The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  “Tats won’t be expecting you, and he sure as hell won’t be expecting that much,” Harold observed with a somewhat nonchalant tone, but if Righty wasn’t mistaken, he detected a faint trace of excitement. If there was one thing he had learned about Harold so far it was that he liked what he called “missions.” Whatever he did he thought of as a mission, but surveilling Righty’s store for ten hours a day while he was at work, and then his house for about the other fourteen when he was at home, was a bit of a stretch to be classified as a mission. Taking Righty to Sivingdel and watching from high above while he peddled his goods to stone-cold killers fit the bill. Thus, he knew Harold wasn’t exactly trying to talk him out of anything.

  Another thing Righty had learned about Harold was that he was smart, and thus Righty didn’t have any qualms explaining himself to him either.

  “I’ve been spooked ever since that day you rescued me, Harold, but this pussyfoot approach ends today. If there’s anything I’ve gleaned from the books I’ve been reading, I’m in the middle of a rare opportunity to get rich beyond my wildest dreams, but it’s only going to happen if I get myself to the front of this wave now. Otherwise, I’ll be clawing my way up through well-established criminal organizations selling this product, and doing so will make the danger I’ve faced so far look like a brush with a ticked-off cat.”

  “You know there’s a limit to what kind of trouble I can get you out of,” Harold said.

  Righty looked up at him, taking a brief pause from his frantic packing. He noted a bit of genuine concern in Harold’s voice.

  “For example, if you go inside a building, you’re on your own.”

  This made sense to Righty. Inside a building, Harold could get trapped rather easily without the infinite sky to move about in avoiding whatever dangers might emanate from the ground below.

  “Sounds fair to me,” Righty said.

  Soon, they were off. At Righty’s request, Harold did a quick loop around the junkyard, where he intended to present himself, knowing full well Tats wouldn’t be expecting him on the outskirts of the city, much less with $200,000 ready. Harold informed him of what he saw below, which was a mixture of good and bad news.

  Harold searched for the closest secluded landing spot to the city outskirts he could find. A good mile from the outskirts he made a very hasty landing and told Righty as he hopped off, “Best of luck!”

  Righty gulped as he began moving forwards. His mind occupied itself on the irony of the tradeoff from flying with Harold. He had arrived here in a mere half-hour, but now he felt extremely vulnerable and had a good hour-long hike to the junkyard meeting location. Without his horse, fleeing from danger would not be an option.

  As he approached the outskirts of the junkyard, the smell and raunchiness of the place impressed both his eyes and nostrils far more powerfully than it had ever done when he trotted through here on his horse. For the second time now, he felt an immense pity for the hapless people he saw digging through the rubbish; and he realized that not even at his worst moments in life had he ever possessed a scintilla of the misery of these people.

  “Hi, Mister,” a young kid said.

  Righty nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to his right and saw a dirty face with surprisingly white teeth shining out like snow from a dark cave. He looked to be about six.

  “Hi, there,” Righty said, but found himself quickening his pace, expecting that at any moment he would find the kid was just distracting him so that some less-smiley individuals could approach him from behind and unburden him of the tantalizing backpack he was carrying, which formed a curious contradiction to his rather business-like clothes.

  Chapter 3

  As Righty neared the junkyard meeting location, his heart hopped up into his throat when he saw a gaggle of about twenty thugs up ahead. Harold had told him there were a few unfamiliar faces down here but had said there were only about half a dozen people. For a moment, he almost considered turning around and hightailing the hell out of there, but he realized that if he had seen them then they had seen him, and the sight of an odd traveler turning tail and skedaddling would arouse the most irresistible curiosity.

  As he neared further, his heart began working its way past his throat and attempting to squeeze into his mouth. He felt like his insides were about to squirt out of every orifice in his body as the result of the throbbing pressure he could feel emanating from his galloping heart. His fingers trembled. And his jaw would have, were it not clenched so tightly that a crowbar couldn’t have pried it open.

  He saw there was a rough-and-tumble atmosphere going on. Two guys had their shirts off and were wrestling, while the rest of the group cheered or complained wildly. He could see money protruding from tightly clenched fists. He hoped his arrival wouldn’t draw accusations from any of the gamblers that he had unfavorably affected the outcome.

  “Who dat?!” an ignorant-looking young man cried out, and the wrestling match ended abruptly. Neither the wrestlers nor their fans looked pleased by the interruption.

  “Brass?!” a voice yelled.

  Righty looked in that direction and to his immense pleasure saw Tats running towards him.

  Tats gave him a hearty handshake followed by what he supposed was these young ruffians’ version of a hug, though it felt more like Tats had used his chest momentarily as a battering ram against his own. Under other circumstances, he might have objected, but he put on a jovial face and tone he hoped was convincing.

  “Good to see you, Tats!”

