by Hugo Damas
“You’re dead to her,” one of them said.
“You’ll be dead to everybody, you keep walking,” the other one added.
Lazaros chuckled. “Times’re changing, boys, go ahead and shoot, there’s room in the graveyard for everyone: you, your families, even Donna.”
“You’re insane,” one of them commented. The other was silent, reaching for his gun, clearly the only one of them with the courage to shoot.
Time for another gamble. The Don scoffed at the comment and kept walking.
The man hesitated. Lazaros eyed him, looked him right in the eye and forced him to give up and look down.
The Don smiled and blew out smoke in his face. “Don’t worry, I know how to work a door. Let Donna know I’m coming up to see her.”
Lazaros opened the large door by himself and walked inside. The twins were still not happy about the whole thing, they probably felt Lazaros was gambling with their lives.
“I know how it looks, but I’m here too, see?” The twins seemed to relax at that, as far as fear was concerned. “If we don’t do this, there’ll be a war. I’m tryin’ to avoid that, but still, it’s possible we might have to shoot our way out.”
“Not too many o’ them here,” Enzo said.
“On account of the hours,” Lazaros pointed out, “and probably in reaction to my people mobilizing. Heh, mobilizing, like we’re some kinda army.”
They weren’t, they were much more impactful and influential.
Much like Celio, Donna did not look like she had wrested herself away from the bed. She was dressed in a dark suit with padded shoulders and a long wide skirt. She looked slimmer than she was while also seeming bigger than she was.
Lazaros smiled warmly.
“Of all the antagonizing things you could do, Infeperio, you force your way into my home?” Donna accused.
“How else would you see me?” Lazaros asked.
“Dead,” Donna coldly stated, showing as much wit as her doormen on the ground.
The Don scoffed accusingly. “You say that like you decided it now.” He was referring to the ambush she had set on him.
She pretended not to get it. “Put out your cigar this instant, there’s no smoking in my house.”
The Don frowned, tasting the cigar in his mouth. He hesitated.
“Fine.” Lazaros lifted a hand as a gesture of good will. He grabbed the cigar and threw it out the window. That was his last one.
“That was my last one.” The Don sounded way more dangerous than he had meant to, even though his mood had indeed plummeted. Considerably. About as fast as the cigar had, outside.
Donna received him in an office of sorts, but it was much smaller than Celios’ and with a lot of furniture surrounding the desk she was standing next to.
“Celio’s backing me,” Lazaros said, and Donna didn’t look the least bit surprised.
“You’re both fools,” she said, squinting her eyes. “Coming here like this? He’s backing you, Lazaros, not your family. I’ll just kill you right now.”
“Hm. Maybe Celio changes his mind then, yes. Maybe the other Dons, too. Maybe. But not my family. You’ll still have a war on your hands, see?”
“Well, so be it,” Donna said.
There were two men behind Lazaros. The twins had been forced to give up their guns, but the important thing was that they were at each of his sides and between him and the two guards.
“Damn, Donna. I won’t treat you badly, I respect you, see? And I want your counsel. Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Lazaros asked.
Donna squinted her entire face. She really had such contempt for him.
“You are an ignoble man who has shown me no respect or consideration. Or to the other Dons. You think highly of yourself, but you’re the lowest of the low.”
The Don scowled. He disrespected her? She’d been the one patronizing and belittling him all along.
“How much respect do you think you’re owed when you treat me like a child? When you tell me to bend even though I have all the backing and all the power?” Lazaros asked, doing his best not to shout.
Her lips trembled with anger, with words she wanted to say but wouldn’t, words that would look to kill him.
She held it in, but then, she let it go.
“Kill them,” the mad old bat said.
Her men hesitated, but Lazaros didn’t. “You heard her,” he told the twins, and then lunged.
The twins turned on the two men with pistols while Lazaros grabbed hold of a very shocked Donna. Even in that situation, even if her men were overpowered, it never crossed her mind that she would be attacked.
“WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?!” A shot was fired, and grunts of pain followed. The Don grunted as well, with rage. Unleashed. “HUH? DO YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE UNTOUCHABLE?!?”
Donna stood there, and even in his grasp, his hateful breath washing her face, she still looked on unafraid. Untouchable.
So Lazaros slammed her face on the desk.
When he brought it back, she was looking utterly shocked. In under a second, Lazaros had wiped away decades of immortal confidence.
“Wha--” It was too late to remember how mortal she really was. The Don dragged and pulled her over the desk, ignoring her yelling, to use her as a meat-shield just in case the brothers hadn’t succeeded, but they had. They were both kicking Donna’s men while brandishing the pistols at the hallway, to supposedly keep others out. Their stances didn’t inspire a lot of accuracy, but it was definitely nothing to complain about. Because of that, the Don turned Donna around to face him, even if he still placed her between him and the entrance.
Donna now had her back to the door, her neck in his grasp, and her eyes were heavily watering.
“You think I’ll kill you? What do I look like, a pig?” Lazaros back-handed her, drawing blood and making her spit out her fake denture. “You think I’ll torture you? What am I? The Government?” He pushed her so she’d fall on the ground. This hurt her more than it usually would have on account of her old body.
The Don heard shots out in the hall. The twins were holding others back, but he tried to pay no attention to that. Lazaros pointed down at her, and allowed for his rage to completely consume him and drive him to the point where he could do and say those things to a grandmother.
“I will drag you over to your husband’s grave, see? And I will hurt you there. I promise I’ll make you puke over his grave. And more! I’ll make you puke and more, all over the old fool’s bones, see? Maybe then you’ll realize you’re not some untouchable queen, some virtuous holy lady or somethin’ -- you dare think you’re beyond danger? As a crime boss?!”
More shots sounded out but she was clearly focused on him and what he was doing. She feared for her life, but more than that, for his promises coming true. She believed his threats.
Donna was broken. She had been untouchable for decades upon decades, and that had made her lose touch with the one thing the Don had always known. The thing that was his entire life.
His whole body gestured in unstoppable unmeasurable raging threat as Lazaros put all his muscles into producing his voice, and booming it as powerfully as he had ever done.
“I AM THE DANGER!”
Donna stared on, utterly pale. The shots went silent, at last, and Lazaros sensed the entire estate shivering with fright. Donna looked as if her blood had stopped circulating for the few seconds it took another gunshot to shiver her back into real life. The soldiers recovered first.
“Tell your men to stop,” Lazaros demanded, pointing at the door, “right now.”
Donna was shocked. Her nervous system was overloaded trying to handle the amount of emotional pressure the Don had dropped on her like an anvil.
It took her a few seconds to react, but she did. Her face suddenly darkened with understanding, with terror, and she turned around.
“STOP!” Donna yelled desperately, “STOP SHOOTING AT YOUR DON!”
Lazaros was too cons
umed by fury, too into his overwhelming presence to even be properly happy. Instead, he stomped his foot down in impatient gratitude.
“Finally!” Lazaros pointed right at the door, catching sight of one of her soldiers, who was peeking just then. “That’s right!”
Hungrily, Lazaros grinned victoriously. Due to the active anger, though, it mostly looked aggressive. His eyes seemed eager to eat anyone who would look at them. In his happiest moment, he looked the most dangerous he had ever looked, and that was as appropriate as that moment could be because it was what had gotten him there.
Lazaros had done it. He had become the Don of Dons. Boss of Bosses.
Nothing nor no one could stop the Infeperio family from controlling the whole country. His long life ambition. The goal that would make him a figure of history.
The Don heaved with satisfaction and felt celebration filling his lungs.
“Someone get me a damn cigar!”
Child of the World
If the Street Rat had one emotional weakness, a situation in which his thoughts and feelings were made plain and obvious, it occurred when he smelled home.
