King Pirate

by Tom Stern

  Kelley gestured, lay it on me.

  Cuchulain smiled again. Not quite yet. He said, “What you said at IPC. You’re right. The whole agency is nothin’ but a finger in the dike. When the shipping companies get their cargos jacked and they complain, it’s something the government can point to and say, ‘See? We’re doing something.’ But it’s never enough. King Pirate always has us out-resourced and out-manned. It’s all we can do to just keep track of what he’s up to, much less put a stop to his criminal organization.”

  Kelley said, “What’s with the cameras and the microphones in the office?”

  “I need my privacy.”

  “It’s fucking bizarre.”

  Cuchulain laughed. “Aye, lad. But I do it for the same reason I never sleep in the same place two nights in a row.”

  “I suppose I should be honored to get this little audience with the great and powerful Oz. Especially after you fired my ass and had security escort me out of the building.”

  Cuchulain hid his reaction behind another shot of whisky. “IPC’s been compromised. Little good as we do, I’ve a notion King Pirate has a double-agent among us. Maybe more’n one, hard to say. These days he just keeps track of us. Not long ago, he was sending assassins to kill me on the regular. Back when I was more dangerous to him.”

  Kelley finished his shot. Cuchulain refilled it. They kept up with each other. Kelley thought about telling Cuchulain about the guys who had tried to kill him on the way to the apartment. Decided against it. At this stage, Kelley wanted to keep a tight lid on everything Cuchulain knew about him. The background checks to join IPC were bad enough. It bothered Kelley for any one person to know too much about him, much less the entire agency. It had seemed important at the time. Now they had his life story in a file, in exchange for help with one raid.

  Dwelling about it just pissed Kelley off. Until he had a thought. “If you’ve been compromised, and King Pirate knows your movements…”

  “You’re quick. He fed us that raid, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my suspicions. Before I tell you everything, I need to know you’re on board.”

  Kelley stood. Paced, sipping the whisky. “Just ask. I’ll answer.”

  “First, will you do anything to take down that wretched bastard, King Pirate?”

  “I’ve made myself clear. Yes.”

  “This money on the table is just a down payment,” Cuchulain continued. “There’s another two million ringgit for you down the road. Do you want it?”

  Kelley blinked in surprise. Wrapping his head around all that money.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you want to help Anastasia free herself from the debt she owes me? So she can be with you?”

  That shook Kelley. He did a double-take. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Like I said, I’ll explain everything when you’re on board. Answer the question.”

  Kelley chewed on it for a minute. He didn’t want to make promises to a situation he couldn’t understand. But Kelley listened to his instincts. He had found it the voice of the “pure him,” his soul. It was the reason why he threw himself so completely and violently into impossible situations, without regard for consequences or personal safety. It was the voice that led him down a path that had given him a hundred lifetimes worth of living, while so many other people barely had the courage for one. Kelley took advice from his gut.

  He said, “Yes.”

  Cuchulain refilled their shots. Stood up. One man giving it straight to another man. Neither one swayed in the least by the drink they’d already put away.

  “If you want all of those things, then you’ll do exactly what I’m telling you, lad.”

  “Which is what?”

  “I want you to become a pirate.”

  Chapter 3

  Kelley whipped the shot glass. It shattered against the wall next to Cuchulain’s head. Whisky splashing into a tan Rorschach test.

  “You’re wasting my fucking time.” Kelley stalked for the door.

  Cuchulain’s eyes ignited. He charged, fists clenched. Kelley heard him thundering from behind. Without thought, Kelley spun. Jabbed an elbow at Cuchulain’s throat. The strike was imprecise; it bounced off Cuchulain’s collarbone on the way to his voice box. It was still enough to drop most men. Cuchulain didn’t even feel it.

  He gripped Kelley with hands like wrecking machines. Clamped an arm the size of a python around Kelley’s neck.

  “It’s one thing to tolerate yer bullshit, Kelley,” Cuchulain roared. “But wasting good whisky in a man’s house is crossing the damn line!”

  Cuchulain jack-hammered Kelley in the ribs with his free hand. Kelley felt himself going gray. He wouldn’t survive thirty seconds in Cuchulain’s grip. Kelley kicked down into the bigger man’s kneecap.

