it? Why you kept Tanner’s death a secret and kept all this up for so long? Be honest.”

  Ignacio knelt down on the side, staring at Zandor. His voice was guarded but maybe honest. Jerrod didn’t give a shit which. “Not at the beginning. Most of us loved Tanner. He was good to us and paid well. They should not have tried to kill him.”

  Jerrod barked out a laugh. “Is that right? You’d just ask a nice fella like McDowell to step aside all quiet like, and that would be that. That’d work fine.”

  “No,” Ignacio said, and his voice was cold, harsh. “They should have let it alone and not done a thing. Tanner McDowell built his empire through hard work. Not by using thugs.” He steeled himself and eyed them. “Thugs like you two. Thugs that steal instead of working for something.”

  Jerrod let his cigarette drop to the side and imagined what it would feel like to pop the man’s head off and roll it off the side of the boat.

  Zandor looked amused. “You know, I like that attitude, I do. Shows loyalty. That’ll serve you well in the next several weeks, bubba. Make sure you remember who your new bosses are.”

  He kept his voice light, but Jerrod heard an undercurrent of menace there as well. Good. These bastards needed to be reminded this was a coup, not a joint venture where they could dictate terms. They lived or died by his will.

  When they arrived back in Sea Haven, they went straight for the arena in the back office area, a behind the scenes spot Jerrod knew little about.

  It was a lot more comfortable in the labyrinthine corridors underground, surrounded by the hundreds of cut wood shafts than on the open sea. He was glad Zandor decided to go there first. What he didn’t like was wearing a disguise as simple as it was, but Zandor insisted.

  So he wore a stupid hat pulled low over his eyes, shaved his face, and wore some shitty cloak that covered his normal attire. Once they were in, Zandor said not to worry too much over who they thought Jerrod was. Zandor had a plan bigger than all this. Then they could do whatever they wanted.

  Ignacio spoke with one of the guards, and the three of them went to a back office area, away from the bleachers but close enough to hear the rumblings of the swelling crowd. It was only an hour or so before the matches started.

  They waited outside while Desmond and Derek were informed of their presence. Some said they were bothers, but Jerrod didn’t think so. They were nothing but a bunch of queens that somehow wrangled their way into owning the fighting arena.

  Ignacio fidgeted, looking contrite but a little nervous as they waited to be shown into the office area. It was similar to the other portions of the arena with pieces of wood nailed together in such an inconceivable way.

  At last a man came to them and turned them away. “They’re busy. What do you want?”

  “Tell them I have an important message from McDowell,” Ignacio said. “Remember him? He’s the man who runs this bird house. Tell them now, Berk.”

  Berk gave him a sour look but went back in and came out soon. They were to go on in but be quick about it. The slovenly fat man tried to act tough and use the same smarmy glare he’d used on Ignacio, but when Jerrod walked by, he used a glare of his own. The man tried to turn away, but Jerrod made sure to press his towering bulk against him close enough for the man to smell his breath as he passed.

  Berk swallowed and grimaced. “Uh, excuse me sir.” He backed away.

  The inner office, down a narrow corridor, was similar in make to the rest of the maze. One side faced the inner arena space to their right, and a wide open window stood about chest height where one could see the entire arena floor. Jerrod thought it must have been much better watching the fights from this perch than amongst the slugs. The floor was invisible. Perhaps of pure magic, but it held the room above the arena.

  The men in question, Derek and Desmond, glanced over to them from their large couch on the far wall as if they were watching a match at that moment and that they were being interrupted. But they didn’t have a care in the world. All they had to do was count their money.

  Ignacio gave them a bow before speaking, and Jerrod was surprised at how much respect he showed. “Pardon my interruption sirs, but I have an important matter to discuss with the two of you. It concerns a new directive from Tanner McDowell.”

  Derek, the taller, lankier of the duo, arched an eyebrow and sat forward. “Oh yes? Pray tell me the details, dear Ignacio.”

  “Perhaps these gentlemen,” Ignacio said motioning to Zandor and Jerrod, “representatives of Master McDowell, would be better suited for that task.”

  Jerrod sniffed and rubbed his face. The smooth shaved skin made him feel like a boy.

