Money ceased to be a problem. Hunley began regularly ripping the Smiths off for a car and gasoline, so the boys were able to buy mattresses, decent furniture, a weight bench, and even a Smith-manufactured oven to cook food. Wodan cleaned up his room, but because it was bare of decoration, Jens referred to it as a “monk’s cell”. Wodan often lay in his bed at night and wondered at Jerry’s motivations. He could understand the younger Coil; they enjoyed lounging around and telling stories, and doing occasional grifting jobs that gave them a sense of toughness. Jerry had far more power than they did, but he had absolutely no freedom. It was like he was driven to make money, more and more with each passing month, in order to fill up some bottomless pit. The stress was killing him – a heart attack would take him sooner than the Ugly could ever hope to – but that emptiness drove him on to expand his grifting operations until the office was a bureaucratic nightmare of data organization. He could only be considered a businessman, much like Wodan’s own father, in the loosest sense of the term. For Papa Kyner, business was a means toward eventual freedom; at least his entrepreneurial spirit allowed him to guide his own actions throughout the day. As for Jerry, Wodan believed that a simple job moving boxes would give Jerry a thousand times more happiness and freedom from stress.
While Wodan was locked in a stressful dance with his Captain and not making any solid headway toward his own goals, Jens and Pete enjoyed their new lives. At night Jens would make detailed character analyses of the various cool or lame aspects of his Coil teammates, and would inevitably sprinkle his tales with a number of lies about gunfights he had engaged in with Lawmen, Ugly, or Smith troublemakers. To hear him tell it, he was the most dangerous man in all of Pontius, and the city officials were no doubt wringing their hands over what to do about the Jens Situation. Pete kept a level head about his prospects, but at least he filled out his suit well. He often wore it at home since he could not wear it in public, and Anne was visibly impressed and often found an excuse to hitch a ride with Hunley and Ullrich when they came to visit. As a secretary, Wodan had not even been issued a gun, so there was no risk of him impressing Anne anytime soon. Pete worked directly under the supervision of a Lieutenant so that he could, one day, lead his own team of grifters. Wodan knew that if he did not do something to change their situation, then Pete would eventually earn a Captain’s jacket and the gangs would only become stronger, not weaker.
One day, perhaps a month into his employment with the Coil, Wodan heard Jerry scream out, “WOOOOO – DAAN!” He cringed, as he always did, and ran toward Jerry’s office while the lounging Soldiers laughed.
“Yessir!” said Wodan.
“Wodan!” Jerry shouted. “Where the hell is the receipt for that money order for the Cognati?!”
Wodan could not think straight because Jerry’s eyes were boring into his skull. “Ah, let’s see… sent it through… yesterday. That means, uh, it’ll go through the banks… today. In the client’s handler’s hands by tomorrow, then, sir!” He then realized that Jerry had only asked about the receipt, not the actual money, so he quickly pointed beneath the Smith purchase orders that he’d already laid on Jerry’s desk, which Jerry normally would have already gone through.
“God’s death, Wodan, that receipt should have gone directly to Captain Pelethor’s office immediately!”
“Before it cleared the bank, sir? That was a lot of money – if the bank stamped it with an inquisition, it could have been stuck there for over a week. A week after we already put our ass on the line by saying it was cleared.”
Jerry’s eyes darted around the office, for he knew that Wodan was correct. It was a fact that Wodan had become indispensable, even though Jerry acted as if Wodan was burning files behind the office and laughing all the while. “Don’t assume something like that!” Jerry shouted, then turned away.
“But, sir,” said Wodan. “What are these Cognati? I saw a file that said they were something like… wizards? I mean, is this some kind of religious organization? I can’t see how they could possibly help with-”
“It’s not your job to make judgment calls!” said Jerry. “They get results, so you just need to make sure they get paid. Whether they walk in here and kill me or shake my hand, it’s all the same to them. Understand?”
“Understood,” said Wodan. He began to turn away, but all the weeks of worrying about making so little headway against his actual enemies, the Ugly, were wearing him down. Approaching Jerry was extremely difficult, but since he was already in his office, and since Jerry was already yelling at him anyway, he decided to press ahead.