  “Ah! Ya right wanker!” Cuchulain barked. He let Kelley go. Kelley dropped to the floor. Whooping for air. Throat on fire. Ribs howling. Men had tried to kill him before, but two attempts in the space of an hour was a new experience.

  Cuchulain recovered. “Like the kick work, do ya?” He booted Kelley in the gut hard enough to make his body pop several inches off the floor.

  Kelley rolled away. Groaning. That wasn’t enough for Cuchulain. He pulled back his boot for another stomp. Kelley saw it coming. In that split second he realized if it landed he’d be in the hospital for a month.

  Kelley fought past the pain and caught Cuchulain’s on coming leg in mid-kick. Swept up his own boot and planted the heel square in Cuchulain’s crotch with the exact same straight-up motion as a leg press.

  Cuchulain doubled and staggered back. Kelley bounced to his feet. No way he was letting Cuchulain recover. He couldn’t handle another session in Cuchulain’s tender grip. Cuchulain was huge, strong, drunk and insane. The only way to fight a guy like that is to keep him at a distance and knock him out fast.

  With that in mind, Kelley picked up the chair he had been sitting in a minute before and crashed it over Cuchulain’s head.

  The chair didn’t break. Neither did Cuchulain. He thudded against the wall from the blow. Blood gouting from under his hair. Kelley dropped the chair. His ribs were killing him, calling him an asshole.

  Kelley thought Cuchulain was done. He was wrong. Like lightning from a clear sky, Cuchulain threw a fast punch. It caught Kelley by surprise. His reflexes were quick enough that he managed to draw his head back at the last moment. He didn’t take the full hit. Didn’t have to. It was like getting punched by a falling redwood. Kelley flew across the room. Bounced off the table with the money. Ringgit exploded everywhere. Cuchulain waded through the cash cloud. Picked up Kelley and blasted another punch into him. Kelley caught air again. Landed on Cuchulain’s coffin, dumping it on the floor.

  Cuchulain’s face turned the color of a brick wall. “First ya throw whisky in my face, and now yer breakin’ my coffin! You’re a dead man, Kelley!”

  A part of Kelley hoped Cuchulain would kill him quickly to stop the pain conducting an orchestra throughout his body. It had been a long time since Kelley had gotten his ass so thoroughly kicked as now. This was beyond what booze could fix.

  Then the adrenaline, sweet adrenaline, kicked in. The pain receded and the anger grew. Kelley realized he wasn’t scared of this guy. Fuck that. Cuchulain roared at him like a dump truck flying down hill. Kelley jumped up and met him halfway. Cuchulain threw a left hook that could’ve killed a horse. Kelley ducked it, came up under Cuchulain’s chin with an uppercut. He dug in, doing what he did best. Throwing blinding, vicious combos. Jab-jab-cross-uppercut-elbow-back fist-left hook-cross. Working Cuchulain like a math equation. Expertly dodging his lumbering counter-punches. Cuchulain was stunned under Kelley’s monsoon of blows.

  Stunned, but not out. Cuchulain couldn’t spar with Kelley. He had size and power. The giant Irishman simply plowed forward, heedless of the fifty-seven shades of punishment Kelley was laying on him. Kelley had no choice but to move backwards. Cuchulain shoved
him against the wall. Threw another horse-killing punch. Kelley got out of the way with millimeters to spare. Cuchulain’s fist broke through the cheap drywall.

  He was strong enough to immediately yank it out and swing a back fist at Kelley. Didn’t see that coming. With a puff of white dust, Kelley took the punch like a man with not much left to give. His molars rattled. He was punch drunk. Fists weren’t enough to take down Cuchulain. Kelley looked around for a weapon. He found the bottle of Bushmills, lying on the floor next to the overturned table. Wrapped a hand around the bottle neck, raised it to break it against Cuchulain’s mashed nose. Whisky splashed down his arm.

  Before the bottle could drop, Cuchulain froze. His eyes sprung open. Put up his hands like a guy trying to talk down a hostage-taking psychopath. “Kelley, wait! Think about what you’re doin’, lad!”

  Kelley warily lowered the bottle. Held it at his side, ready to swing. Cuchulain’s eyes followed the bottle. When it was safe, he broke into a wide smile. Spat a wad of blood on the floor. Found a chair. Up-righted it. Sat down.

