Righty grabbed Mr. Hoffmeyer’s hand and shook it firmly.
“I’ll show you out, Mr. Simmers.”
Chapter 16
Moments later, Righty was in his wagon, head full of thoughts, and headed back towards Ringsetter at a brisk pace. One of the thoughts racing through his head was the barrels. Although he knew it was logical to bring them at the time (he didn’t want to risk Rog seeing him driving around an empty wagon), now they were a bit of a liability. He didn’t want to come up with some fishy story about why they were in there. He’d already taken his share of risks. No needless risks needed to be added to the equation.
Swinging back by his place to drop off the barrels would definitely go into the Needless Risks category. And, thus, although he hated to discard the barrels, he realized it was something he would just have to look at as a business expenditure, and he determined that as soon as he was comfortably outside Sivingdel he was going to toss those barrels from the wagon.
But that was the least of his concerns. He was analyzing Mr. Hoffmeyer. He didn’t like the fact that he had seen through just about everything. He may have even known Righty just happened to be that lucky customer who “purchased” the seeds, but it seemed to Righty that, while Mr. Hoffmeyer realized that the unique nature of the product combined with its sudden damage strongly suggested a profitable transaction had taken place, he hadn’t seemed to insinuate he thought Righty might have just flat-out swiped them.
Thus, Righty was reasonably calm that old Hoffie hadn’t sniffed out quite as much as he thought he had. But he sniffed out that he had been presented with a lie and had opened Righty’s eyes to the true scope of what he was possibly embarking upon. While Righty realized the prospect of a decent profit existed, the potential enormity of the situation as described by Hoffie truly dwarfed Righty’s analysis of the situation.
Furthermore, Righty felt somewhat of a righteous anger towards the hypocrisy that was being displayed by the government, outlawing the product for everyone but the rich! He admitted to himself that this was after-the-fact knowledge and that it played no role in his decision to steal the seeds, at which time he believed the product was going to be illegal for everyone.
He wasn’t particularly interested in the morality of this endeavor. He was interested in one thing: The Promise. That was a sacred oath he had made to himself when he was spoken down to by Oscar Peters that he was going to become rich someday no matter what. That was what this was about. This was a world where those who played by the rules got left behind. Oscar Peters had already showed him that.
Nonetheless, a little sense of vindication didn’t hurt, and the more he mulled over the hypocrisy of the new law, the more justified he felt in the path he had already begun.
He was feeling rather optimistic about the way things were going so far, and optimism is the progenitor of an adventurous spirit, so he decided to do a little sight-seeing and leave the city via a different route. In the process he went through a particularly unpleasant area where the smell could make a flower wilt.
He pulled a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wrapped it around his face and nose, the irony of him now appearing to be a bandit not being lost on him.
CITY REFUSE
He noticed the sign as he drew nearer and nearer a large hill that was absolutely covered in trash. To his astonishment he saw quite a few people rummaging around in that mountainous cesspool, and his heart nearly broke when he saw that along the top of the ridge were row after row of tents, which presumably were the homes of some hapless rabble.
But his brief moment of atypical sympathy for others was interrupted when he noticed a small gang of toughs just up ahead of him. Two were seated on a bench, while the other three were standing there. Regardless of their differing positions, they all had one thing in common: They were looking right at Mr. Righty Rick. And their expression could be reasonably described as less than friendly.
One tough in particular stood out to Righty. He had short-cropped hair on top, and it was shaved bald on the sides. A tattoo was visible on his left temple, though Righty couldn’t tell what it was. All ten tough eyes glared at Righty, clearly sizing him up. Righty noticed the others broke their gaze a couple of times to look at Mr. Short-Cropped, like privates awaiting orders from their sergeant.
Mr. Short-Cropped’s eyes grew meaner and meaner as Righty drew closer, or perhaps Righty was simply getting a better look at them. He wasn’t looking for any trouble, but his bare-knuckle boxing instincts kicked in, and he realized he needed to stare down Mr. Short-Cropped fast, or else he was going to have to belt the lot of them.
He might have enjoyed it, but he had a schedule to keep.
Righty’s ferocity in the ring during his bare-knuckle days did not merely consist of his bone-shattering right hooks. His gaze at his opponents had often been compared to a mixture between that of a tiger and a cobra. Righty shot a look just like that at Mr. Short-Cropped, and although it took a few seconds, he saw the young tough pretend to smirk at him.
He knew how to read that body language well enough. That meant Mr. Short-Cropped wasn’t going to be reaching into his waistband, pulling out a knife, and lunging at him. Instead, he’d be laughing with his sidekicks and telling them this guy was broke and wasn’t worth their time but that they’d get him next time he made the mistake of coming through there, just to teach him a lesson.
About an hour later, Righty noticed he was getting into a rural area. He turned around and saw a speck behind him, which was the city of Sivingdel. He looked from left to right, saw no one, and halted the horses. Seconds later, the barrels were discarded along the road, and he was back on his way towards Ringsetter.