“Sir, I was wondering...”
Jerry’s head shot up and his eyes looked wild, as if Wodan had just pulled a gun on him.
“Sir, I was wondering about… well, I heard that the Ugly were weakened after their Crusade. Why haven’t we taken advantage of their weakness and… you know, taken out anyone important yet?”
Jerry stared at him.
“Just curious.”
Jerry pretended to look through a random file, then said, “We can’t get at the Head because of those Hands. And those Hands… you can’t imagine how dangerous they are, Wodan. It’s not like we haven’t tried.”
“What about the leaders of... the Legs, or something?”
“Not our department.”
“So the leaders are well-protected, but how about if we shifted our priorities?” Jerry’s face disappeared into the file, so Wodan spoke to the top of his Captain’s head. “It’s been over a year, but I’ve heard that the Ugly haven’t put an Arm back together yet. It’s only a matter of time before they get enough experienced men together, and when that happens, they’ll be gathering slaves again and making money in a market that we’ve never even tried to get into. They’ll be just as powerful as they ever were. So, why don’t we cut off their supply of new men? Probably every Coil office has a team of Soldiers who sit around most of the day because their grifting operations have become routine. Why not get those Soldiers to start hitting the Ugly Body? Any time they see a bunch of kids with tattoos, they can just start blasting, and it’ll make some kids think twice before they join the Ugly. Well… what do you thi-”
“Wodan, you’re really wasting my time here. You think that the Coil, an ages-old organization led by men of unparalleled intellect who have access to more funds than any other organization in all of Pontius, has the time to chase a bunch of know-nothing punks around the block?”
“The Master Thieves don’t have the time, sure, but the kids in the lounge have-”
“Wodan. Please.”
Crushed, Wodan apologized and left Jerry’s office. He went to the file room and sat on a box, feeling empty inside. Was there simply no way to fight the Ugly? Had he wasted his time and energy by joining the Coil? He thought of Dove Langley and the scars of crucifixion on his hands. Would she have bothered to heal him if she’d known he was going to do nothing more than become a secretary for an evil organization that only stole from poor people?
He made his way back down the hall, creeping quietly so that Jerry wouldn’t hear him and say something that would make him feel even worse. Just as he drew near Jerry’s door, he heard him speaking quietly on the phone.
“… but if we hit them at their base, who’re they going to have to protect them? Just imagine if every kid in the city knows that if gets a scar or a tattoo, he’s liable to get blasted as soon as he leaves the house... I know it’s not my area, that’s why I’m telling you!... Well, what you can do is, if it works out and something sweet comes down to you from on high, then you... yeah, exactly, pass a little onto your good buddy... Yeah!... Yeah!... Really? She lost any weight? On her ass, I mean. No? Good. So, anyway...”
Besides being embarrassed to find out that his boss hated it when others tried to pass on a good plan, and would rather steal it and take the credit for it himself, Wodan was filled with a burst of joy that he had not felt in a long, long time.
I did it, he thought. I finally made a move against t
he Ugly. I actually did something to turn the dragon of Pontius against them, even if only a little!
In a daze, Wodan made his way back to the file room. He was not sure what to think. It had been so long since he’d done anything worthwhile, or done anything that he felt put him back on the path of justice, that he could only smile and shake his head. Needing to burn off some nervous energy, he began arranging the various files into a new system so that anyone could find anything without having to shout at him first.
Maps in one drawer. Current grifting operations filed away from the older, defunct operations, to avoid clutter. Bank statements would have their own wall, to be organized later, if they could be. Finally he man-handled a huge drawer full of the names and addresses of Captains, but then he dropped the thing and had to pick up a slew of files that had scattered on the floor…
Then it hit him. A bolt of lightning from the heavens shot straight through his forehead. He knew. He knew, beyond any doubt, what he had to do.
I know how to destroy the Ugly, he thought.
