‘As if you have any authority here. Here, take a suggestion so you don’t embarrass yourself any further: quieten down. Take me to Wilheim.’
‘What would make you believe he’s even here?’
‘Oh please,’ Misu scoffed. This was just insulting now. ‘Where else would a cockroach hide but under a rock? If needed, proof would be your vulgar company. He always was fond of having brainless fodder around him to do the dirty work. Or take the fall, whichever the situation dictated.’
‘I’m not caring for your words so much. How about I stitch that mouth of yours shut?’
‘You know, I’m just wondering why I’m wasting my breath on a mere lookout. You are of no interest to me. Your threats are boring. So do yourself a mercy and stand aside.’
‘Make me,’ Donovan snarled. He had gutted people for less of an insult.
Misu took a bold step forward.
‘Listen up, and this goes for the rest of you,’ she called out to every hidden sniper, every rogue brandishing a weapon. ‘We can do one of two things. Either we stand out here and burn under the sun while this chump tries to prove whose dick is biggest. Or you can take me to Wilheim, who I guarantee will want to explain why you’re taking the time to bore me! While I can quite happily belittle you all, and believe me it’s an easy task to do, I assume that his frustration will come in the form of something considerably more violent.’
Donovan growled in frustration.
‘So which is it going to be? Are we pissing and prattling or are you going to let us be on our merry way?’ she demanded.
The standoff seemed to last for ever. Misu tilted her head to Donovan who seemed far too slow with a forthcoming response. The crows ahead had seen this scene before and circled knowingly, waiting for their feed to begin.
They were left wanting.
‘This way,’ Donovan finally stated.
* * *
Wilheim had word of the Morning Star’s arrival. In fact, he had known of its approach a few good miles out of the territory. Outposts that were mistakenly assumed to be abandoned, dilapidated structures at a glance, fed news back by wire of its sighting. He had been updated every few minutes on its approach, the train’s arrival, and the entourage travelling over the drifting sands. All the while he attempted to remain composed, subduing his excitement at this unexpected event.
On a whim he could have ordered them to be executed the moment they stepped off the carriages, but they both knew that was a far too harsh response.
* * *
Misu guessed their arrival was not a surprise, but correctly assumed curiosity would get the better of Wilheim, and that would encourage a face-to-face meeting, which was exactly what she wanted. Yes, this was a game well played, a game that both sides believed themselves to have the better hand in.
Misu, however, didn’t expect them to be given the tour.
As Misu was led through the front doors of the building, she passed under gantries and walkways, a contingent of workers all operating in pairs, floor by floor. Misu ran her fingers over her hair, dusting sand from her ponytail at first observance though in actuality she assessed her surroundings. The work floor was multiple levels with a gantry around the circumference. Wrought-iron stairwells that fingered around coal furnaces in the centre.
Whatever machinery these fuelled had long since been removed by scavengers. The remains of ducting and pulleys for lifting hung like spider webs of decayed industry, ignored by those focused on their work. Long concrete support pillars ran through the building as if nailing it to ground.
Among the dormant apparatuses, where the sand had settled inside, thickets of bush, each crimson in colour, thrived and were being cultivated. The plants were watered, trimmed, no matter where you looked. It was a factory all right, a factory for growing Red Root and very much in operation. No wonder Wilheim was operating from such an obscure location. Nobody ventured out here, and finding a place where Red Root naturally thrived was incredibly fortunate. By ensuring its distribution, the flood of dishonest money would expand his reach once more.
Noticing that she was gawking a little too long, a sharp word from their escorts encouraged her to turn for a downward staircase.
Down the factory steps they walked, beside a long concrete slope with a cart rail for transporting whatever was deemed fit. Silently they walked, guided on by Wilheim’s goons, each one vile and ready to set upon the new arrivals.
The double doors at the bottom squeaked open, announcing their entrance with considerable noise.