At approximately 9 p.m. that night he arrived at Roger’s Grocery Store, parked the wagon in the back, and tied up the horses. He then got on his own horse, which was tied in the back. He looked happy to see Righty. Righty hopped on and headed towards home.
Chapter 17
The next day, Righty was at work a few minutes before 9 a.m., when his shift began. He felt a load on his shoulders that he knew would either squash him or just slip right off and vaporize into nothing once he came in contact with Rog and gauged his reaction.
“Morning, Richie.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“I can’t thank you enough for making that trip for me. I just didn’t like the idea of having contraband sitting in my store, even if it was legal when I ordered it and the criminal penalties haven’t kicked in yet. I’ve done some reading, and apparently in the capital there have been gangs of wild addicts crazy over this stuff who have gone looting stores left and right in search of it. I haven’t heard of anything like that happening around here by any means, but it’s awful popular.
“Jimmy tells me this stuff was the answer to his prayers because there hasn’t been a dull night at his saloon since the first time someone brought it in there. Apparently, it makes people a little more generous with their money, and so that suits Jimmy just fine! Anyway, who knows what’s gonna happen now that it’s illegal. But I didn’t want word to get around that there were enough seeds to plant an entire farm over at Roger’s Grocery Store! Ha!” He laughed good-naturedly.
“Anyway, thanks to you, that stuff is long gone, and it’s Mr. Hoffmeyer’s problem. I just hope those gangs of yahoos don’t find out he’s got it, or he’ll have to hire a small army to defend it! Hahahaa!”
Righty smiled, and to his surprise it felt natural. After all, this was somewhat amusing to him, and he certainly felt glad about the burden that had just slid off his shoulders.
“Richie, you’re a damn hard worker, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and I know I can count on you in a pinch. How about we make a little adjustment in your hourly wage? Say . . . twelve falons an hour?”
“Thank you, sir!” Righty said. It sounded warm, and he looked thrilled. But in reality he was a bit conflicted.
“Well, I’ll let you get to your tasks. I’ll go ahead and make
that bump retroactive to the beginning of the week and will also pay you for twenty-four hours for your trip. Sound fair?”
“Yes, sir!” Righty responded happily.
He was thrilled when Rog left him alone because once he had a conflict in his head he couldn’t enjoy anything until he had delved deeply into it. Fortunately, he could do that and his job.
As he started stocking the shelves vigorously, his mind was working just as hard. He felt guilty because he’d just stolen a significant amount of merchandise from the man who had now given him a generous raise, and furthermore he had gone with the flow when Mr. Hoffmeyer started spouting his theories as to what really happened, and as a result he had implicated Mr. Wilson as a dealer in contraband, when in reality Rog was a straight-laced man who’d never even dream of doing what Mr. Hoffmeyer speculated he had done.
Hopefully, none of this would ever come back to harm Rog, but even the thought of it discomforted him considerably. Then, there was the issue of this raise. Part of him felt like it was a message from above that he could make a future for himself by doing things the right way and not looking for shortcuts and—
SHUT UP, YOU COWARD!!!!
The suddenness and the fury of the voice inside him shocked him almost senseless. He paused at the shelf he was working on for a moment before beginning to once again quickly and efficiently stock the shelves with a face that suggested all was calm on the inside.
But all was not calm on the inside. A savage fury had been unleashed. One he hadn’t experienced at anywhere near this intensity since his boxing days.
You weren’t meant for jumping up and down with joy for the peanuts people offer you!! You’re meant for more . . . much more—for greatness!! You’ll seal your place in the Seleganian history books for better or for worse!
And then, as suddenly as it had come, the anger was gone. He felt calm. The anger had assuaged the guilt he momentarily had felt, and now he came to a much deeper philosophical understanding of what had truly just transpired. The universe was rewarding him. It had seen him show he had a spine and was not afraid to take things into his own hands, and that piddling little raise he had just gotten shouldn’t make him feel guilty but rather vindicated about his actions. He felt certain that had he returned the merchandise, he wouldn’t have even gotten a raise at all.
By taking the seeds, he had set in motion a different destiny for his so-far miserable life because before he was playing by the rules. Now, he was playing by his rules. And his rule book said to get rich.
Chapter 18
Nearly every night, for the last six weeks, Righty had slipped away in the moonlight with a couple buckets of water in hand to go tend to his little babies. He made sure to pack a book with him too. He told Janie he felt inspired reading in the moonlight and “just getting away from it all.”
Janie was no dunce, but after more than a decade of putting up with a mean drunk of a husband, she frankly didn’t care what he was doing out there, so long as she didn’t smell alcohol or perfume when he came back, neither of which had ever happened. Plus, Righty made sure to always pack a book with him, and truth be told he would do a little reading out there by his little green babies, which weren’t so little anymore.
