RICH’S GROCERIES & HARDWARE
Today, he had two important projects. The first was to go and try to set up an inventory agreement with Mr. Hoffmeyer. He had had a very positive instinct about the man when he first met him, and he suspected he just might come in handy with the kind of work he found himself getting into. But he had no plans to rush anything. Secondly, he was going to make the biggest sale of Smokeless Green today that he had ever made. It was going to be ten pounds and would sell for $100,000 falons. He was really pleased with the efficiency of those seeds. He found that once he removed a large bulb from the stem usually it was replaced within a couple weeks, and the plants reached a good seven feet tall. He had to pull down on the tallest ones to bring the bulbs within reach. He had spent the better part of last night out in the woods with a scale packaging the contents for today’s transaction.
Nonetheless, he noticed that—while it was a good problem—he had a problem on his hands. The orders were becoming more frequent and bigger and bigger. He had already tripled the size of his initial garden, and he was out there every night for at least an hour carefully watering the plants on any night it didn’t rain. Fortunately, he had barely even made a dent in one of the barrels, but he noticed that none of the plants produced any seeds themselves.
He found this quite frustrating, as he realized he was dealing with a finite source. On the other hand, perhaps by the time he got all the seeds from those barrels planted, that would be a good time to quit. After all, he could hardly even fathom the riches those seeds would provide, especially if the price kept going up like it had been, although he noticed the increases in price had been getting slower and slower, and he suspected they were near their maximum.
Nonetheless, they were mighty high right now, and he intended to continue capitalizing on that as long as he could, lest the Safety in Selegania Act be found unconstitutional and invalidated by the Supreme Court or perhaps even repealed by the senate if the senators felt the law had been a failure. He didn’t know what to expect there, but what he did know was he didn’t want to end up regretting the rest of his life that he hadn’t worked harder to take advantage while there were riches to be made. He was going to have to do whatever it took—strategize, work longer hours, anything.
He knew that with the kind of quantities he was carrying around now, he could no longer just hoist it into his saddlebags and be prepared to defend it with his brass knuckles. He had constructed a false bottom to his wagon, and over the top he had inserted a steel plate. A very inconspicuous keyhole underneath the driver’s side of the wagon seat released the steel plate. A board covered the steel plate and matched the surrounding floor boards perfectly.
He had acquired this service in Sivingdel and explained to the carpenter that he occasionally had to carry large quantities of cash, due to his payments on sold inventory. Furthermore, he had acquired a large, oval-shaped piece of steel that he could put around the spokes of his wagon to ensure it wasn’t stolen easily.
Righty saw that he was at his destination. He parked the wagon, locked the front left wheel, and entered the building. He recognized the secretary immediately, and it appeared the recognition was mutual.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here to see Mr. Hoffmeyer.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you again on that.”
She smiled casually. “I’ll go see if he is available.”
She came back about ten minutes later and said, “Mr. Hoffmeyer will see you now.”
She walked him to Mr. Hoffmeyer’s office.
“Mr. Simmers,” Mr. Hoffmeyer began warmly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’ve started a small store, and I’m looking for an inventory supplier.”
“Well, I’ll be. Not too long ago you were an employee. Now you’re a business owner. Congratulations.”
His congratulations seemed warm, but his eyes seemed shrewd, as if communicating the brain behind them suspected there was more to the story. That didn’t particularly bother Righty. His store was going to have to do a lot more for him than provide hammers and chickens, and Mr. Hoffmeyer was his best prospect for locating a man to do something like that.
Righty and Mr. Hoffmeyer began poring over various terms and conditions of their prospective business relationship, and they did a little dickering over inventory prices. Righty found himself glad that he had learned a lot about inventory during his tenure at Roger’s Grocery Store. Mr. Hoffmeyer hadn’t exactly tried to cheat him. But he drove a hard bargain. Righty practically felt he was in a sparring match.
Nonetheless, they did eventually arrive at a bargain both seemed to find fair.
They shook hands, but before Righty could leave, Mr. Hoffmeyer said, “You going to do all your accounting on your own?”
Righty looked at him closely. He suspected Mr. Hoffmeyer might be broaching a topic he himself certainly planned to raise, although he wasn’t sure if now was the right time. Mr. Hoffmeyer’s eyes looked shrewd.
“Some of my clients prefer to outsource the accounting work to us. Or, sometimes clients ask us for a good recommendation concerning accountants,” Mr. Hoffmeyer said.
“I think I should be able to handle it at first. Like you said, just recently I was an employee. I can’t expect the store to become a success over night. I should be able to handle the accounting for now; I did a lot of that with Rog. On the other hand,” and now it was Righty’s eyes to allow a little cunning to dance both on the surface of his eyes and on the sound waves of his voice, “if the business were to grow faster than I expect, then I suppose I might find myself taking you up on your offer.”