Misu and the others were paraded through the train shed. Coupling as a loading bay, crates for shipment were already stacked in piles of various heights, needing to be navigating past. Push carts covered in burlap were haphazardly strewn about but all of this was a minor concern compared to the sight that greeted them.
Misu stopped. Corinne and Wyld stopped behind. Then every one of them halted until there was not a single footfall casting an echo. They all stared at the metallic mass that made up Wilheim’s twisted trophy: the indecent wreckage of the Gambler’s Den.
Tendrils of iron sprawled outward, bent panelling and rusted, crippled wheels slumped on the track. The Gambler’s Den loomed in the struggling light, a tasteless souvenir punctuating Wilheim’s malice. It drew a handful of inhalations from the girls behind, who corrected themselves and regained their composure. Misu gave no such leave for her own emotions, not visibly at least, but behind her frostiness she was bitterly screaming. This was sick.
Scraps of its once brilliant paint glittered in the shaft of light that the shed’s broken roof provided, still laden with the assortment of written well wishes. Some lay at its wheels, some dusty, others half covered by intruding sand. A few lay in pieces.
Misu wasn’t deaf to the intakes of breath behind her. Whispers and gasps rippled through the air but with a sideways glance she reminded those who followed to remain steadfast. Even Wyld muffled a choke behind her hands. They were warned that they would be challenged by Wilheim’s cruelty and it was hard to imagine him doing any worse than this. It was sacrilege.
‘I’m going to kill him,’ Corinne quietly stated, grinding her teeth back and forth. ‘I’m going to make him suffer.’
‘No you’re not,’ Misu eventually contested, exhaling away her fury. ‘That’s my job.’
‘Ladies! Why are we stopping?’ Donovan called, he and his men noticing that they had paused to take in the sight. It was expected of course but there had been enough dawdling and people more important than he was waiting for an audience. Misu lead the line past the wreckage to their patient host.
Wilheim stood proud, awaiting his new guests with silent glee. He watched the entourage approach, clearly relishing the sour looks of the women in tow, his own men fanning out to watch the proceedings. He stepped aside, arm outstretched to reveal a rather sorry-looking figure behind him.
Bound to a chair and limp, Franco Del Monaire was at the mercy of the monster beside him. The beatings that he had suffered were painfully obvious, clear torture though Misu’s demeanour had to give the impression she was devoid of any attachment. Emotion would be a weakness before Wilheim, one easily visible – and exploitable.
Misu discerned the gravity of the situation and the dangers that this all presented. She stood before a viper, with threats of violence straddling a forked tongue, where conjoined history would force one of them, if not both, to commit something terrible.
Wilheim’s booming voice demanded attention.
‘I’m surprised that you made it here – or found me in the first place. You always were a resourceful girl, Misu. It’s a shame you didn’t contribute to my other affairs and had to run away. Do tell, how do you like my latest acquisition?’ His hand waved out to the Gambler’s Den with a disgustingly proud smile.
Misu’s failure to break her composure was obviously something of an annoyance to Wilheim, who had no doubt expected much more in the way of a response. Tears even, if he was to be so lucky. He would be
left wanting.
‘I didn’t come here to see a dead train. I’m at a loss as to why you would even go to the effort of acquiring such a thing. Though judging by your man there, I gotta conclude that you must have a fancy for collecting useless things.’ Misu spoke firmly, raising her brow to Donovan who attempted to retaliate before being quickly silenced.
‘I’m sorry, Wilheim,’ Misu continued. ‘Were you expecting something else? I don’t get sentimental over scrap metal.’
‘Of course not. Sentimentality just isn’t your thing. Now I know that my watch isn’t fast so that puts you a good seven days early at my count. At least you would be early if you made the last few drops.’
‘I didn’t get a chance to finish the job, now did I? You’re a smart man, Wilheim, but let me spell it out for you anyway. We’ve been tailed by the law since we set off. Word reached us by wire that Eifera had a party of Bluecoats waiting for our arrival. Surely you wouldn’t want the last drops to be written off as a business loss. Rather than incur that expense, I figured it best to drop the rest off.’
