After numerous failed attempts, Tim eventually found a way to reinforce the inner fabric with leather without it being perceptible in the slightest when the coat was worn, and on the inside he installed numerous secret compartments that allowed Righty to carry up to fifty pounds.
Still not satisfied, Righty had Tim repeat the process with a pair of pants. After repeated experiments, Tim was able to create a thirty-pound carrying capacity.
Tim and the original ranchers were disciplined and dependable and usually kept around ten different coats and pairs of pants stocked and ready for Righty with a total eighty-pound load. But from there, things became rather tedious.
Still uncomfortable sharing with anyone the secret of Harold’s existence, he had to hike off towards anything remotely approaching seclusion to be picked up by Harold. Sometimes, the grove of trees between the house and the ranchers’ space provided him sufficient cover for him to feel confident calling Harold, but on days with little cloud cover he often was forced to do a half-hour hike up into the forest before asking Harold to pick him up.
Then, there was the issue of Sivingdel itself. Long gone were the days when he could be dropped off near the desolate edges of the junkyard. Tats now owned three palatial mansions inside of some of the most opulent areas of Sivingdel, and while the neighborhoods were calm and quiet, dropping out of the sky mounted on a bird that made an eagle look like a cardinal would probably raise some eyebrows, not excluding those of Tats, who would notice if the bird suddenly landed in his backyard.
Because of this, Righty had to be dropped off at the most isolated locations of Sivingdel within walking distance of an area where he might procure the services of a stagecoach. He had experimented with multiple locations on the edges of the city and found that on average he had to walk for about an hour before finding a coach, after which he then spent around thirty minutes getting to Tats’ house. On one occasion, he had Harold set him down inside a small forested area of the city’s centrally located park, but when he emerged from the trees dressed like a gentleman with mud all over his shoes this had prompted some curious stares from a couple of patrol officers, and he decided once was enough for that experiment.
Thus, each trip to Sivingdel was taking about three hours when he kept it strictly to business, and he was usually doing two trips per day. He was making approximately $1.5 million falons per day from these trips. On some occasions, he would stay and practice sword fighting and hand-to-hand combat with Tats, who had installed an exquisite gymnasium in each of his mansions. Righty saw this as a valuable investment because Tats was his top-ranking agent in Sivingdel, and the last thing Righty wanted was to lose one of the very few men he trusted due to a robbery, kidnapping, or assassination.
Tats had been making progress both with the sword and with hand-to-hand combat that rivalled Righty’s own. Long gone was the skinny frame that had once filled the inside of Tats’ loose-fitting clothing. His forearms bulged with muscles so well-developed that a professor of anatomy could have used them to instruct his class without needing to skin the arm of a cadaver. He told Righty that he put in five hours of practice every day with the sword and two hours of boxing and grappling training on a variety of sandbags and wooden dummies that he had, and Righty saw every scintilla of proof of Tats’ claims in his meteoric rate of learning.
Just a couple months ago, Righty had surprised him with a superbly crafted sword from Pitkins. Righty had communicated Tats’ height and weight to Pitkins, and Pitkins, although he preferred to meet his customer face to face, prepared the sword accordingly. The gift of this sword had appeared to intensify still further the nearly unsurpassable zeal with which Tats already trained.
Righty had less logistical trouble with Rucifus. He met with her once per month, at which time they pored over a map and came up with an excruciatingly detailed agreement of exchanges that would take place in the forest east of Sodorf City. Harold would fly him deep into the woods to the agreed-upon location. Righty would dismount and pick up the money. And then he would leave the agreed-upon product amount behind. He had no need to stuff his coat and pants with Smokeless Green for these drops. Harold carried two hundred pounds in his talons as easily as a man might carry a kitten. One of Rucifus’s agents would always be scheduled to pick it up within an hour or two.
Rucifus had been a bit reluctant to always leaving the money there first when they had initially discussed this plan, so Righty had told her, “Fine, I won’t accept any money from you today,” and then he handed her the shipment he had brought. Then, he said, “From now on, every payment will be for the last shipment you received. That way, I’m taking the risk.”
That had broken Rucifus’s stubbornness immediately, and the only purpose of their monthly meetings was to make adjustments to the amount of product Righty was leaving behind, which Rucifus was constantly requesting to be increased, and Righty happily obliged her. Due to the large amounts he was providing her each week, and due to the increasing currency strength of the velur, Righty was earning about $30,000,000 falons each week.
Thus, in spite of having bought up an area of land so large that few private citizens, if any, in the history of Selegania could match it, Righty constantly found himself burying barrel after barrel packed tightly with millions of falons in the hills surrounding his house.
As for the structure of his enormous estate, he decided to divide it into a series of zones. The eastern seventy percent of his land was devoted exclusively to the wholly legal activities of farming and cattle-raising. No one in this area had any knowledge of his illicit activities.