“I think it would be a good conversation to have. I have some accountants who are particularly adept at dealing with unexpected profits.”
“Well, we just might be seeing each other again, Mr. Hoffmeyer,” Righty said, and they shook hands a second time, and Righty felt confident Mr. Hoffmeyer could connect him to a good money scrubber. However, he had been sincere himself in that he needed to get a little actual business going in the store before it suddenly started generating large profits.
Chapter 31
Righty was feeling like he had the world by the trousers as he unlocked the bar on his wagon, hopped into the seat, and started heading towards what was going to be his most lucrative meeting to date with Tats. He had come to like the young tough somewhat, although trust was something the young punk was still going to have to earn. He hadn’t forgotten that Tats had tried to jump him during their first business encounter, but it seemed the thrashing he and his pals received had had a positive effect.
As he neared the meeting site he started to get the feeling that it was a mistake to always be meeting in the same place. It had started out as logical simply by virtue of being the one place he was sure he could come in contact with the criminal underworld, and Righty had continued it thereafter mostly just out of habit, but also because he reckoned it was a place most police officers didn’t desire to be, as the smell alone could just about knock you on your backside.
Nonetheless, the quantities were getting bigger, which meant more money was on the table. And more money on the table meant more jaws flapping. And he knew pretty soon he was going to have to crack some more heads to prevent people from trying to take what was his. And he knew he could only spin that roulette wheel so many times before his luck ran out. Bare-knuckle boxing expert though he was, he knew he was not invincible.
As he neared the meeting location, he felt his nerves calm a little as he saw Tats and his usual toughs seated or otherwise congregating around the bench where they had first caught Righty’s attention.
Righty had already unlocked the false bottom before heading out from Mr. Hoffmeyer’s building. While he didn’t necessarily like the idea of driving through Sivingdel with ten pounds of Smokeless Green protected only by one wooden plank that could be easily removed, t
here was no way he was going to betray the location of the keyhole for unlocking the steel plank. He could do this relatively inconspicuously at a location where no one would be expecting a well-dressed businessman to be disarming a barrier to ten pounds of Smokeless Green—just a subtle bending over to adjust the left shoe, then the right shoe, then a quick little poke into the small keyhole while bent over, and no ordinary passerby would know what he had just seen.
But when arriving at a meeting place where a handful of career criminals would be watching his every move like a cat watching a mouse, no subtle shoe adjustment would succeed in diverting the gaze of the predators surveying him. Furthermore, he had a couple of heavy barrels on top of the location, so if any young thief had hopped into his wagon as he drove it through Sivingdel and started rummaging around, Righty would have splattered his brains on to the floor of the wagon long before the street rat would have found Righty’s property.
Righty brought his wagon to a halt.
“You’re looking mighty prim, Mr. Brass,” Tats said, smiling.
Righty eyed him closely. It appeared to be a good-natured remark.
“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” Righty told the toughs.
He stepped into the back and then looked at them with a sly grin: “I’d tell you not to peek, but something tells me that would be a waste of time.”
It would have been. All five of the gang were eyeing him like audience members ready to catch the secret behind a magician’s trick. Righty started tossing carefully packed one-pound sacks to Tats.
Once he had thrown him five, he said, “That’s half of what I promised I’d bring. I better start seeing you cough up some falons.”
Tats whistled, and two street rats emerged from behind a large mound of trash on the side of the hill.
Righty eyed Tats closely.
“They work for me. I can’t just exactly sit out here with $100,000 falons under my lap and expect to walk home with it.”
Righty said nothing but instead watched the group of seven closely.
The two hoods who had emerged from the rubble looked like they were about seventeen. They were scrawny and had a serious look about them.
They didn’t look at Righty and that was fine with him. They submissively brought a bag to Tats. He took out five large wads of tightly packed falons and then brought them to Righty.
Righty kept his eye on the group while raising the falons to eye level and flipping through them. He would count the money falon by falon later and bust heads if necessary, but for now he was just making sure these were wads of hundred-falon bills.
“Each is $10,000. You’ve got five.”
Righty stuffed the money into an inside pocket of his coat. He hopped up into the wagon and brought out the remaining five pounds. He handed them directly to Tats and kept his eyes glued on him like paper to a wall.
Tats promptly handed over five wads similar to in size to the ones he had given Righty a moment ago. Righty gave them a quick looking over and noticed Tats was doing the same to the Smokeless Green packages. Righty was beginning to feel more relaxed.
“You know, Tats—if you do business the right way with me, you’re going to be a rich man.”
Tats looked at him and nodded. He didn’t offer any sycophantic gestures. After all, he had his gang there watching him. But his expression was respectful.