‘Colour me impressed.’
‘I’m not here to impress you, Wilheim. I’m here to see him.’
‘I suppose I can accommodate you.’ Wilheim nodded to one of the sentries nearby, a gruff-looking individual with a face that had seen too many fights. ‘Check her,’ Wilheim demanded before adding to the order. ‘Thoroughly.’
Misu stared as the lackey, with disgustingly lingering hands, finished his pat-down. She stood with arms behind her head, ignoring every cup and feel, and instead gazed straight ahead, expressionless. Finally, the approval came.
‘She’s clean.’
Donovan scoffed, though was clearly paid a look to ensure his silence by the authority in the room. Despite being so trusted, even he knew when to concede. Wilheim delayed his response upon pondering.
‘No weapon? I’m almost insulted. Step forward,’ he offered.
Leading them across the expanse, avoiding a ramshackle clutter of ageing machines, Wilheim presented his captive with sadistic glee.
Franco Del Monaire hung motionless in his posture, bound to a single chair with rope flecked with wine-red spots. His flesh was purple in places, swollen and split in others, hair matted and clumped where his head had been split from impacts – or torture, to give it the correct word.
Misu threw out a demand regarding the prisoner. ‘Wake him up.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said wake him up,’ Misu repeated herself. ‘Now.’
‘My dear, I don’t think he’s actually asleep …’
Her breath quickened.
* * *
Wilheim strolled over to his captive to check that he was still alive. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t endured the last round of beatings, especially now Misu was here. It would be quite preferable to remove them from the equation. Who was going to stop him from doing so? The only thing prolonging this sadistic little play was the intention of ripping Misu’s heart from her chest and watching her break down before him.
Wilheim’s slap reverberated around the basement, and upon its delivery Franco’s eyes cracked open. Wilheim huffed in surprise.
‘How lucky are you? This time I surely thought he was over and done with. Not much stamina you see – he broke quite quickly. Begged, practically, while we did the business. Still, maybe he can give you some last words. I am, after all, a gracious sort.’
Franco raised his head, revealing his purpled, swollen features. He tried to push a smile to his cheeks but instead the gesture dissolved to a flicker.
* * *
‘You’re an asshole. Plain and simple,’ Misu spat. All sense of fear he had cultivated in her had been replaced with anger. This outburst surprised Wilheim enough to reassess his approach.
‘I find it amusing that you, of all people, would dirty my character with such slurs. Am I even speaking to the same person I once knew? You used to get your hands considerably soiled on my behalf. In return I generously paid you. Gave you somewhere to rest your head. And to thank me for what I can only describe as charity, you ran away. Whatever did I do to deserve such treatment?’
He playfully slapped Franco on the cheek upon passing, quite content with his prisoner being where he was.
‘But to return to my original point, I am entertained that of all things, you had to pretend that you were dead to escape me. I thought we knew each other better than that. I thought you knew me better, in fact.’ Suddenly his features hardened and his tone adopted nothing but viciousness. ‘Because if you did, you would know that not even the dead can hide from yours truly. I will dig their bones from the very ground if I have good reason to. Or even if I simply feel like doing so. That is who I am, Misu. You have forgotten that, to your shame.’
‘Then shame on me. Doesn’t change the fact that I want what’s rightfully mine now, does it?’ Misu remained steadfast, the fear he emanated breaking upon her like a storm-courted tide against a cliff.
‘Quite. By any rate, you have done considerably well given the difficulty of the job, Misu. Despite your failure to live up to your end of the bargain, it’s been a respectable performance. I’m not one to say that I am impressed by effort but I am close in this instance. I could be much more, but here’s the trouble. This is what … irritates me.’
Wilheim’s voice rose to a roar, his face twisted into a beetroot-red mask of fury. ‘Do you know how many men I have lost these few weeks? How many are currently in cells? Distribution of the Root has all but halted! The entire job was a bust, and it’s all down to you!’
