The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  District Attorney Hannensehn then walked promptly off the stage while the audience roared in exaltation.

  Hutherton noticed for the first time that Old Squirrelly was here, and he felt a surge in confidence as he looked at Squirrelly’s face. He was convinced that it was now Squirrelly experiencing what he had felt this morning.

  Hutherton stopped at the Gentlemen of Selegania Club for two hours and three ladies before finally arriving home that night, feeling as renewed and reinvigorated as he had been demoralized earlier, and before he fell asleep that night, he realized his instinct that morning had been right all along. It was a good day.

  Chapter 13

  Righty Rick was glad for a change of pace at the junkyard. He had showed up ready to slice and dice but was more than relieved when Tats and Spider approached him with $180,000 and no excuses, just as Righty had instructed.

  Righty didn’t disappoint them either. He pulled out twenty pounds of product and then said casually, “Are we doing consignment again?”

  “How about fifty-fifty,” Tats responded. “Here’s a hundred thou.”

  “Can you move it by tomorrow same time?”

  “Consider it done.”

  Righty handed him the twenty pounds and then said, “Walk with me, would you?”

  They began walking away from the others, and once it seemed they were out of earshot, Righty said furtively to Tats: “How did it all go?”

  “It sold fast obviously. We had a few run-ins with some of Sam’s bunch, but nothing major. It’s only a matter of time though. To move the amount of product you’re giving us, we’re gonna have to step outside our territory just a little bit.”

  “Outside your territory? How do you figure?”

  “Well, there just aren’t enough buyers in our territory to get rid of twenty pounds a day. In fact, there had been an untapped demand building up for a while, which is why we were able to get rid of that last twenty pounds mostly inside our territory. But to turn around and move twenty pounds again right away . . . we’re gonna have to put our little toesies into Sam’s backyard.”

  “Well, what gave you the idea it was Sam’s backyard? Did he buy it from the prior owners?”

  Tats would have slapped any similar man asking such a question, but he could detect the combination of mild sarcasm and encouragement for Tats to think boldly.

  “He got it by cutting the throat, bashing the brains out, or strangling the life out of any seller in that area who didn’t leave after being given a friendly warning. So, yes, in street speak, he bought it.”

  Tats paused. “Look, I see what you’re saying, Mr. Brass: ‘Think big . . . go get ‘em. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but you would lead a lot better from the front. We put our lives slightly on the line yesterday moving this, and we’re going to be really putting them on the line tonight. The fellas would like to see you out there with us, especially at this stage. There’s a vacuum for leadership right now.

  “Everyone knows when they’re dealing with you they need to do things right, but it’s still not clear yet whether you’re wanting to just show up and sell to us or whether you’re wanting to get a group together, a group that you lead. To do that, you’re gonna have to do a little more than show up with product and leave. You need to see what our routes are, who we move the product to. And, above all, the guys need to see you right out there with them as they start moving into Sam’s territory.

  “Believe me, with you at their side, they’ll venture as far as you tell them. I’m crazy enough to keep pushing into Sam’s territory even without you because I want the money and don’t expect to live all that long anyway. But most of the other guys, without a strong leader, are already nearing the edge of their comfort zones.”

  “Tats, you talk differently when you’re around me. Why?”

  Tats blushed, surprised by the rapid change in conversation. “I read from time to time. But, you know, it’s not exactly something most of the gang would consider very macho.”

  “Well, it can impress the right people. And the right people are the ones that matter. Your fists and your sword will take care of the other kind.”

  “Well,” Tats began, “I’ve learned a thing or two about fighting on the streets, but I’m afraid we don’t all have the skills you have in that area, Mr. Brass. Not by a long shot.”

  An awkward pause ensued.

  “Would you teach me?” Tats asked, his face looking embarrassed as soon as the question left his mouth.

  Righty paused for a long moment. “There was a time when I would have preferred you not know how to fight, given that we went to blows in our first introduction. But I’ve thought a lot about what you told me last time, and I realize this ragtag group of junkyard hoods is going to have to morph into something bigger and better, or it’s going to go extinct entirely, which would mean the end of my involvement in this business entirely. If this Heavy Sam fellow is anything like what you say, he wouldn’t have any use for some freelance operator like me.

  “The law of the jungle’s harsh, but that doesn’t make it any less the law. It’s him or us, which means there has to be an us. And I can tell you’re right—this group needs leadership. It wasn’t something I initially wanted, but I’m the best man for it, and so it’s got to be done. I’ll be here tonight at 9 p.m.

  “Tats, if you do things right, I’ll teach you how to fight and soon. I’ll also teach the others that convince me they’re loyal.”

  “This is gonna be awesome!” Tats said, unable to hide his glee, but then he quickly grew serious again.

  “Tats, just one more thing, but don’t let it go to your head. You’ve got guts, and I like you. Sometimes I feel like you’re the son I wish I had. If you ever betray me, I’ll be exceptionally severe because I would take it personally.”

