They headed downstairs, went through a series of hallways, and then finally ended up in a warehouse-like area.
There, in front of the wagon, were Tats, Crabs, and all the underlings, a competing blend of trepidation and hope on their faces.
“One last bit of information, Mr. Brass,” the chief said to Righty, deciding it was not necessarily prudent to reveal his old boxing name in front of his men, “I suggest you act very discreetly while leaving here. If you get busted by the NDP outside these walls, there’s nothing I can do for you. Is there George?” he added with a wink at Righty, who then looked at George, the man he was to pay a million falons to in just over a week.
“We’ll be discreet, chief,” Righty said. The chief and George then left Righty alone with his men.
“Crabs, you drive. Everyone else in the back. Drop me off at the city park.”
Crabs asked no questions. He just hopped onto the front of the coach like a rabbit.
Righty was immeasurably glad his rough-handed humiliation had not occurred before the eyes of his subordinates.
As he and the others piled into the wagon, the mood continued its contradiction of hope mixed with apprehension.
As soon as the wagon pulled out and had made it a safe distance from the police station, Righty addressed those in the wagon.
“I’m not in the best frame of mind right now to have a detailed discussion about this. All I want to say is I don’t personally blame anyone here. There was a bit of a misunderstanding with the chief, and I believe everything has been straightened out. Tats, we’ll meet tonight at your north-by-northeast mansion at 11 p.m. to talk some more. Be alone in your backyard.”
“Yes, sir,” Tats said.
No one else dared utter a word until Righty was dropped off at the park, at which point they began to nervously discuss their fates before Tats quickly hushed them.
Chapter 16
There was a part of Righty that felt he was on the verge of one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He knew that if he were to sit down and think in a cold, calculating manner about what he was going to do he would likely think of some seemingly shrewder, more cautious, delayed approach. One that would seem wiser. But that wouldn’t be.
Like a man reeling from a slap who knows he has to hit back and hit back hard, lest he forever be branded an easy target for ridicule and derision, Righty knew this was a time for action. He thought briefly about going over to the Sivingdel Boxing Association, finding their annals, and burning them, but what would the point be?
If Chief Benson already knew his ring name, he could get his real name pretty easily from most of the people at the boxing association even if Righty burned every last one of their records. It had been less than two decades since his boxing days were abruptly and infamously ended.
The real issue was Benson. He had to be brought to heel, but not just yet. He was on the priority list, but there were two men above it. Furthermore, Righty was proud to have his name in the boxing annals, and he wasn’t going to destroy those when destroying—or bringing to heel—a man would be far more pleasurable and useful.
Dangerous storm clouds were inside Righty’s head, a system of nasty funnels beginning to swirl and spelling danger for all those in the way.
He had reached the forest and was thudding along a pathway, his mind set on finding solitude, climbing a tree, and reaching Harold.
“Hey you,” a voice said.
Righty turned.
It was the cop he had passed earlier that day. The funnels were spinning viciously now.
“Mind if I see some identification?”
“What for, officer?” Righty inquired.
“Well, first of all, I don’t really like your attitude. I could smell it about twenty feet away, and it’s the second time I’ve seen you traipsing around these woods in a single afternoon. I just want to know who you are.”
“I like exercise,” Righty said. “And I don’t carry identification. It might get stolen.”
“You like exercise walking around in those kinds of clothes with those kinds of boots, and you’re in this big of a hurry? Turn around, you punk. I’m bringing you in.”
“Sure thing, officer,” Righty said. He turned around, unsheathed his sword, and spun around slicing the officer in two. Not pausing a moment, he stooped down, picked up both body parts, and sprinted off into the woods.
“Get me out of here, Harold,” he said in as loud a voice as he dared.
Sure enough, twenty seconds later, he felt a whoosh of air, and then Harold landed and quickly flattened his body out.
Righty jumped on top, and Harold didn’t need to be told to take off like the hounds of hell were closing in on their heels.
“Head for the mountains!” Righty said.
As soon as they began to reach a heavily forested area, Righty dropped both halves of the officer down to the trees below.
Moments later, he said, “Find a tall tree, Harold. We need to talk.”
Righty was relieved to see there were numerous konulans nearby.
Chapter 17
Righty felt like a man below deck in rough seas who witnesses so many leaks spring all at once that he stands petrified, unsure which to plug first and wondering if perhaps the exercise is futile anyway.
The federal agents.
Yes, those two had really had fun with him, and unlike with the chief, not even a deal had ever been reached to ameliorate the humiliation he had gone through. Those two were most likely headed back to the capital right now to let their bosses know of the large bust and the embarrassing jurisdiction battle they had lost in front of the entire police station.
“Harold, how many paths are there leading from Sivingdel to the capital?”