‘I fail to see how their undoing is my responsibility,’ Misu grunted with a scowl.
‘Yes you do. Yes you do.’ Wilheim wagged a thick finger in accusation. ‘Wherever you performed a drop, Bluecoats just happened to scramble on my boys within hours. How was it that you managed to avoid arrest whilst everyone you came into contact with took a fall? Don’t you think it to be quite miraculous?’
‘You keep the company of rogues and thieves yet somehow you are astonished that someone would betray your trust? Sounds like you have someone on the inside who enjoys talking. Avoiding the lawmen though, some would say we’re just naturally lucky.’
‘Some would lie thought their teeth,’ he snapped. ‘Be that as it may, this loss is a minor setback, nothing more. Others will inevitably fill their void, hungry to be given the chance to ascend in this sterling vocation. There are always those keen to impress me. I am a giver of opportunity after all. Maybe I’ll enlist our friend here.’
With a tug, a mass of Franco’s hair was yanked backward, forcing his head up. Fingers began to collapse around his throat. He yelped in pain.
‘What do we say, huh? Fancy earning a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s pay?’
There is nothing fair about this, Misu thought. Whilst Franco attempted to respond in his struggling, he could only gasp in desperation. Finally, Wilheim’s fingers slipped away.
‘What a shame. He’s at a loss for words.’
* * *
Corinne looked at the showgirls nestled behind her. They were agitated and clearly uncomfortable in these surroundings as was she, though more so. Their nerve straddled a hair’s length, the only thing between success and catastrophe. Misu’s advice resonated in her ears, advice to ensure that the plan would not fail.
Let nobody move from their place and ruin this moment.
Let him brag all he wants.
Let him think that he’s won.
But something was in motion that was difficult to resist.
Corinne’s palms inched ever so slowly to her thighs, parting the slits up each side of the skirt. Her bottom lip quivered as her eroding nerve neared its end. Corinne’s eyes pleaded desperately. Wilheim was right there, parading around with glee doing nothing but building frustration. Every single waffling second was agony that he was personally responsible for. Sure, the Gambler’s Den, the kidnapping, all of that was a consideration of hers but she never forgot how
she was stolen away from her friends one night by his men. How she was forced into blatant slavery and degraded for Wilheim’s amusement and profit.
Misu had demanded that nobody brought any weapons with them – that the plan would sort all of that out, but she had decided to defy this. Knife holsters were fastened to her thighs, the flat throwing knives in each ready to be used for their purpose just in case a situation like this arose and here it was.
She could hit a moving target at twenty-five yards with pinpoint accuracy. With a clear line of sight Wilheim was a dead man.
Something much deserved.
Katerina picked up on this and lightly shook her head, making sure Corinne noticed her. Her fingers stopped travelling and backed off slightly. What was she to do? They may never have this chance again. A bead of perspiration travelled down her brow.
Don’t blow this now. Katerina silently mouthed, begging almost.
Corinne’s fingertips hovered above her skin.
* * *
‘Your being here puts me in quite a predicament. I confess,’ Wilheim boomed. ‘I didn’t expect it. I’m concerned. If you could find me who else may? Most importantly, who else could you have told about my whereabouts? You’re right of course. I assumed full well that someone has indeed been talking. Who though? Out of all of us assembled here, betrayal seems to be most in your nature.’
‘You’re paranoid.’
‘A man like me does not need paranoia. I pay others to shoulder that burden. I just listen to what they say.’ Wilheim approached. ‘And what they say is awfully troubling.’
‘A man like you troubled by hearsay? Well I never,’ Misu returned.
‘Hearsay is what fools indulge in. I capitalize on information. Truth. Both things commonplace and dangerous.’
‘And what do they tell you?’
Wilheim ground his teeth together. ‘That you can’t be trusted.’
Misu cocked a brow in amusement. ‘Well, ain’t that the truth. You’ve done me wrong plenty of times. Ours hasn’t exactly been an amicable relationship from the get-go. Why that should change is beyond me.’
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