  Tats managed to block the gulp that tried to force its way down his throat, but the effort strained his throat considerably. He had never even known his father. From what he had heard from his mother, he had beaten her on a regular basis until one day—while she was pregnant with David, not yet known as Tats—she had decided enough was enough and slit his throat while he lay in a drunken stupor.

  “Never, Mr. Brass.”

  To Righty’s surprise, he found the words convincing.

  After Righty was comfortably out of view of anyone in the junkyard, he whistled softly and waited for the gust of air on his back that would signify Harold’s arrival.

  It came promptly, as predictable as the law of gravity.

  Once they were soaring high above the fields below, Righty told Harold: “You’re going to enjoy today. It’s going to be busy and dangerous.” Righty then wondered if he was speaking about it so matter-of-factly to try to hide the nervousness currently gnawing at his stomach.

  “Well, I know it’s going to get busy and dangerous, but I thought that wasn’t until 9 p.m.,” Harold replied.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever grow fully accustomed to your power of hearing. I’m just glad you’re on my side,” Righty responded laughing. “Don’t worry—I’ve got some tasks lined up for us before then. Let’s go to The Garden.”

  Once they got there, Righty told him: “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I just don’t feel comfortable with all these plants being here anymore. First, it’s only a matter of time before someone in Sivingdel finds out that I live in Ringsetter, and once they do that it will only be a matter of time before they find this garden. Also, it’s just not big enough anymore. Not for what I’ve got in mind.”

  He could tell Harold’s interest was complete.

  “What’s the primary barrier between the ordinary man’s desire and the fulfillment of that desire?” Righty asked.

  “Money.”

  “You’re learning our ways rather quickly, my friend,” Righty said, laughing. “It just so happens that that barrier has ceased to exist for me for some things, and with time both you and I may be surprised at what few gaps remain.

  “Ri
ght now, what I want is a ranch. A huge, spacious ranch. No access by wagon or stagecoach. Difficult to access even by horse. Far from civilization. Yet with rich, fertile soil.”

  Righty paused. “Any places in mind?”

  “To the last detail,” Harold responded.

  “Well, then I guess I’m going to be at a bit of a disadvantage with the current owner, seeing that I’m going to have to throw money at him until he can’t say no.”

  Chapter 14

  “Woooo,” Chris Wilkins told his horse, nudging it to a standstill.

  Up ahead, walking towards him was a man wearing a coat fit for a blizzard walking up the path towards his house on what, at most, could be described as a mildly cool day. Mr. Wilkins himself was quite comfortable with his boots, pants, and a short-sleeve shirt, and he had no idea what in hell this man was doing on his ranch.

  He pulled out a long knife and rested it comfortably on his lap, not attempting to conceal it from the view of the strange guest. He had always been a believer that a show of force could obviate the need for force.

  “Help you with somethin’, friend?”

  “Good afternoon to you, sir. My name is Richard Franklin Simmers.” He extended his hand, but when he noticed no reciprocity he calmly put it back at his side.

  “I’m looking to buy some land, and I came here to see if there’s any chance you would be willing to part with this ranch.”

  “Nope. Can’t say that I am. It’s been in the family for quite a few generations.”

  “Well, I can understand that.”

  Mr. Wilkins would have felt glad upon hearing that, if not for the fact he suspected the conversation wasn’t quite over.

  “Seeing that I’ve come a long way, I don’t suppose I could bother you with one small inquiry . . . .”

  “Shoot,” Mr. Wilkins responded, hoping to communicate that Mr. Richard Franklin Simmers was free to ask but not necessarily entitled to a response.

  “Well, suppose I were to come across another fellow with a ranch about like this one, and supposing he was willing to at least entertain the idea of selling, what do you think would be the lowest I could offer to show I can dicker, yet without offering insult?”

  “I suppose if you were to start at a million falons you wouldn’t insult the man, but you’d have to be ready to work your way up a tick or two.”

  “Well, suppose I were to just go to the other extreme and offer two million falons right there on the spot . . . do you think that would just about seal the deal and show I’m a fool?”

  Mr. Wilkins was starting to sense the hypothetical was about to become actual very soon, but there was something about the man that put him at ease, in spite of his persistence.

  “I suppose that would depend on how deep his roots were.”

  “Fair enough, but in this hypothetical the man is at least willing to entertain the idea of selling,” Mr. Simmers said, with the faintest hint of slyness in his eyes, “so they can’t be that deep.”

  “I would say such a man, without deep roots, would probably take the two million falons before you changed your mind. Now, not meaning to be rude, sir, but I have cattle that need rounded up, so if there’s something you have to inquire about besides business negotiations, please tell me now because I have things to tend to.”

  “Well, I’m offering two million,” Mr. Simmers said.

  With slight irritation in his voice, Mr. Wilkins responded, “Deep roots, sir. Deep.”