  “My man!”

  Righty turned sharply to his left and saw Spider there. He was glad Spider settled for a brief handshake.

  Righty noticed there were in the neighborhood of thirty-six eyes watching this scene with mixed emotions. Their eyes seemed to say, Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?!

  But they also seemed at least a hair or two short of intending murder, which was no doubt due to the spectacle of Spider and Tats greeting him like a close friend.

  Tats clearly seemed to understand that the situation warranted both an introduction and explanation:

  “Yo, like check it. This here is Mr. Brass, and whether you realize it or not, this here is the man behind the product. The man who’s been earning you some money.”

  “You’ve gotten a reputation for being a badass, Mr. Brass,” a voice said.

  Righty saw a man approaching, a big man. He was as tall as Righty and almost as muscular.

  Righty almost heard him ask, Is it true? but then realized it was his eyes, not his voice, asking the question.

  “People exaggerate,” Righty said laconically.

  Tats immediately piped up, “This is Scorpion. He’s in charge here.”

  Righty felt like he had heard a faint pause in between “He’s” and “in charge,” but wasn’t quite sure.

  Righty extended his hand warmly while maintaining airtight eye contact. It was ignored.

  “I’m a businessman,” Righty said. “Tats has been a good client of mine, and I am pleased to make the acquaintance of his boss.”

  Scorpion’s eyes suggested he was carefully analyzing the treatment of the words “his boss” and their potential implications.

  “Tats says you’ve slowed down quite a bit. Says you used to meet weekly; now it’s just once per month. That true?”

  Righty saw the sneer in Scorpion’s eyes, and although he wasn’t sure yet of the timing, he knew he was going to kill this man.

  “It’s true,” Righty said simply, eyes still locked onto the man’s like a snake’s fangs onto its prey’s throat.

  Scorpion smiled.

  “That’s good to hear,” Scorpion said, both eyes and face smiling. “Because if it weren’t, that would mean Tats was doing a little independent work. That would be a problem.”

  The aggression in Scorpion’s eyes was unmistakable.

  “Tats said you got beat up last time pretty good here and just haven’t been the same after that. A little spooked maybe?”


  “Yes,” Righty said calmly. “Quite spooked actually. Things had gotten a little bit dangerous around here. I figured I would let them cool off.”

  Scorpion’s smile was gone. He wore a poker face while his eyes savagely devoured Righty, looking for any hidden insult or sarcasm in this frank admission.

  Then, the smile came back again.

  “Cool off?!” he said. Now he was laughing. “Cool off?! Hey, gang, have things cooled off around here?!”

  They smirked and chuckled but did not say anything, perhaps unsure of the answer their hulking leader was looking for.

  “Actually, they have,” Scorpions said, his face serious yet triumphant.

  “That’s because there’s safety in numbers,” he added. “I guess you already found out what can happen even to a badass when the numbers turn too much against him. Am I right?” Scorpion asked wide-eyed.

  “I did indeed,” Righty said in a tone of hearty agreement, a small trace of a glint in his own eye.

  Scorpion’s look of triumph was gone. He was searching Righty’s eyes for the hidden meaning in the remark, as the agreement to such a question should have sounded like a defeat, rather than a victory.

  “Good,” Scorpion said, with a challenging look in his eye. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you, sir,” he added, giving him a condescending pat on the left shoulder with his right hand. “I just wanted to make sure we got off on the right foot.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “What’s in that pack you’re carrying there?”

  “Twenty pounds of Smokeless Green.”

  “Wow!” Scorpion exclaimed excitedly. “Twenty?”

  Righty looked him dead in the eye but didn’t repeat himself.

  “Let me see if I get this straight. You get jumped by twelve people last time you came here, carrying half this much product. You get spooked for half a year, and then you show up with double the product!” Scorpion said and began to laugh uproariously as did everyone else, except for Tats and Spider, something both Scorpion and Righty took note of.

  Or at least so it seemed. Righty’s eyes still hadn’t left Scorpion’s, and only Tats and Spider were firmly in his peripheral vision.

  “I’ll tell you what, my friend. When your shipments dried up with Tats, we looked elsewhere and got a separate connection. Tats has been getting your stuff for small deals on the side and paying me a tax, so it’s no worry, but I ain’t got any need of dealing with you.”

  Scorpion’s eyes now had the look of a king cobra about ready to strike. There was an eerie silence. If a mouse had farted it would have sounded like a firecracker.

  “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Brass—you won’t die today. Out of respect to you as a man who’s proven himself to have heart, I’m going to allow you to make a small donation to us today. And then, you’re going to turn around, walk back to wherever the hell it is that you come from and never come back. Do we understand each other?”

  “Almost,” Righty said simply. “Except, you didn’t say what the donation would be.”

