He really needed him, and the longer the morning dragged on, he was beginning to consider buying a room just so that he could pace up and down the halls hoping to bump into him. Or perhaps he would put a konulan in his pocket and see if it could follow Tats’ scent.
Fortunately, these drastic measures were obviated when Harold told him, “He just stepped outside.”
Righty almost told Harold to set him down right then and there but quickly regained his sanity.
“Is there any spot nearby where you can set me down with minimal exposure?”
Harold’s eyes devoured the surrounding terrain looking for any area sufficiently inconspicuous for a large bird to suddenly dive straight into without drawing a crowd of gawkers. It was an overcast day, and it appeared that either rain from last night or the prospect of rain today had dissuaded the construction workers from showing up to continue the additions being made to the hotel.
Harold sent a konulan down there to investigate, ordering him gruffly with quick chirps that were nonsensical to Righty’s ears but that quickly resulted in prompt action on the part of the konulan.
A few minutes later, the konulan returned, assuring them the area was empty.
“Hang on,” he told Righty, who immediately gripped the leather straps on Harold’s back for dear life.
Harold headed behind the hotel and with no warning immediately plunged straight down behind the construction area, flaring his wings out and lifting his back up towards the sky to decelerate around thirty feet from the ground, after which he immediately entered the gloomy confines of the construction area.
Righty slipped off his back, fighting nausea, and told him to wait there.
He then took off on foot, wishing he could run, but forcing himself to walk no faster than what one can without arousing the suspicion he is a thief fleeing justice.
He saw no sign of Tats but wasn’t too surprised, given that he was approaching from behind and Tats had a sizable head start on him. Righty scanned every passerby quickly, certain that Tats would be doubling back to the hotel at some point.
When he saw Tats from behind about ten minutes later, he realized Tats must be on a rather lazy stroll. He almost tapped him on the shoulder but decided against it when he realized that might prompt a counterattack from the most likely paranoid Tats.
Nor was calling out his name a surefire way to approach him without risking undue alarm. Perhaps he might mistake him for a policeman and sprint like mad.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said once he was around a foot behind and three feet to Tats’ right, hoping the space would be wide enough to prevent any disasters if Tats unsheathed his sword, but close enough for Tats to know he was the object of the address without needing to hear his name.
Tats turned quickly to the side in a startled fashion, his left hand hovering near his waist area, the probable refuge of some weapon, which made Righty glad he had exercised prudence in his approach.
Tats’ eyes quickly bulged before retaining their normal size so quickly all but the most observant would have missed it.
“Yes, sir?” he said calmly, realizing he had no innocuous alias with which to address Mr. Brass.
Righty drew as close as he could without drawing undue attention so that he might convey a direct-enough message to let Tats know he needed him right away.
“Can you leave your lady friend for a task?” Righty inquired.
“Of course,” Tats said, unblinking.
“Come this way,” Righty said, setting off towards the hotel.
As soon as they found themselves at least ten to twelve feet from the nearest passerby, Tats said to Righty in a hushed voice, “How long?”
“If all goes well, you’ll be back this evening. Otherwise . . . you won’t.”
Tats gulped.
They reached the hotel.
“I don’t want to attract any attention. Go tell her what you need to. I’ll walk five minutes from here and then come back at the same pace.”
“Got it,” Tats said, setting off towards Rose.
Chapter 37
When Tats entered the room, Rose was just stepping out of the shower, and as soon as she heard it was Tats, she dropped the towel and walked towards him boldly.
When Tats beheld her, he felt like a fat kid suddenly tempted by a giant piece of chocolate cake. His desire to jump on her could not have been stronger, but he knew if that ship set sail, a very angry Mr. Brass would be waiting for several hours downstairs and perhaps wouldn’t think it necessary to bribe Tats’ way out of jail the next time.
“Babe!” Tats said, looking at her.
She approached him confidently. He knew this was going to be a fight, paying customer or not.
“Babe, I have to go do something.”
He didn’t know if it was his tone that saved him, but he supposed it must have been, because whereas the same line might have earned the average man a slap across the face, Rose’s response was one of concern rather than the bitter resentment he feared.
“What?” she asked simply, but approaching him while she did so and hugging him lightly around his lower back, pushing her still nude body against him.
“I don’t know, but I have to. I hope to be back tonight. Please stay.”
Her eyes scanned his for the faintest trace of guile or hypocrisy, but her search simply added to her apprehension rather than serving to fuel a sullen bitterness.
She grabbed him and kissed him lengthily, this being—strangely—their first kiss.
Tats’ urge to stay redoubled.
“I’ll wait,” she said. “Go do whatever it is you must.”
She wanted to leave it at that but couldn’t control her tongue: “You come back.” It sounded like a command.
Tats almost hugged her but knew the clock was ticking. He simply nodded, his eyes turning moist, and then left the room.