  “Four.”

  Now this got Mr. Wilkins’ attention. The fact of the matter was that, deep roots notwithstanding, he was getting on a bit in age. Furthermore, he had all but given up on the idea of any of his seven, good-for-nothing sons ever helping him work this land. He and his brothers had practically bitten each other’s throats vying for the largest share when their dad was on his deathbed preparing his will. All his life he had toiled on this land, and he had had some good years too. He was the last of the Wilkins in these parts, his brothers having already kicked the bucket.

  He used a substantial portion of the money from those good years to send his kids one by one to the best private colleges in the country—always thinking that they would ultimately come back and one way or another use their knowledge to run the ranch even more efficiently and carry on the Wilkins tradition. But most had gone off into business in Selgen or Sivingdel, doing every kind of business on Kasani’s green earth except ranch-based. Hell, he thought at least one of them would come back just out of spite to show the other brothers he was the most loyal to the family tradition.

  Nope! That had been a vain hope. One of his two daughters had gotten married and moved away, and he suspected his nineteen-year-old Susan would be whisked away soon enough by that persistent suitor Frank stopping by the ranch like a bee at a flower. She helped with a few things but couldn’t handle the really heavy stuff. All his real help was hired. Roots may run deep, but the branches and trunk may rot nonetheless. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was beginning to see this man as a bit of a godsend.

  He felt like it had just taken this proposition for him to take the blinders off. Hell, he could sell this hassle of a ranch with the money this guy was offering, buy something much smaller that he could handle by himself, and then when he died it would be too small for his sons to pillage much from.

  “Sir?”

  Mr. Wilkins was surprised to find he must have been quiet for longer than he realized.

  “I’ll tell you what, sir—I’m not the kind of man to start negotiating with clouds in the sky. And until I see that kind of money, or a cashier’s check for that amount, in your hand, for all I’m concerned, you’re offering big, white puffy clouds I’ll never be able to touch. Now, I tell you what, if you come back here before 6 p.m. tomorrow with that amount in cash or with a cashier’s check for that amount, then we can talk further. Until then, I kindly bid you farewell.”

  A smile played at Mr. Simmer’s lips, as he slowly began to open his coat. There, taped inside, one bundle after another of falons was fastened. And before he had a chance to ask himself if what he thought was there was indeed there, Mr. Simmers removed one of the bundles and tossed it to him.

  “There are twenty bundles of $200,000 each. That’s four million in total.”

  Mr. Wilkins found his knife a rather convenient item as he took it from his lap—something that did not escape Mr. Simmer’s attention—and sliced open the bundle. Sure enough, crisp $1,000 falon bills were there. A quick shuffle through them revealed there were no inferior bills hiding amongst rich siblings.

  “Now, I’ll be honest with you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Wilkins,” he said, feeling embarrassed he hadn’t introduced himself even after being given the man’s full name.

  “Mr. Wilkins, I like your ranch. I really do. I guess I’m not the best at dickering, but I know what I want when I see it. And I want your ranch. On the other hand, it’s not exactly the only ranch in the country. Now, if you’re ready to talk serious business, let’s do so. If not, then I’ll kindly have that bundle back, and I’ll be out of your hair. But if I walk ten paces before you say ‘sold,’ then we’ll have to start negotiating from scratch, and I don’t think we’ll make it quite back up to four million again.”

  Mr. Wilkins realized he was outdone. The guy had figured out something was wrong with those precious roots, and furthermore he was still willing to buy the land for at least double what it was worth. He wasn’t sure what made the man so desperate, but he knew one thing—better to take his money before he changed his mind.

  “I’ll need to count every last falon you’ve got with you before you even take a peek at the deed.”

  “Fair enough. I’ve got a condition of my own. I take physical possession in one week. I don’t want to be standing over your shoulder watching you unload. I come back here at the same time in one week, and whatever’s here is mine. Any structure or fixture on the site stays. But you can take all personal property—including cattle,
other livestock, farm equipment, etc.—with you.”

  “Could we take a step inside?” Mr. Wilkins offered.

  Chapter 15

  “I hope you had a good reason for picking that ranch,” Righty told Harold as they soared high above the clouds. “I’ve only got a million left.”

  “The entire area is difficult to access. One windy dirt road over merciless terrain leads to a series of ranches. The one you now own is at the very end of all of those. All of the ranches have mountains to the north, and your ranch is bordered not only by those mountains but also by mountains to the west. Thus, there is no way for any land-based creature to approach your ranch from within Selegania other than by a long, tiresome journey from the east. We’re headed back to The Garden now.”

  Righty looked down and saw huge mountains with cruel, jagged rock faces that would test the valor and skill of the most able-bodied mountaineer and found himself immensely grateful for Harold. In his right pocket was the signed deed granting fee simple absolute title to him, and he had checked the county recorder’s office before heading there and had discovered Christopher Wilkins had free and clear title to the land.