Chapter 30
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Righty asked.
Tats was still quiet.
Slowly, he stood, but his eyes were not on Righty but rather the colossal bird sitting calmly behind him like a dutiful German Shepherd.
Large brick walls surrounded the spacious backyard, and trees provided a further perimeter of protection, keeping the scene hidden from the nosiest neighbor. Guard dogs patrolled the edges of the yard, but per Righty’s prior request Tats had enclosed them tonight. He didn’t want them putting on a raucous concerts of growls and howls.
“Don’t be afraid, Tats,” Righty said finally, after an awkward silence. “He’s the reason you’re not sitting inside of a prison right now.”
Tats had many times considered the possibility that a bird had flown him out of the alley that night, but stubborn disbelief had forced him to theorize that perhaps he had fainted and been carried to the junkyard by Righty and that he had merely imagined the police closing in on him in the alleyway.
Righty had been faithful in continually providing large sums of money that corresponded to the promised ten percent commission he had promised Tats for arranging the business relationship with his sister, and this had again made him wonder if Mr. Brass had special means of transportation, but he had convinced himself that surely Mr. Brass was using someone else to send the Smokeless Green to Sodorf City.
But now he had the undeniable explanation in front of him, and he was almost as terrified that he had gone insane as he was in fear of imminent physical danger.
“Relax, Tats,” Righty said a bit more forcefully and stroked Harold’s neck at the same time.
“I found him when he was just a chick. He had a broken wing and was about the size of a cat, but I fed him and nursed him to health, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. He would never hurt a friend of mine. Never.”
Tats still looked uneasy.
“Come here, Tats,” Righty said a bit forcefully.
Tats walked forward very slowly until he reached Righty.
“Stick out your hand and touch him,” he commanded.
Tats’ heart was galloping a mile per minute, but he extended his trembling arm and slowly moved it towards Harold’s feathery neck.
Righty was tempted to grab it and speed up the process, but he patiently waited. The last couple of inches seemed to take Tats a minute to traverse, but Righty supposed his trepidation was warranted. He himself had once quivered inwardly before Harold, and he had probably only dared trust him because his fear was diverted by his shock that Harold could speak.
Finally, Tats’ hand made contact, and he gave a couple strokes to Harold’s neck. Harold remained calm and even let out a barely perceptible purring sound.
Righty could sense Tats’ lowering anxiety.
“His name is Harold. You’re the first person I’ve ever introduced him to.”
Tats turned around and looked closely at Mr. Brass, wondering if this could possibly be true. His face suggested it was.
“I told you that I would explain the means of your escape from the alleyway if I ever thought it necessary to this organization. Do you remember?”
Tats nodded.
“You’ve proven yourself, Tats. You’re loyal. You’re smart. You gave me a superb international business contact. And you’re becoming more and more skilled every day as a warrior. I hope for peace, but let’s not fool ourselves. You’ve seized over ninety percent of the market share in Sivingdel. This town is virtually yours. Do—”
“It’s yours, Mr. Brass. I know who I answer to.”
“Thanks, Tats. But at a minimum you’re the prince regent for a sovereign who merely visits. You live here. You grew up here. You have a special relationship to this city I could probably never have.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brass. Honestly. But you drastically underestimate yourself. And I say this without flattery. The name ‘Mr. Brass’ is echoed throughout the four corners of the underworld in this city in deferential whispers. If I haven’t been attacked or murdered yet, it’s in large part—if not wholly—due to the fact people know I work for you. People know me here, yes. But they admire you.”
Righty was genuinely stunned. It had been a long time since his pugilistic encounter with Heavy Sam, and he felt certain that this and his prior scrapes would quickly fade away as being of little importance. But Tats was no flatterer, and Righty was taken aback by the words he had just heard.
“Those are kind words, Tats. But even if they’re true, there are other things to consider, and it is precisely because of having considered those things very carefully I have chosen to reveal Harold to you, something I thought I would never do.”
Tats looked nervously at Harold, then said, “What things, Mr. Brass?”
“Do you really think this peace can last forever?”
Tats was silent.
“Maybe it can, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Righty said. “Whether it’s from the local police, national police, rival gangs, or even the military, one day we’ll face a major conflict. I trust you more than anyone else, Tats, and I know my survival will depend on the complete loyalty of those around me. I chose to make Harold known to you before anyone else so that you would understand exactly where I see you in this organization.”
“I’m honored, Mr. Brass,” Tats said, practically in a whisper.
“There was a time, Tats, when my biggest fear was Smokeless Green becoming legalized before I became rich. That’s because I saw the former as an inevitability and the latter as a near impossibility. Now I’m rich, and it appears Smokeless Green will be forever illegal. It makes me feel a little trapped in this lifestyle,” Righty said laughing. “You know nothing about me, Tats, but I’ll tell it to you quickly because there isn’t that much to tell.
“I’m an ex-boxer, not a career criminal. I nearly won the national championship many years ago but lost due to a wrist injury and then was banned for life because I inadvertently injured the ref. I slaved away for years in a lumberyard as a worthless alcoholic living in the past until an ambition I didn’t understand, and still don’t understand, plucked me out of that job and caused me to take my chances in the underworld.
“You live ten times better than I do because you’re a career criminal and unmarried. You have to lie to no one other than the police, whom you simply must avoid. I live a double life vis-à-vis my wife, who thinks I’m a small-time grocer. I bury money because I don’t know what to do with it. My wife’s going to give birth soon.”
Righty realized he was beginning to sound like a whiny, scared old woman, so he realized it was time to stop spilling his guts about his weaknesses and explain—in a way that would make him appear strong—why he was telling his subordinate all these things.
Tats also looked like he was ready for a change in tone from the man he admired more than anyone he had ever met in his life.
“But I wasn’t born to be a man who lives in the cowardly shadows, Tats. Just as I one day left the lumberyard without any assurance I would find a different job, much less a better job, I have grown weary of my pusillanimous existence,” Righty said calmly.
“From now on, I’ll be flying Harold directly to the mansion of your choice once per day. It will need to be early morning or early evening so that I will have the cover of darkness.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brass,” Tats said, relieved by the renewed vigor in his boss’s voice.
“You are to keep Harold a secret until you are explicitly told otherwise; is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Righty’s face suddenly became calm and jovial. “Good, this is going to save me a lot of pussyfooting around town. You up for a little sword practice?”
“Always,” Tats said smiling.
“Well, let’s go work out in that palace of yours that makes my house look like a pigsty,” Righty said laughing.
The International Businessman Page 32