Few places had the fresh scent of the western sea so ever-present one only really noticed it when they went back. If one were to see that very first reaction, they would have no doubt how happy Jamie was to be home. It was the one thing the Street Rat couldn’t hide.
The loud, powerful horn of the ship blared to announce they had stopped. The Street Rat was too busy leaning on the railings, with eyes closed and face turned up in appreciation of the breeze, to really react to the noise.
The noise was part of home, too, it was almost imbued in the urchin’s blood to absorb all aspects of it because no matter how sudden and abrupt, it never came unexpectedly. And it was always welcomed.
Stair bridges were lowered so people could leave, but Jamie waited, watching cautiously while appearing to simply not be in a hurry.
The person who had allowed Jamie to pretend to be their son had lost sight of him soon into the trip, and not found him again thanks to the Street Rat’s keen eye. Jamie had easily avoided the benefactor for the remainder of the trip, so it would be silly to run into the woman upon arrival.
The Street Rat spotted her looking around with a mix of worry and anger, even while already having queued to leave. Like a true Neyerkian, few things were important enough to warrant a delay.
Sitting down to cover from her view, Jamie looked up in appreciation. The exhaust smoke coming from the ship was now catching up, just as it also started to dissipate since the coal was no longer burning. The Street Rat iterated thoughts through what he needed to accomplish there.
Speak with the teens, the code word for the leaders of his guild, the Scavengers. Set information network to task helping the Shadow Conclave. Find my way into the big ceremony tomorrow and reconnect with the holy lady. That was the name used by the underworld to refer to the mayor’s wife. Achieve certainty that Neyerk will join the counter-offensive against the Beasts. Report to the Conclave.
They were going to be two very busy days. Jamie uncrossed his legs in a mild hop, standing up. With hands in his pockets, he moved on and joined the queue to leave the ship.
Casey was there, leaning against the wall of a warehouse several feet away from the dock’s edge. Their eyes caught each other while the Street Rat was still coming down the bridge but neither of them reacted. Casey quickly looked away to stare hungrily at a passing gentleman.
“Please, suhr,” his lips spelled out, “my pup will die, please.”
Jamie walked down and then out of the docks, not connecting with Casey at all. Despite appearances, however, Casey had definitely been sent to pick Jamie up.
There was a particular alley in the dock, left forgotten, mostly because they had placed a broken, dirty steel beam in the way. Adults would have too much of an inconvenient time getting through, but kids? Kids were fine.
The innocent Street Rat suddenly noticed it with a glance of curiosity. A fun-loving smile took over his face, and the child decided to explore.
Jamie went through and into the alley, turned left into a part of it which was unseen, and then sat in waiting.
Casey showed ten minutes later, to the second.
“The Street Rat graces us! Oh, joy.” Casey had his blonde hair usually wet, seemingly with urine, and long enough that it shadowed his eyes so as to give him a more depressed look. When out of sight, he would always brush it aside so that it curtained only one eye and ear. Otherwise, he was dressed pretty much the same as Jamie, having a beige assortment of regular-looking clothes, uncleaned and unattended.
“Don’t be a putz, you’re happy I’m back,” Jamie said.
“Heh.”
They brushed hands and knuckled fists, a common greeting between friends.
“You didn’t win, right? I got a k set down you wouldn’t win,” Casey teased.
“You’re a butt, Casey,” Jamie said, chuckling. “Things got messy, you been readin’ the news?”
“You kiddin’, right? I give out the news. You talking about the dark ones, I guess?” Casey asked.
It was a quick deduction. That’s what the Street Rat loved about the Scavangers, everyone was so clever and quick-witted, she loved talking to them.
“Dark ones?” Jamie scoffed, “we’ve been calling them Beasts.”
“Well maybe it’s like that out there but if you were from around here--”
Jamie pushed him hard.
“Wagh!” Casey yelped.