Chapter 38
When he met back up with Mr. Brass, he just motioned for Tats to follow him. To Tats’ surprise, they set off behind the hotel.
“We can’t talk much here, but I’ll explain it to you soon enough . . . oh, and I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
Tats in fact was afraid of heights, and although he vainly attempted to squash his instincts, they correctly informed him he was going to get a first-hand experience with the creature that was an integral part of Mr. Brass’s power and mystique.
“I suggest holding on and just closing your eyes until you’re so far up you know there’s no point thinking about jumping off,” Righty said as they walked into the vacant construction site.
The konulans had already been instructed not to make their presence known unless instructed otherwise. Some cards Righty just had to keep to himself.
Tats gulped as he saw Harold looking directly at him with his intelligent eyes.
“We’re off,” he said to Harold, who immediately prostrated himself.
Righty got on first and gripped a leather strap.
Tats overcame every instinct in his body to flee, but as he got on top of Harold and grabbed the straps he became detached from his body and was witnessing a foolish person perform the deed while his mind hovered over him.
“We’re gonna have to leave kind of fast,” Righty said. “I don’t want to be in tomorrow’s news.”
Righty then leaned forward and pinned his body underneath a tight strap, after which he grabbed onto a second one for good measure. Tats, still feeling outside his body, mimicked these actions, and no sooner did Harold feel their chests against his back than he took out of the site like the proverbial bat out of hell.
Tats started to puke, but it seemed the downward pressure on his esophagus as Harold quickly accelerated prevented what would have otherwise been the evacuation of everything in his stomach down to the last drop of acid.
Righty laughed, remembering he had felt that way before.
As soon as it was clear Harold was now soaring calmly, Righty sat up and urged Tats to do the
same.
“There she is—Sodorf City,” Righty said, admiringly.
Now that Tats was slightly calmer, he couldn’t help but feel regal, as the awareness that he was doing what no king could settled upon him. Then, a sense of foreboding threatened his momentary triumph.
“Something tells me that, for you to bring me up here on Harold, something really bad has happened.”
“No, not yet,” said Righty. “It’s something bad I aim to keep from happening that earned you a ride on Harold. We’ll talk more calmly once we’re on solid ground.”
They were already well outside the city, and Harold was calmly descending into a forest.
They dismounted, and Righty said, “All right, here’s the situation.”
Chapter 39
Tats wasn’t exactly thrilled to be tasked with killing Mr. Hoffmeyer. All Mr. Brass would tell him was that he had been the supplier to Heavy Sam and was currently the supplier to what was left of his gang. But in Tats’ mind there must surely be more to the story because Mr. Brass had never been the type who sought to eliminate competition by killing them, even though in self-defense it had often worked out that way.
His preferred method was to outperform them in the market and beat them that way. So, he knew there was more to the story than what he was being told. Nonetheless, if it weren’t for Mr. Brass, he would be stuck in a gloomy cell meditating upon the likelihood he would never get out if it had not been for Mr. Brass showing up at the jail and bribing the chief, putting his own freedom in great jeopardy in the process.
Thus, it was with the zeal of an employee sent to clean a latrine that Tats approached Mr. Hoffmeyer’s warehouse. In his left sleeve was concealed a compressed sword, a present Mr. Brass had given him previously. Tats had practiced a few times with opening the sword, and while he didn’t feel very confident with it yet, he didn’t dare ask Mr. Brass for more time to prepare for the mission.
He had on a fake beard and was dressed in an expensive suit of impeccable design. He carried a briefcase with a million falons inside.
Inhaling deeply, he extended his hand towards the door, and turned it, half-expecting it to pop open immediately, whereupon six goons would spill out slicing and bashing him into tiny pieces while saying, Think you’re reeeal smooth, eh?!
But there was only calm, dull silence as he opened the door. He saw a woman seated behind the main desk.
Tats began to feel heat around his collar as if someone had taken a scalding horse shoe and suddenly slipped it around his neck. His heart had been moving at a quick walk outside but was now beginning to trot.
In addition to never having seen Mr. Hoffmeyer (or even a portrait) or having the slightest idea of what kind of security to expect, Tats realized one of the biggest factors working against him was the fact his heart was not in this killing. Perhaps it was Rose’s fault. In her soft embrace, his hardness had melted away like butter on a hot skillet.
And just thinking for a half-second how much more he would prefer to be in her warm arms than carrying out this murder affected his resolve perhaps the same way the thought of sweet sleep might torment the mind of a laborer trying to force his body to complete an eighteen-hour shift of digging ditches.
But it was surely more than the temptation of Rose’s otherworldly companionship that enervated his soul. He felt a bit sorry for Mr. Hoffmeyer. Perhaps Tats’ recent experience with Rose had been a doorway to a sweeter side of life he had not truly known before, and with this acquaintance had come the dangerous feeling of empathy, something he must repulse now like bile trying to make its way up one’s throat when one is in a public setting and would prefer not to barf like a sick dog in front of all humanity.