Out of the left of his eye, Righty caught some movement. It was a ways off but was certainly moving in the direction of him and his current company. Instinctively, he looked to his right and saw a group of about the same size coming.
They were too far away for him to know their number yet.
“You expecting any company?”
“No, sir,” Tats said.
His voice sounded sincere. In fact, it sounded more than that. It sounded a bit afraid. That calmed Righty slightly. It suggested Tats wasn’t trying to pull something. On the other hand, if this young tough was nervous about who was coming through here at this particular moment, that boded ill.
He saw Tats pull out a small dagger. Righty stayed still, although he had almost cracked Tats’s head into pieces. He caught himself—fortunately for Tats’s sake—because Tats’s demeanor seemed to Righty like he was preparing for the possibility of having to defend himself.
“Suit up, lads,” Tats said in a voice that was soft and meant to sound calm, but he failed in completely hiding the fear he was feeling.
Righty didn’t look down on him for that. He could feel nervousness swimming around in his own stomach like a fish stuck in a whirlpool. Righty saw Tats pull out a blackjack for his other hand. His hoods started pulling out a variety of welcoming presents. Switchblades sliced through the air as their blades were released from their cages. Solid brass started to clothe the knuckles of more than one. Clubs began to slide out of sleeves like snakes and into firmly gripped hands.
Righty didn’t blame them for getting ready in such open fashion, but his gut instinct told him it might help to look defenseless.
He could now see there were six people approaching them on each side, thus leaving Righty and his group—he hadn’t thought of them as such until this moment!—practically double-teamed.
It didn’t take Righty long to erase whatever scintilla of doubt had heretofore remained in his mind about the intentions of the sudden arrivals. The smug looks on their faces may as well have been tattooed with the word “GOTCHA!”
“Stay behind me, Tats, unless the crap really starts to fly.”
Tats didn’t look like he needed to be told twice.
Righty could tell immediately that this was going to be an entirely different dance than the one had had with Tats and his gang during their first business encounter and even from the follow-up dance where he had to break Big Frank’s neck. Tats and his gang all looked to Righty like they were in their late teens. These were full-grown men, most of them looked strong, and there were a lot more of them than what Big Frank had brought.
“So you’re the badass, I take it,” one of the men said.
He had long, dark hair, parted in the middle.
“Big Frank was my brother. This was his territory. I inherited it when you killed him. I really didn’t think I would be so lucky to find you were stupid enough to come back repeatedly to the very spot you killed him. I told my friends here, ‘I’d have to see it to believe it.’ Well, I’m here, and I’m still not sure I believe it.”
Righty was pretending to be calm, but he was anything but. He hadn’t been this nervous since the final ten to fifteen minutes before the Oscar Peters fight. He felt his bowels squirm.
Then, to his horror, Big Frank’s brother pulled out something Righty had never seen before in his life, except in statues, paintings, and drawings. A full-length sword came sliding out inch by inch from what must have been the guy’s scabbard, although it was concealed so well Righty couldn’t see it.
Now, he was nearly in panic mode. He considered running, but he had always hated Runners and had made pursuit of them an art form in the ring. This was no ring, however, and he didn’t think this guy was going to run.
Righty tried a little psychology. “I’m honored. That’s an awfully big weapon to take on one man. You must have believed those stories you heard about my being a badass.”
Righty saw an angry cloud pass over the man’s face, and for a moment he thought the psychology would work. But his hopes shattered when the cloud passed by, and the man replied, “Out here, it’s the one who leaves alive that’s the badass. And if you were too stupid to come here protected by something besides your two hands, then that’s your problem.”
Righty knew better than to try psychological disarmament again. Once was to be expected of an unarmed man versus someone holding a monster like what this guy had in his hands, but to attempt this again would simply embolden the man’s predatory instinct.
Righty knew that his only chance of survival now lay with intimidation. To Righty, tapping into aggression within himself was like dip
ping into a bottomless well whose water was almost always near the surface and even flowing over from time to time. Thus, it was not years of acting classes that suddenly turned Righty’s soft eyes into glowing coals of anger and aggression, but rather he simply removed the false bottom normally covering the ferocious contents of his soul.
Righty knew this was no joke. This wasn’t even an Oscar Peters match. No, this was life or death, but Oscar Peters was on his mind. The image of that smug, pompous dandy talking to him via his messenger boy while Righty stood three feet away. That arrogant, no-good, cheating sissy who had attained glory through the cheating and then avoided a subsequent fight by the luck of Righty being banned from boxing for life.
Anger swelled up to the surface of Righty’s soul that was far more powerful than the usual stuff he relied upon when he needed to crack someone’s face in half. This was more like volcanic lava about to belch forth from the mouth of a long-dormant volcano.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 33