“I’m more from around ‘ere than ye’ll ever be, ya turd-stomping hazelnut.” Street Rat laughed again. Casey didn’t even fall, he just grumbled. “Anyway, I need a talk with the Teens.”
“Well that works out, they want’a talk with ya too,” Casey told Jamie while massaging his chest. Casey was a few inches shorter than Jamie, but most were because Jamie had been hit by that growth spurt Jamie she been warned about. It would get more noticeable if Andy could be believed. It was rare that he could, but she believed him in that instance.
“Let’s get moving then,” Jamie said, waving him along.
Casey smiled, clarifying that there was something else.
“What?” Jamie asked.
“Just thought you’d like to know, the Schoolboy’s in town.”
Jamie’s eyes rolled. “Oh no, what is that sore-loser doin’ here?”
“Trying to steal your thunder, from what I hear. Someone else met him but I heard he went to the Teens yesterday,” Casey said.
“I knew it. I’ve been smelling rotten cabbages ever since I walked off the boat.” The Street Rat frowned, “Schoolboy’s definitely in town.”
“Guy still might resent you for getting the title,” Casey said.
“Oh really? Did you get that from how he goes around saying I stole it from him? Of course, he does,” Jamie said, promptly walking off, there should really be no more wasting time. “That silly little boy.”
“We’re all a little silly,” Casey pointed out, hanging back. He would wait five minutes before leaving the alley. “And definitely little.”
“At least, most of us know we’re on the same team,” the Street Rat yelled back.
Of course, it was more complicated than that. Jamie edged his way out of the steel beams and walked off. He had planned to get some lunch money out of someone but now? The little street urchin was uncharacteristically in need to hurry.
There was steep competition in the Scavengers, for sure, but no one was so aggressive and mean-spirited as him.
The Schoolboy had left no doubts over the years as to how he was vying for the title of Street Rat. Just a few years from being too old to continue working the streets, he had really pushed for it, as it would greatly improve his chances of becoming a Teen.
Thing was, he was a bully. He found it easier to just steal money from rich kids, or even people, by using psychological or sometimes even physical bullying tactics. He was usually in a school uniform, dirty and spent.
The media had, consequentially, given him the title “Schoolboy.”
He was the first of his name, but due to his goals, this was the worst thing that could have happened. Now, the only way he had to have a good chance to be part of the leadership was to be the most useful member of the scavengers. The most popular, the most famous, the most known and talked about. More successful than even the Street Rat.
Unfortunately, none of that was happening, and it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
Jamie smirked and walked out into an actual street, exiting the docks. The Schoolboy was an annoyance, but at the same time, the Street Rat derived great amusement from besting people who were so intent and dedicated on besting her.
The Street Rat was the master manipulator. He did the impossible with an easy smile on his face. He made it all seem accidental, luck-driven, made others feel that if this or that had gone some other way, then they would’ve gotten the upper-hand.
That was the real talent of the Street Rat. To make someone perceive things incorrectly or get the wrong idea so that they continually and repeatedly made mistakes.
There was no blunt tactic. No bullying. The Street Rat got things done in a way it took people too much time to realize. Got things done the best way. The Scavenger way.
The Street Rat walked the streets of the mega city. Buildings went tall, wide, or both, all geometrical and with windows giving a clear representation of how many rooms each contained.
Inside the city, there was a lot less of the sea smell, what with the overpopulation and the many exhaust pipes expelling gas and fumes from all the cars who patiently waited for the traffic to move. It was energetic, a chaotic flow of people. Some places were all about tech, others about nature, others about the supernatural, but Jamie’s place? It was all about people.
Busy, impatient, self-important, hard-working, risk-taking people.
Street Rat passed by many street urchins. Every time, they would exchange glances but spare no reaction, the only exception being one of the really new ones, barely out of being a toddler, who pointed in amazement before being reprimanded by his or her supervisor.