The most western five percent of his land was currently being used for the cultivation and processing of Smokeless Green. Beyond that, he kept about ten percent of his land completely off limits to anyone. He wanted this land unwatched for his own privacy and also to keep space available for the expansion of Smokeless Green cultivation.
But between these two extremes was a middle ground, constituting about fifteen percent of his land, that he used as a training ground. He and his original thirty ranchers set up a series of targets for archery practice, areas for sword practice, and a large variety of exercise equipment. Weights, climbing walls, climbing ropes, and other similar things were used here, and Righty usually spent at least two hours every evening with his men engaged in such martial pursuits.
Word spread throughout the ranch of these activities, and for the young men seeking to prove themselves—which was a large percentage of Righty’s overall work force—participation in these martial exercises came to be seen as a most-coveted privilege.
Once per week, Righty would have Tim select thirty men to demonstrate themselves in a variety of contests, such as boxing, grappling, archery, and dexterity with the sword. Of these, he usually bestowed upon the best five the privilege—and the subsequent obligation—of regular participation in martial exercises. He referred to these men as the Ranch Guard.
Little by little over the last several months, the numbers had added, until he now had around 130 men in the Ranch Guard. He was purchasing new swords from Pitkins on a regular basis, although this had required a little arm-twisting. Pitkins’ strong preference for crafting swords that were equal in beauty and lethality made for a slow turnaround time, but Righty had explained convincingly the constant threat he faced on his ranch from bandits and ultimately persuaded Pitkins to begin crafting swords in bulk that, while just as deadly as his normal product, could not have moonlighted as pieces of art.
Righty enjoyed his time with the men, and he enjoyed the flood of money; but he was beginning to have a crisis of conscience and of purpose. He was growing extremely weary of the constant trips to Sivingdel that robbed him of so much of his time. He was growing equally weary of hiding barrels of cash in the mountains each week, wondering if the money would rot or be stolen before he ever found a use for it. Sometimes, he grew weary even of his martial exercises, as he realized his only motivation therefor was to protect this secret lifestyle th
at, by virtue of its secret and illicit nature, he was seemingly forbidden to enjoy.
A man with a mere fraction of your wealth might enjoy it a hundred times more, he thought. He began to see each barrel of cash he buried as representative of another fruitless task. If money could not be enjoyed, was it still money?
Janie was now expected to give birth within weeks. Would he ever tell her the truth? Would he ever tell his child the truth? Would his child be safe?
Their relationship was not in the dumps right now, but it was tense. He missed many an evening at home, and he sometimes sensed she approached and hugged him only to see if she smelled alcohol or perfume because often after her embraces she disengaged and spent much of the evening in sullen discontent.
He suspected she had probably stopped by the store on several occasions, and after not finding him there on a single one realized he was up to something. He wanted to buy her fancy things, most of all a palatial mansion, but that would raise questions.
He now earned more money in a single week than he ever would have in an entire year had he become the undisputed bare-knuckle boxing champion of Selegania—rather than the savage pariah banned from the ring for life—and yet he still lived like a lumberman. He was beginning to feel that, while his secretive prudence had once been more than justified, there was no point continuing another day in this illicit business if he was going to continue living like a pauper while burying millions in the ground.
It was this general sentiment that had prompted him to cross the barrier he was now traversing, something that before would have been unthinkable.
It was a dark, but not impenetrable, night, and he could see a lone figure seated on a bench abutting the backside of the palatial mansion below.
Harold’s talons touched the ground. Righty slid off.
“Hi, Tats,” Righty said, feeling a bit bashful.
Tats’ eyes looked like saucers.
Chapter 30
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Righty asked.
Tats was still quiet.
Slowly, he stood, but his eyes were not on Righty but rather the colossal bird sitting calmly behind him like a dutiful German Shepherd.
Large brick walls surrounded the spacious backyard, and trees provided a further perimeter of protection, keeping the scene hidden from the nosiest neighbor. Guard dogs patrolled the edges of the yard, but per Righty’s prior request Tats had enclosed them tonight. He didn’t want them putting on a raucous concerts of growls and howls.
“Don’t be afraid, Tats,” Righty said finally, after an awkward silence. “He’s the reason you’re not sitting inside of a prison right now.”
Tats had many times considered the possibility that a bird had flown him out of the alley that night, but stubborn disbelief had forced him to theorize that perhaps he had fainted and been carried to the junkyard by Righty and that he had merely imagined the police closing in on him in the alleyway.
Righty had been faithful in continually providing large sums of money that corresponded to the promised ten percent commission he had promised Tats for arranging the business relationship with his sister, and this had again made him wonder if Mr. Brass had special means of transportation, but he had convinced himself that surely Mr. Brass was using someone else to send the Smokeless Green to Sodorf City.