  Scorpion took a step forward. The former humor and triumph were gone from his eyes now. He had clearly grown weary of the banter. “You’re wearing it,” he said.

  Righty reached back calmly towards his backpack, his eyes still glued to Scorpion’s. With the calm of a clerk who is picking up an ink pen to sign a routine document, Righty’s hands closed around the hilt of his compressed sword. In less than a second his fingers found the notch for the release.

  Quicker than a snake strike, he pulled the sword out of its sheathe and before it was even fully raised above his head it extended to its full terrifying length with a loud SNAP!!

  But its journey through the air was never halted. Righty immediately brought it down at a forty-five-degree angle to his left. Simultaneously he exhaled and brought his legs into a wide crouching stance. The neck and collarbone offered little in the way of resistance to the power propelling the masterfully crafted razor-sharp blade. On and on it continued at this diagonal angle until it exited the man’s ribcage, slicing off his head and right arm in a single blow.

  Righty was in automaton mode at this point, as he had drilled this movement thousands of times. Each stroke was often followed up in practice by another, in case the former had failed to meet its mark. Thus, it was out of sheer habit that Righty then brought the sword back to his right, in a perfectly horizontal motion at Scorpion’s waist, cutting what was left of the man in two.

  Righty then spun around with the sword raised overhead, gauging the intent of the spectators without lopping any additional heads off in the process.

  An uneasy silence reigned. Far from facing an onslaught of attackers, he faced a stunned audience. He pivoted around several more times, carefully studying the face of each man. In the various faces, he saw bewilderment, awe, admiration, and fear. When it finally dawned upon him that he was not in any immediate danger, he took a brief moment to savor the feeling of immense power that was rushing through his body.

  He had felt it many times when knocking a man unconscious, but nothing he had ever experienced could compare to what he felt now. Two quick movements, and he had disassembled the man as if he were made of papier-mâché.

  Feeling it was time to once again show he had a peaceful side, he compressed the sword and stuffed it back into its sheathe in such a smooth motion, and causing it to disappear so thoroughly, that more than one person questioned whether he had ever seen it in the first place.

  Righty then turned to Tats, as if they had been momentarily interrupted from their conversation by a waiter, and said, “Well, are you going to introduce me to each of your friends?”

  Righty presented a ghastly spectacle. His pants, shoes, and shirt were those of a respectable businessman, while the spattering of blood all over his face and shirt made him look like a butcher at the end of a long shift. One by one Tats brought Righty to each of his associates and introduced them. And with each man, Righty gave him a warm handshake and expressed his pleasure at meeting him.

  Gone were the arrogant, wolf-like eyes that had met him upon arrival, replaced with docile expressions and something akin to manners.

  Righty then took a step back so that he could see the row of young toughs. Then, he addressed them: “I’m a simple man who likes to make money. Do any of you want to help me move twenty pounds of Smokeless Green at $10,000 each?”

  They all expressed hearty agreement, but it soon became clear that there was no possibility they could purchase it all from Righty, and it became clear that he was either going to have to consign the merchandise or go home in failure. Righty had never been too keen on the idea of consignment with customers such as these, but on the other hand he realized he couldn’t exactly just show up out of the blue with this much product and expect these thugs to have that kind of cash sitting around.

  “How quickly?” he said to Tats.

  “We can move it by tomorrow same time.”

  “How much do you have in total?” Righty asked Tats.

  Tats went and conferred with his associates and reported to Righty all they could muster between them was $20,000.

  “Hand it over,” Righty said firmly to Tats.

  Tats made a motion with his head to Spider, and he brought it forward in a sack. Righty went through it closely enough to make sure it was in the neighborhood of $20,000 and then said to Tats: “I’m going to give you twenty pounds of product. Two are paid for. Eighteen will be paid for tomorrow. I’ll be showing up tomorrow at noon expecting to see you with $180,000 in your hands and no excuses in your mouths.”

  Tats grinned. “It’s a deal.” But his grin softened slightly as his eyes met the reptilian coldness of Righty’s.

  Then Righty himself grinned. “It’s good to be getting back into business. Should I bring any product tomorrow?”

  “How about another twenty pounds?”

  “Consider it done.”

  Then, Righty went and approached the gaggle of thugs again.r />
  “I believe in a clear and transparent business model,” he began. “Tats and Spider earned my trust because they stood by me during a very nasty fight, in which I was the main target. For that reason, I am entrusting this product to them, and I expect you to keep in mind that I consider them in charge. When you deal with them in my absence, you’re dealing with an extension of me.” Righty paused, scanning various eyes, and making sure his message was getting through. It seemed it had.

  “Best of luck to all of you fine men,” he then said and went around warmly shaking each of their hands, though with an intensity in his eye that caused many an eye to slink away from meeting his own.

  He turned to leave.

  “Mr. Brass?”