  Kelley assumed it was a ruse. He stayed out of Cuchulain’s reach. Breathing hard. Pain started catching up with him.

  Cuchulain suddenly bellowed a laugh. “That’s the finest scrap I’ve had in a good long while, brohim. You’re a tough son of a bitch, and that’s a fact. Even with me getting on in years, it’s a blue moon when a fella can go three rounds with my lovin’ soul. Been needin’ that for a while.”

  Kelley’s face was blank. He said nothing. They both looked around at the apartment. It was smashed all to hell.

  Cuchulain hacked up another bloody gob. Glanced up at Kelley. “What’re ya doin’ just standing there, lad? That whisky ain’t gonna drink itself. Come on and pour us a round.”

  Kelley considered this gigantic, red-faced, bleeding man squatting before him. He finally understood the bastard. Kelley went into the tiny kitchen. Fished up a couple of tumblers. Poured the round. Flipped up a chair. Silently extended a whisky to Cuchulain.

  Cuchulain’s face lit with victory. “Got ya!” He threw a left hook. Kelley wove to the side. Got both hands around Cuchulain’s wrist. Twisted him into an arm bar. Using Cuchulain’s weight and momentum to send him face-first into the floor. Paralyzed by the painful hold. Kelley dug the edge of his boot into Cuchulain’s neck for good measure.

  Again, Cuchulain laughed. “Saw that one comin’, eh?”

  Kelley eyed the fallen tumblers, dropped in the motion. “Now who’s wasting whisky, you crazy fuck?”

  “I got another three bottles in my kit,” Cuchulain smiled. “Now let us up, lad.”

  “Are we done? I’m sick of this. I’m not going to keep ducking your fists all night.”

  “Done. We’re done!”

  Kelley released Cuchulain. Retrieved his glass. Poured three fingers and made it vanish. The booze seared his gums, which were valiantly holding onto half his teeth. Kelley didn’t care. He poured more.

  Cuchulain dragged himself to his feet. Towering over Kelley. Grinning, rubbing his neck where there was still an imprint of Kelley’s boot. Took the bottle and killed the rest of it in one massive gulp.

  “Now we’ve gotten that outta the way, we can talk business,” Cuchulain said. He went into the kitchen to get another bottle.

  “Business?”

  “You becoming a pirate.”

  “See you in hell, Cuchulain.” One eye over his shoulder, Kelley again headed for the door.

  “Now hold on, lad! Don’t that money make you the least curious? Think of what you could do with it.”

  “I like bread as much as the next guy, but I’m not gonna take this bait and let you hook me into your ridiculous schemes. You’re fighting a no-win battle against King Pirate, and stupid tricks won’t help. Save it for the suckers at IPC. I’m out.”

  “Ya just told me you wanted King Pirate dead. And what about Anastasia? I see the way you look at her. Doesn’t she mean anything to ya, lad?”

  Kelley quietly fumed, shaking his head. “I don’t know where I stand with that. She acts like she hates me. Now that I’m gone from IPC, I’ll probably never see her again.”

  “Not true, Kelley,” Cuchulain said. “She gave you the cool-down under my instruction.”

  It took a moment for Kelley to catch up with that. “Your instruction.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m sure you have a good reason,” Kelley said, ire rising.

  “I do. Several, I should say. And they’re my own.”

  “What is it with you two?” Wondering about Anastasia’s live-in lover with law enforcement connections.

  “I told ya, she owes me a debt. Anastasia will do anything I ask of her.”

  “You’ve got mental problems. So does she.”

  “It’s not like that, ya filthy bodge. But I will say this. She likes you, Kelley. I like you. Help me with this, and you can be together.”

  A stillness settled over Kelley. A single drop of blood falling from his chin the only motion. And then he sat down. Poured himself a shot from the new bottle.

  “I’m outta my goddamn mind,” Kelley said, even as he motioned for Cuchulain to keep talking.

  “That’s it, lad! Now you’re listening to sense.”

  “Sense?” Kelley chuckled into his hooch as he sipped. “I’m not agreeing to anything. Tell me what you have in mind. If I think it’s crap, I’m gonna walk outta here. And, if you try to stop me again, I’ll break your joints. Elbows, knees. I’ll break your neck. I’ll put you in a coma.”