They weren’t exactly magical plants, but he’d never seen anything quite like them. After just six weeks, they were all over a foot tall and had produced quite a few large green bulbs. Righty had pinched off a little piece of one yesterday and found it quickly turned into the powdery form he was used to seeing in the stores. He tried a small pinch this morning at around 7 a.m., and it seemed every bit as strong as the store-bought stuff.
He knew it was high time that he make a move. He had nearly obliterated his life savings and had nothing to show for it. And although his wife wasn’t the type to take out the savings every other night and make sure not a falon was missing, it was only a matter of time before she did and noticed that almost everything was gone. And he suspected it was due to happen soon.
So, that Sunday, while Janie went off to the local temple for a religious service, Righty decided it was then or never. He figured that if it took about twelve hours to make it to Sivingdel driving that clunky old wagon, he could do it in six with Charlie, his favorite horse.
He put one large bulb into a sack and weighed it; it was about an ounce. Then he walked briskly back to the house. He put a dagger in a sheath on his belt, and made sure to choose a long shirt that hung comfortably over it. Then, he put brass knuckles in each pocket. Carrying a dagger was a misdemeanor in Selegania, but that seemed like small potatoes compared to the Class B felony he was carrying in a small bag. For what he was about to do, he might have even worn a sword, but he had never trained with one, and carrying a sword outside one’s home in Selegania was a Class A felony. Not even the police could carry a sword. Only the nation’s small-standing army—numbering four thousand—was exempt from the sword prohibition. In fact, the nation’s constitution forbade anyone other than a professional soldier on a military base or acting in his military capacity from carrying a sword. Not even the senators were exempt.
Righty had done a little investigating before setting off on this particular mission. His first instinct had been to sell to some of his old drinking buddies, as he had already heard through the grapevine that they were snorting this stuff like it was oxygen and they had just come up for breath after two minutes underwater. But upon more careful reflection, he decided that if he did that it would probably take about two days, if the gossip lines were moving slowly, for just about everyone in Ringsetter to know that Righty Rick was the man to see if you wanted some Smokeless Green.
Given that the criminal penalties had already taken effect, he decided that wasn’t exactly a reputation he wanted to have amongst the general population of Ringsetter.
Thus, he had to start from scratch, and he knew Sivingdel was the place. But he had stopped outside the lumberyard a couple times and chatted about how things were going, and, just like he expected, Smokeless Green was the main topic on the menu.
The first time he had spoken to them, panic hadn’t fully set in. After all, it was rather cheap at first, and many of them had stocked up on the stuff. Not because they were clairvoyant as to its future criminalization, but rather for fear that perhaps this substance existed in finite quantities, might be seasonal, or whatever other reasons cause man to hoard items he cherishes.
But all of the stores had quickly fallen in line with the new law and sent back their Smokeless Green to their suppliers—well, that is with the exception of a few stores that sold it with a tenfold markup and Roger Wilson, who tried to return it but was hampered by Righty’s alternative plans. But after that, all that was left in Ringsetter was what people had already purchased from the stores, which now held none of the beloved substance.
If not for the fact that all these individuals were dedicated users themselves, there might have been one or two that became wealthy men overnight. At first, some of them did sell small portions of what they had. But then they saw the price skyrocketing in the meantime, and some of them thought it would maybe be a good idea to “wait and see” just how high the price got.
The problem was sniffing Smokeless Green was one hell of a nice way to pass the time, and thus, as they watched the price go up they also watched their stashes go down. Only a very small few had the foresight to sell off a large quantity of what they owned, but the riches they earned from this were quickly squandered as they ran out of their own supply of Smokeless Green and then found themselves turned into buyers—now buying at an even higher price, sometimes from the very people they had sold to days before.
It was clear to Righty that Mr. Hoffmeyer was right—the price of Smokeless Green was rising higher and higher and most likely hadn’t even come close to reaching its zenith yet.
An ounce had cost about ten falons when it was legal. Now an ounce was up to a thousand. He had around two weeks’ pay in his pocket from just one bulb, and there were plenty m
ore where that came from. Although store owners were abiding by the law to the letter, bars were a different story. The policy at Toby’s Bar and Jimmy’s Saloon was basically the same: Sniff all you please; just don’t let me see.
The parties still roared all night long on the weekends, and even during the week their places were packed until the wee hours of the morning. So far, Smokeless Green had helped many a poor soul—whether a lumberyard worker preparing to go break his back in a grueling shift or an accountant ready to break his brains over a stack of papers with numbers that needed to be crunched—survive the following day and still find energy for a party the next night, but all of that was looking doubtful now.
There was starting to be a tension in the air. People knew the stuff was getting scarce. Like primitive man praying for rain, some were going to the temple (even those who hadn’t gone for a decade or more) and praying for the heavens to open up and provide more of this glorious substance which appeared to be threatening to withdraw her warm embrace.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 27