  Zandor swept forward and gave a formal bow. “My name is Zandor. This is my associate Oliver. First allow me to say what a fan I am of your fine arena. I have been a spectator for many years, and I must say this is the finest entertainment on the continent.”

  Derek smiled and seemed to take the compliment with genuine pride while Desmond looked uninterested the lazy fuck. He sat there with his hands folded on his knee.

  Jerrod shuffled his feet. He’d forgotten, but Zandor had a way of changing his voice and the way he spoke, depending on the situation and the person in front of him. It was an unnerving, uncanny ability, and seeing both sides caught him off balance. Of course, a good knife in his ribs would square that deal real quick.

  Derek looked at his partner, and communication passed between them unsaid. When Derek smiled, it wasn’t a pleasant sight. Jerrod thought he looked like a big fat rat. His face was too long, his cheeks pinched. He shifted his enormous bulk, which was covered by a large brown robe, identical to the one Desmond wore, and some of their jewelry tinkled. They had long gold necklaces and other adornments that would make a princess blush arrayed on their bulky frames.

  “So,” Derek said, his voice a mellow lilt, “tell me of this arrangement, Master Zandor. I’ll assume it is of great import, or Tanner would not have sent you.”

  Zandor smiled and stepped forward, pointing to an ornate chair across from the couch. “May I?”

  Derek seemed amused by the show of proper etiquette and waved to the chair. “You may. Please be seated, gentlemen. Of course.”

  Jerrod frowned and declined. Zandor glanced at him and made a slight frown, but it was quick and forgiving.

  “Master McDowell has become concerned of late with the performance of the arena, as compared with the betting tents and their revenue. He feels they are not on par with each other.”

  Derek perked up. “Oh really? Are we falling behind? How dreadful. I had no idea. Desmond?”

  Desmond didn’t move a muscle. He continued to stare at Zandor and Jerrod. Jerrod considered himself good at reading people and thought Derek was being sincere. Derek was much different than people would have thought, Jerrod included. He was too nice, too effeminate for someone that ran a business of death and strife.

  “Yes,” Zandor said and raised a hand. “And let me state that it is through no fault of yours the situation has come this far.”

  “Well, of course!” Derek said and chuckled. “Why would it be because of us? We see to the fighters, see to the business, yes.”

  Desmond’s fat jowls hung over his propped hand. He shifted on his seat but said nothing.

  Zandor chuckled, but Jerrod could tell he was taken aback by this cheerful idiot as well. “As I said, I have been coming here for many years. Because of my experience in this area and the know
ledge my associate has of this town, Master McDowell has hired us to improve the financial output of this arena.”

  Derek widened his eyes and slapped Desmond’s knee. “That sounds fantastic! Far be it for us to stand in the way of more money. Tell me, what did you fine gentlemen have in mind? Please, give me all the glorious details!”

  Zandor outlined a few minor changes, a simple streamlining of the betting tables, designed to give the house a bigger edge and to trim the winnings from spectators. It gave them a chance to win more in one shot, but also a chance to lose more at once as well, and over time this would be to their advantage. It all made it more enticing for group betting as well, enabling bettors to go into a communal pool with the risk taken by them and not the house.

  Zandor also suggested a more complicated system with more matches strung together. A bigger payout entices bettors to wager larger sums but also makes it more difficult for them to win.

  All of these changes had Derek nodding his head with enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Yes, I’ve often thought of enacting similar changes myself. Haven’t I, Desmond?”

  “Indeed,” Desmond said. “We’ll have to turn people away at the door.”

  Derek gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, hush, you. You never want to do anything exciting. Always the same with you, every day.”

  “You’ve never complained before.” He turned his eyes to Zandor. “Besides, what he proposes is risky. People have become accustomed to the way things work here. They know what to expect, they pay their money, and nothing more is needed. I wonder why Tanner would want to change what works fine. That isn’t like him.”

  “Think of it as more of a streamline of existing rules,” Zandor said and flashed a smile. “Master McDowell has decided to shake things up a bit as it were. Sometimes men get concerned about their futures. The end stares them in the face and all that. I’m sure you understand.”