Chapter Eleven
The Night of Blood
One Hour Until Midnight
Hunley drove them through the outskirts of a wealthy neighborhood lined with squat, leafless trees. Pete sat in the passenger’s seat and stared ahead quietly, holding his Coil-issued handgun and smoking one cigarette after another. Wodan sat between Jens and Ullrich, “riding bitch” as Jens had called it, but Jens’s payment for the remark was that Wodan accidentally ashed in his lap over and over as he leaned toward the window while smoking. Jens gripped his Coil handgun tightly so that his hands would not shake, and Ullrich cradled a Smith shotgun that he’d taken from his pizza place after closing time. Wodan was armed only with the brightly-colored knife of the Engels, which he twirled slowly with one hand.
Wodan broke the silence. “We’re almost there. There’s still time to turn back.”
“I knew it, man,” said Jens. “I just knew you’d try to get out of this!”
“We’re all thinking it, Jens.”
“I’m thinking about backing out,” Pete said firmly.
“I’m the only real man in this car,” said Jens. “In the whole city, maybe. You guys really are somethin’. I swear.”
Wodan ignored Jens and stared into the darkness and the impressive brick buildings sliding past on either side. He knew they would not turn back. There was no turning back. Tonight was the night when he would transform a group of drunken children into a force of justice. He cast his thoughts back to how it all began…
* * *
The five boys sat on the roof at Floyd and took turns looking at Ullrich’s face, drinking in a rage and throwing the bottles down into the street below.
“Those Ugly!” Jens screamed. “I’ll kill ’em. You hear me? Where’s Wodi’s crazy list of all the Ugly leaders? I’ll… I’ll hunt ’em all down!” He lashed out at a rusted air conditioning unit with a wild kick.
Pete chain-smoked and took quick glances at Ullrich’s face. “The Coil are starting to hit the Ugly harder at their base,” said Pete, “taking out the younger ones they find wandering around. I’ve heard that a lot of our lower-echelon spies have had to pull out to avoid getting hit by our Soldiers. And since the Ugly can’t find any of our guys, I guess they’re just turning on whoever they can find.”
Wodan grasped an electric light and knelt near Ullrich’s face. It was purple and swollen, a grotesque patchwork with one eye nearly sealed shut. Ullrich smiled weakly and showed several black gaps. “I’m just glad to be alive,” he said. “I thought those Ugly that came into the pizza place were going to kill everyone.” He shook his head, then added, “My boss is going to pay overtime to anyone who wants to come in and help with the cleanup. Of course... I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the scratch you guys are making these days.”
“I don’t feel like drinking,” said Hunley, rising. “Ullrich, you want to come by my place and check out a reel?”
“Sure,” said Ullrich. “We’re closed tomorrow, and we’re not getting together until noon to start the cleanup.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Wodan.
“You have to work in the morning, don’t you?”
“I’ll just lose a little sleep,” said Wodan, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be fine.”
Wodan rode with Ullrich to Hunley’s place, trying to stifle his worries and wondering how to say what must be said.
Hunley lived with his master, an aged Smith Zealot in charge of Hunley’s training. The man may have been a great Scribe in his day – that is, one who copies ancient blueprints and manufactures devices – but he should have retired years ago. These days he wandered around the darkened hallways of his home muttering prayers over broken refrigerators and ovens. Wodan once saw the old man wandering up to him, staring at him with pale eyes; Wodan tried to be polite, but the Smith only mistook him for a long-dead student and rambled on about some matter that had been resolved decades ago. Hunley mostly stayed in the basement in order to avoid the old man, and advised his friends to do the same.
Hunley’s basement room was cluttered with machines and maintenance equipment. Wodan and Ullrich sat on pillows wherever they could and waited for Hunley to queue up a meticulously well-kept film reel that showed the story of two men fighting against a horde of undead automatons. One was a hero, while the other connived his way through every situation. Even the amazing colors and intense action could not distract Wodan from the idea that he was becoming more like the second man than the first.
When the movie ended, Ullrich said, “I’m officially tired as balls. I’m gonna get out of here.”
“Wait, Ullrich,” said Wodan. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Ullrich crossed his arms over his knees and stared with his one good eye. “Those Ugly that came in and trashed your place, and beat you up… I think it’s my fault.”