“Quite a few at first, but once you get about fifteen miles north of the capital, most of them converge into one.”
Righty gave a quick, but detailed, description of the two agents, and then jumped on Harold and told the konulans, “Go north of the city. Explore all paths. Let me know if you find them!”
Harold took off quickly towards Sivingdel, which was currently north of their location.
They passed the city quickly, and then Harold lowered his elevation slightly to scan for any sign of the men.
An hour of searching yielded nothing. Righty told Harold not to veer too far from where the smaller roads converged into the large road heading northeast to the capital.
Then, one by one, the konulans began to approach Harold and Righty and assure them that they had searched all the smaller roads carefully, and no men fitting Righty’s description had been seen.
“They’re probably further on down the road!” Righty said. “Go back and keep searching the smaller roads. Harold and I’ll head up the main road!”
No sooner had he spoke than Harold took off like a champion horse out of the starting gate. .
As they cut through the air, Righty noticed that the farther they got from the city the more spread out the traffic was. They were now truly out in the country.
The konulans certainly had an advantage by being able to fly nearby the travelers without serious chance of alarm, while Harold had to remain several hundred feet above ground. Recognizing someone he already knew at this height would not be a problem—the smell and sound of a familiar person’s voice being of considerable aid—but approaching unknown travelers from behind with nothing but a verbal description was proving quite a challenge. For that very reason, Righty had Harold go back and forth every time they passed someone before continuing onward.
As for Righty, he was stuck with his naked eyes, though he made a mental note to get the best telescope money could buy as soon as the next couple of days were over. Provided he survived them.
After a fruitless half hour, Righty said with a weary sigh, “Let’s head back to the city. Maybe they’re still there.”
Harold started to turn back as ordered, but then suddenly said, “Wait!”
> “What is it?”
“Maybe nothing, but that dust cloud about ten miles down the road is quite a bit larger than most of the others we’ve passed today. Someone’s in a bit of a hurry.”
“Let’s find out!” Righty said.
Harold accelerated so quickly Righty almost fell to his death. He gripped the leather straps around Harold’s back and held on for dear life, his stomach compressing as tightly as his sword.
Harold passed the cloud minutes later and then swung back.
“A blond guy and dark-haired guy, both with crewcuts, one with a goatee, the other clean shaven,” Harold said.
It sounded like a sure thing, although he knew he would potentially kill two innocent men if he was wrong. If he ventured close enough that his puny human eyes could see them, however, he would tip off the agents to an incoming attack, and if they weren’t the agents he would have to decide what to do with two living witnesses to a man flying around on the back of a bird.
“Take out blondie,” Righty said. “Do it however you want, just so long as it’s fast.”
Righty had a bit of an idea of what to expect, so while he was giving the command he bent down and placed his upper back underneath the front strap, which was tightly wound enough to hold him there snug. He nonetheless grabbed it with his hands for additional support.
Harold retracted both wings and plunged straight down, spinning while he did so. This was Righty’s first introduction to the maneuver Harold called Cyclone. Righty nearly lost consciousness by the time they reached the men, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
Blondie barely had time to glance when ten talons sank into his neck at around three hundred miles per hour, sending an eruption of blood onto Goatee and their surroundings.
Blondie’s head stubbornly remained attached to his neck for around two hundred feet or so while Harold shot up into the air, but eventually the pull of gravity won the tug of war, and Blondie’s head came off while his torso went somersaulting through the air. Harold threw the man’s head down at Goatee, who had leapt off his horse and was looking up at the sky apprehensively, sword drawn.
Harold relayed this information to Righty.
“Bring me down soft and easy around thirty feet behind him, and stay out of sight,” Righty said.
Willis was looking around frantically, but mostly upwards.
Suddenly, he noticed a figure approaching.
He held his sword tightly. He had no idea what had happened to Benjamin, except that his head was on the ground and his body was missing in action.
At first, he had no idea who the lone man walking towards him was, but by the time he was ten feet away there could be no mistake.
It was the prisoner—Sam Higler.
“Good afternoon, agent . . . ? I don’t think we were ever formally introduced,” Righty said calmly.
Willis felt unnerved by the conversational tone in his voice. Even his eyes seemed peaceful.
Willis squeezed his sword as if it were the sole handhold keeping him from falling down a fatally deep precipice.
Righty was now six feet away.
“Sorry if you don’t recognize me. I was a bit underdressed earlier today,” he said.
“What do you want?!” Willis said, his mind debating whether to strike now or wait for any suspicious movements.
“To talk,” Righty said. “That chief back there’s a crooked old dog, and I reckon you would do just about anything to see him suffer for embarrassing you like that,” Righty said, raising his eyebrows.