But now he had the undeniable explanation in front of him, and he was almost as terrified that he had gone insane as he was in fear of imminent physical danger.
“Relax, Tats,” Righty said a bit more forcefully and stroked Harold’s neck at the same time.
“I found him when he was just a chick. He had a broken wing and was about the size of a cat, but I fed him and nursed him to health, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. He would never hurt a friend of mine. Never.”
Tats still looked uneasy.
“Come here, Tats,” Righty said a bit forcefully.
Tats walked forward very slowly until he reached Righty.
“Stick out your hand and touch him,” he commanded.
Tats’ heart was galloping a mile per minute, but he extended his trembling arm and slowly moved it towards Harold’s feathery neck.
Righty was tempted to grab it and speed up the process, but he patiently waited. The last couple of inches seemed to take Tats a minute to traverse, but Righty supposed his trepidation was warranted. He himself had once quivered inwardly before Harold, and he had probably only dared trust him because his fear was diverted by his shock that Harold could speak.
Finally, Tats’ hand made contact, and he gave a couple strokes to Harold’s neck. Harold remained calm and even let out a barely perceptible purring sound.
Righty could sense Tats’ lowering anxiety.
“His name is Harold. You’re the first person I’ve ever introduced him to.”
Tats turned around and looked closely at Mr. Brass, wondering if this could possibly be true. His face suggested it was.
“I told you that I would explain the means of your escape from the alleyway if I ever thought it necessary to this organization. Do you remember?”
Tats nodded.
“You’ve proven yourself, Tats. You’re loyal. You’re smart. You gave me a superb international business contact. And you’re becoming more and more skilled every day as a warrior. I hope for peace, but let’s not fool ourselves. You’ve seized over ninety percent of the market share in Sivingdel. This town is virtually yours. Do—”
“It’s yours, Mr. Brass. I know who I answer to.”
“Thanks, Tats. But at a minimum you’re the prince regent for a sovereign who merely visits. You live here. You grew up here. You have a special relationship to this city I could probably never have.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brass. Honestly. But you drastically underestimate yourself. And I say this without flattery. The name ‘Mr. Brass’ is echoed throughout the four corners of the underworld in this city in deferential whispers. If I haven’t been attacked or murdered yet, it’s in large part—if not wholly—due to the fact people know I work for you. People know me here, yes. But they admire you.”
Righty was genuinely stunned. It had been a long time since his pugilistic encounter with Heavy Sam, and he felt certain that this and his prior scrapes would quickly fade away as being of little importance. But Tats was no flatterer, and Righty was taken aback by the words he had just heard.
“Those are kind words, Tats. But even if they’re true, there are other things to consider, and it is precisely because of having considered those things very carefully I have chosen to reveal Harold to you, something I thought I would never do.”
Tats looked nervously at Harold, then said, “What things, Mr. Brass?”
“Do you really think this peace can last forever?”
Tats was silent.
“Maybe it can, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Righty said. “Whether it’s from the local police, national police, rival gangs, or even the military, one day we’ll face a major conflict. I trust you more than anyone else, Tats, and I know my survival will depend on the complete loyalty of those around me. I chose to make Harold known to you before anyone else so that you would understand exactly where I see you in this organization.”
“I’m honored, Mr. Brass,” Tats said, practically in a whisper.
“There was a time, Tats, when my biggest fear was Smokeless Green becoming legalized before I became rich. That’s because I saw the former as an inevitability and the latter as a near impossibility. Now I’m rich, and it appears Smokeless Green will be forever illegal. It makes me feel a little trapped in this lifestyle,” Righty said laughing. “You know nothing about me, Tats, but I’ll tell it to you quickly because there isn’t that much to tell.
“I’m an ex-boxer, not a career criminal. I nearly won the national championship many years ago but lost due to a wrist injury and then was banned for life because I inadvertently injured the ref. I slaved away for years in a lumberyard as a worthless alcoholic living in the past until an ambition
I didn’t understand, and still don’t understand, plucked me out of that job and caused me to take my chances in the underworld.
“You live ten times better than I do because you’re a career criminal and unmarried. You have to lie to no one other than the police, whom you simply must avoid. I live a double life vis-à-vis my wife, who thinks I’m a small-time grocer. I bury money because I don’t know what to do with it. My wife’s going to give birth soon.”
Righty realized he was beginning to sound like a whiny, scared old woman, so he realized it was time to stop spilling his guts about his weaknesses and explain—in a way that would make him appear strong—why he was telling his subordinate all these things.
Tats also looked like he was ready for a change in tone from the man he admired more than anyone he had ever met in his life.
“But I wasn’t born to be a man who lives in the cowardly shadows, Tats. Just as I one day left the lumberyard without any assurance I would find a different job, much less a better job, I have grown weary of my pusillanimous existence,” Righty said calmly.
The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four Page 74