He wondered for a brief instant why he had almost effortlessly taken a knife to the throat of his once close friend, Spider, but was quickly reminded that Spider had been secretly working for Heavy Sam while pretending to be loyal to Brass’s crew and would have slit Tats’ throat if he hadn’t done it first.
But with Mr. Hoffmeyer, it was different. Mr. Hoffmeyer had never been part of Brass’s gang; thus, he was no defector. He was just competition, and since his market share had been reduced to practically single digits, what was the point in killing him? Why not allow him to remain as a possible distraction for the police rather than Mr. Brass turning into the sole kingpin target for law enforcement?
You’re just gonna have to trust Mr. Brass. He wouldn’t tell you to do this unless it was absolutely necessary.
“May I help you, sir?”
The secretary’s sweet voice lifted him out of his internal ramblings but possibly added further peril to his resolve. Was it her perfume? Her lips? Her hair? Her voice? He couldn’t be quite sure, but it seemed like no sooner had she drawn his attention than he felt his fortitude plummet even lower.
Forcing himself through the motions like a puppet master manipulating his inanimate servant, Tats said, with feigned confidence, “Yes, ma’am. My name is Mr. Howard Rogden. I am a new investor in this city and have secured leasing to six separate business establishments within the city and am in urgent need of securing an inventory supplier. I’ve spoken to two potential suppliers thus far, but neither of them seems able to supply the quantity of inventory I am going to be needing.
“I would have to enter into a contractual relationship with both of them to get the necessary quantity, but I have been told Mr. Hoffmeyer is the largest inventory supplier in all of Sivingdel, if not the whole country, and that if there is any one man that can provide all my inventory supply needs it would be he. Unfortunately, I have employees already on payroll, and my stores’ signs promise they will be open for business starting next Monday, which, in business terms, means I either need to enter into an arrangement with Mr. Hoffmeyer today or will need to do so with the two competitors.
“I have brought a modest supply of capital with me as proof of the seriousness of my intentions,” Tats said, opening a large briefcase with a million falons inside.
“I’m sure Mr. Hoffmeyer would be very glad to help you if he were here,” the secretary began before pausing to think, “but Mr. Hoffmeyer has been gone for a few days now. He went home after the word got out about the police station being burned to the ground, and I haven’t seen him since. That’s not like him.” She paused again as if trying to decide whether it would be prudent to give more information.
“Usually, Mr. Hoffmeyer never misses a day without telling me in advance, precisely so that potential business contacts such as yourself are not sent away completely empty-handed but at least know when they can come back and contact him.”
Tats scanned her visage closely for signs of deception, but all he saw was genuine dismay.
“I’m worried maybe something happened to him, but I don’t know what to do. A lot of people have been stopping by to see him, and none of the junior managers at the warehouse know anything either.”
This was not going according to plan. He and Mr. Brass had discussed a few possible obstacles, one of them being where the secretary claimed Mr. Hoffmeyer was too busy or was simply not seeing anyone today, another being where the secretary insisted a lower-ranking manager could help him.
But this was unexpected, and furthermore, Tats believed the secretary. And even if he didn’t, the only option left at this point would have been to pull out his sword, put it to her throat, and tell her, Now, we’re going to take a little trip to Mr. Hoffmeyer’s office and see if we can’t find that rascal hiding underneath the desk! Any more cute stories you wanna sell me?!
Perhaps Mr. Brass would want to take things that far, but it was certainly outside of the scenarios they had discussed.
“Thank you, ma’am. I will be consulting with my business partner and may be so bold as to check in later today or tomorrow to see if any unexpected updates concerning Mr. Hoffmeyer have been received. The benefits of having a single inventory supplier may be so great that we will have to postpone the opening da
y if necessary. Good day to you.”
Tats exited the warehouse and would have felt immense relief if not for the fact the job was undone, perhaps similar to a laborer who feels momentary joy upon seeing the heavy drops of rain that spell a day off from work until he realizes they also spell a day without pay and will leave him with a muddy, slippery environment to work in tomorrow.
He walked several blocks to where Mr. Brass was waiting for him.
Mr. Brass’s eyes seemed to go first to Tats’ hands, and a glint of dissatisfaction suggested the absence of even a speck of blood was displeasing.
“Well?” Mr. Brass said, frowning.
Chapter 40
When Mr. Hoffmeyer heard the police station had been burned to the ground in broad daylight, it was somewhere around fifty-six times the hint he needed that the time had come to get the hell out of Sivingdel.
He didn’t like to think of himself as a career criminal. Sure, he had since long ago fudged the books from time to time for himself and even helped a few clients with that, but he had never wanted to get into the business of drug peddling.