That’s for sure, Willis thought, but that doesn’t mean I trust you to help me with that problem.
“Look, why don’t we try starting from square one. I’ll tell you a little about who I am, and maybe we can reach a deal, like you mentioned earlier. I didn’t mean to insult you by giving you such small bills, but the chief stole everything I had and—”
“WHAT HAPPENED TO BENJAMIN?!!!!” Willis shouted, his eyes the size of small tomatoes.
“Oh . . . hmphh,” Righty chuckled slightly, “I take it you’re city-born. It’s okay; it’s okay. No need to feel alarmed. That was the work of a pholung. He’s a big fella, and he spooked my horse. Charlie just about threw me to my death back there before he went dashing off, but he’ll be back soon enough, I’m sure. And don’t you worry either, sir. The good thing about pholungs is that they hunt alone, and I ain’t ever heard of a pholung greedy enough to kill more than one person in a day, so, not to belittle your partner’s demise, but for you and me, the coast is clear.”
“How did you escape?!!”
“Escape?! HAH!” Righty said, laughing. “I told you that chief’s a crooked old dog. He took two million falons from me and told me to bring him a million more by the end of the month. Then, he let me and my crew go. The slate’s clean,” Righty said, wiping his hands against one another in a clapping fashion to emphasize the point.
“No, it’s NOT clean. Not by a long shot!!” Willis said, aggressively. “We’ve got your file, and now I’ve got your admission, and we’re going to take over the SISA case, not to mention the bribery case!!”
“You’ve got me over a barrel,” Righty said, shrugging his shoulders. “But, suppose I was to reach into my sleeve here and pull out half a million falons?”
Willis’s nostrils flared. He wasn’t sure whether to bait Mr. Higler again or take him up on the offer.
“Is it information you want? Let me summarize. My name is Richard Franklin Simmers. I was born in Ringsetter, a one-horse town near the border with Sodorf. I was a professional boxer and almost became national champion before a wrist injury cost me the match against the now legendary Oscar Peters. I went from being Righty Rick to Righty the Shark for biting the ref.
“Then I was banned from boxing for life and worked over a decade in a lumberyard before I decided to start planting and selling Smokeless Green. I ended up becoming kingpin of the city more by accident than by intent. But . . . that’s kind of a long story. And I’m not sure if . . . here is the right place. What do you say, officer. Can we negotiate? Money, information . . . you name it.”
Willis was befuddled. He was pretty sure he knew the boxing story he had just heard, not that he had any way of knowing whether this was in fact the boxer in question.
Still mightily suspicious, he said, “I’d have to cuff you before we could talk any further.”
“Now, officer, I’m trying to negotiate with you. Perhaps you don’t want to know the name of every individual in my organization. All I want is out. I was never meant for a life of crime. I’ll testify, tell you what you want to know. But then I walk, and I keep all my earnings.”
Willis’s guard began to drop mentally.
“You’ll walk in front of me,” Willis said, keeping his eyes on Righty while gradually moving sideways towards his horse, which had heroically refrained from fleeing.
“A-a-a,” Righty said. “Fool me once, shame on you. But it would be on me this time. I know what happened last time I turned my back to you; I got cuffed and humiliated. We’ve got to shake on it first.”
Warily, Willis approached Mr. Simmers, shifting his sword to his left hand, and holding it ready to lop Mr. Simmers’ head off if he tried anything clever.
The moment Righty’s hand wrapped around his, he felt as if it had been stepped on by an elephant. Several tendons popped, the bones nearly crunched, and he saw a malevolent smile appear in Righty’s eyes.
Righty pulled him forward hard with his right hand, turning him sideways, while he let his compressed sword fall from his sleeve and into his left hand. Right hand still grasping Willis’s, he lopped off his hand just above the wrist bone with a crisp, upward arc.
He then quickly grabbed the compressed sword with his other hand, extended it in a flash, twirled it in a downward motion, and lopped off Willis’s left hand.
“AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” Willis shouted out so loud Righty was tempted to whack his head o
ff right then and there, but he wasn’t going to let Willis off that easily.
Righty quickly compressed and then sheathed his sword inside his left sleeve and faced Willis.
“Sorry about changing my mind. It’s just that that sword you had in your hand was illegal. According to Article 14, ‘No man, except a soldier on a military base or acting in his military capacity, shall be permitted to carry a sword.’ Now, let’s see . . . you work for the NDP, which is a federal agency; it’s completely separate from the Seleganian Army. You answer to the chief of the NDP. The chief answers to the attorney general. And the attorney general answers to the president.
“Now, I’m no attorney, but it seems pretty hard to see how you could be deemed a soldier, much less a soldier on a military base or in his military capacity.”
Birth of a Monster Page 5