  “Fair enough,” Cuchulain said. “Funny, they said something a lot like that before I got kicked out of seminary.”

  Kelley let that one roll past. “So you want me to become a pirate. I’m not an undercover cop. I don’t wanna go in. I don’t have to. I worked on Fong Sai Yuk before I had to kill him. I can guarantee he didn’t know where to find King Pirate. Do you understand what I mean? One of King Pirate’s top three guys didn’t know where he is. Even if I was undercover on a crew, it’s not like they’re gonna teach me a secret handshake and point to the office with King Pirate’s name on the door.”

  Cuchulain was already waving Kelley off. “Ya don’t think I know all of that? We lost a lot of good agents trying to get inside King Pirate’s organization. I still have a couple of moles, buried deep. So deep I can barely get to ‘em without serious risk. You’re right, and I know because I’ve tried. Again and again. Using up souls and blood with nothing to show for it but sad parents.

  “Ya wouldn’t think it now, but there was a time I was a Jesuit priest. I know those lads’ve gone on to a greater reward. But we’ve work to do down here against Satan’s minions, with King Pirate at the top o’ the heap.”

  “A priest,” Kelley said. “At least that explains what you’re doing with three bottles of whisky.”

  “Nothin’ but a snack.” He cleared his throat. “Do ya know what a privateer is?”

  Kelley nodded. “A state-sponsored pirate. Sent out by a government to attack another country’s shipping, under a pirate’s flag so they could get away with it without starting a war. Either that, or a freelance private ship hired by a government to attack an enemy’s shipping in time of war.” He looked across the room at Cuchulain. Incredulous. “Is that what you’re thinking of? You want me to go out and become a privateer? It’s fucking ludicrous. There haven’t been privateers for hundreds of years.”

  Cuchulain smiled and winked. “Not quite that long. The major European powers put an end to it in 1856. That’s the official word, at least. And the United States? It’s right there in your Constitution, lad.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m Irish and I’m telling a Yank about his own Constitution,” Cuchulain shook his head. “One of the powers of Congress is: ‘To declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules concerning captures on land and water.’ A letter of marque is the paper a government hands the ship’s captain, giving him leave to become a privateer.
Keep him from getting hung by his own side if he got caught.”

  Kelley suddenly started feeling all the whisky he’d put back since walking into Cuchulain’s apartment. He was coming down from two massive adrenaline highs. He felt warm. His brain felt soggy. The sharper edges came off. He inexplicably felt himself ready to listen to Cuchulain.

  “Why dig up that old tradition? You have the IPC.”

  Cuchulain heaved a theatrical sigh. “It’s an impossible job. We’re constrained by law and morality from doing anything real to stop King Pirate. For good or for bad, the world’s become a gentler place. Governments don’t want to look bad to their neighbors and allies. The first world’s become pussified. As have the nations trying to join that rare club. They don’t have the ferocity necessary to put down a King Pirate. Leave pirates alone, and they just grow and grow. Did you know the Romans had to deal with entire pirate fleets? Imagine it. Thousands of desperate killers plying the Mediterranean. Entire nations of piracy, hunting in packs for every honest sail. It took Pompey months of open warfare to finally bring them down.

  “That’s not out of the bounds of reality today. It’s bad, and getting worse. King Pirate’s looking to bring us back to those old days. He would rule the seas. Insurers have started charging war risk premiums on cargo ships bearing through the Strait of Malacca. That’s just the canary in the coal mine. Entire regional economies could grind to a halt. Stock market crashes, rampant unemployment, poverty, starvation, social chaos. Y’ever hear about not repeating history?”

  “Of course.”

  “Usually heard in the negative. But I say, let’s repeat history by learning its lessons. See how they used to handle a King Pirate. Go after him. Burn him off the water. Y’think the Romans survived by playing nice? Far from it.”

  “Cuchulain, you’re talking about the military, the navy. Obviously, I agree. I fucking brought it up at IPC. You shot me down.”

  “I shot you down as leader of IPC. In front of everyone, giving the official word. Now I’m talking to you as a man. No title except my name. And here’s what I say: the navies are only as good as you can direct ‘em. Their governments are willing to pitch in, but only so much. And they won’t do an investigation. The navies are an option to have in the back pocket, like the raid you were on. But it’s not the total solution.”