Hunley stopped spinning the reels and they sat in silence. Wodan plowed ahead. “The other day, I gave my Captain this idea that the Coil should start attacking the Ugly from the bottom… you know, hit the thugs that roam the streets since they can’t get at the guys who lead. I thought it might be a way to slow down their recruitment, so they can’t rebuild what they’ve lost. The Ugly probably know your business is a part of the Coil protection racket. Since the Ugly have no idea how to get to the Coil Captains, that’s probably why they’re hitting businesses like yours – it’s the only way they have to get back at the Coil. I know for a fact that my Captain passed my idea on to other Coil Captains. I… I’m sorry, Ullrich.”
Ullrich thought for a moment, then said, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Wodan. I know lots of guys, lots of small business owners, who pay protection money to the Coil. I know a few of them who had their places burned down when they refused to pay. And you know what those dumbasses always say? ‘If only I’d paid them off.’ They never… Wodan, they never say, ‘If only the Coil hadn’t been greedy, sadistic bastards who burned down my business.’ And I never understood that. Why do decent people always blame themselves? This is Pontius. There are plenty of scumbags to blame.” Ullrich’s good eye was a small, hard diamond. “Don’t ever say anything like that again, Wodan.”
Wodan felt as if he’d been dipped into a cool, cleansing pool of water.
“Damn, Wodi,” said Hunley. “So you’re really serious about this whole taking out the Ugly business, huh? I kind of figured you and the other guys would just get used to pullin’ down those big paychecks and not do anything to rock the boat.”
“Pontius has gotten used to being a sinking ship,” said Wodan. “Humanity can’t live that way. It can survive, maybe – but not live.”
“So what comes next?” said Ullrich. “It would have been nice if you’d given me a heads-up last time. We could have maybe beefed up our security, you know? When the Ugly came in, the only thing my boss could do was hide our rusted-out shotgun so I wouldn’t end up getting killed. But if we’d all been armed, then, w
ell… you know what I mean?”
Wodan laughed, then said, “I do have a plan, and I was hoping you guys might help. The thing is, I have access to files on lots of Coil Captains. Arrest records, the kind of money they make, and… their home addresses.”
“They trust a new guy with information like that?” said Ullrich.
Wodan ignored the question, then said, “I was thinking we could kill some of those guys and make it look like the Ugly were responsible. The Coil use secrecy as their front line of defense. If they lost that secrecy, it would be like riling up a hornets’ nest. They would push the Ugly. Push them hard.”
“I just don’t understand why they would take in a kid off the street and immediately trust him with what amounts to their Achilles Heel. Are you sure the information is any good?”
“It’s good, alright,” said Wodan. “I’ve thought about this, believe me. The information was so good, yet so easy to find, that it took me a while to realize just how important it is. Look at it like this. If the Coil were a new group made by a few dedicated people hungry to make a name for themselves, they would be more careful about getting stepped on by powerful opponents. Instead, they’re hundreds of years old and they’re used to making large amounts of money with little effort. Because they’re arranged like a bureaucracy, the people at the top don’t handle anything personally. They talk to assistants who lean on the guys further down the line, who lean on guys even further down the line, until eventually the shit rolls downhill and gets to a guy like me, who has to handle a lot of stuff that the higher-ups don’t have the patience to deal with. And that’s not just on the financial side, either… there are certain Captains who are feared, but most of those guys haven’t touched a gun in years because they have kids who’ll do their killing for them. Now, these records were out where any secretary could find them, and it seems obvious that a low-ranking peon like me, who was out to make a quick buck, could just sell them for profit. That might work once or twice, but who would I go to? If I went to a Smith or a Lawman or an Ugly to sell the information, eventually one of those guys is going to get the bright idea to sell the fact that he knows the Coil has a mole in its ranks; he’d make a little money as a finder’s fee, then I’d get killed. That’s probably happened in the past; that’s how the gangs use their reputation to protect themselves, and they don’t have to worry about paying a guy to hold a gun and protect every single file we keep on hand.
Demonworld Book 3: The Floyd Street Massacre Page 11
