The Storm Maker

by Sid K

  A waitress walked up to Saltvyk but he and his two followers ignored her and brushed her aside. They walked towards the side area that was elevated about half a floor higher and had three closed doors. Saltvyk knew that one of them was the entrance to the elicit gambling den; the other was where the money was counted to be mixed with restaurant cash, and the third door was the office of Fogyett. They climbed up the stairs and walked towards the third door where a big, beefy man frowned at them and slipped his hand inside his suit to his concealed pistol. Saltvyk’s two companions also put their hands inside their suits on their concealed pistols.

  “This is a private area. You can’t come in here?” he said.

  “Duke sends us,” Saltvyk said.

  The man swallowed hard and took his hand out of his suit. He stood back with alarm on his face.

  “You two wait here,” Saltvyk said to his men who stood outside the door and watched Fogyett’s gunman while Saltvyk let himself in.

  “Who the fuck are you?” asked a balding man in his early fifties who sat behind a desk. He slammed his account book shut that recorded the elicit funds from his operations.

  “Duke says hello,” Saltvyk said. He pulled a chair out and sat down with one leg relaxed on his other knee.

  Fogyett’s facial expression changed from annoyance to supplication. He smiled, slightly got up and sat back down again.

  “You are that hitman, S…Sal…” Fogyett stuttered.

  “Saltvyk, that’s my name.”

  “Look I thought the monthly cut I sent to Duke for last month was proper and reasonable,” Fogyett said while opening the top-right drawer of his desk. “But I have ten, twenty-thousand stars more in cash here. You can take it if Duke believes I underpaid him last time.”

  “You got to be joking me,” Saltvyk said. “You think I am some penny-ante debt collector? You think Duke would send me to settle few thousand stars worth of accounts?”

  “I am afraid not,” Fogyett said solemnly.

  “I am here to get something, however it will cost you nothing,” Saltvyk said. “I want information. Talk fast and I will be out of here fast.”

  “Go ahead; what do you want to know?” Fogyett looked happier. He had heard of Saltvyk and Duke sent him to crack the hardest of his enemies. The man was bad news most of the time.

  “A while back you called Duke with an illegal foreign currency conversion deal,” Saltvyk said.

  “All large foreign currency conversion deals over twenty-five thousand stars are illegal without the permission of the Trade Control Board,” Fogyett smiled. “That’s why we are in business to make money out of it.”

  Saltvyk ignored him. “You had someone who was looking for five million stars and willing to pay more of the foreign currency for it than the official exchange rate,” Saltvyk said joining his fingers together. “We want as much information as you have on those fellas.”

  “That deal offer is long expired now,” Fogyett said.

  “Fuck the deal; I want to know who was behind it,” Saltvyk said.

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” Fogyett said. “If the word gets out that I reveal my customers identities I would be out of the business.”

  “You got to be joking me,” Saltvyk said. “You would be out of the business if Duke wants you to. You don’t just owe money to him, but information as well.”

  Fogyett squirmed but did not say anything; he took a quick glance at his still open drawer.

  Saltvyk took out his pistol and placed it on the desk and said, “You have two options, Fogyett: either you can try to reach for that pistol that I know you keep in that drawer and that you opened on the pretense of paying cash, or you can talk, because I am going nowhere without knowing.”

  Fogyett slammed the drawer shut with a loud bang. He did not want to get shot in some misunderstanding. Along with being Duke’s adopted son, Saltvyk was the best pistol marksman in the Starfirian underworld, and one of best pistol shooters in the whole country. Matching pistols with him was to commit suicide. Fogyett raised both of his hands in the air.

  “I did not set out from my home to die,” he said, “so I guess I will have to talk. But you have to promise that you will not tell anyone that I ratted out one of my customers.”

  “You got to be joking if you think Duke will talk.”

  “I guess you are right, my secrets are safe with Duke,” Fogyett said. “So let me start from the beginning. There were these foreign fellas, Ranxians I believe, who somehow heard that I did discreet foreign cash conversion. It’s a nice side business for me. I get a lot of foreign tourists, so I can easily dispose of foreign currency to them and make a commission on it. In that deal, Duke would have made nice ten percent almost instantly. What bank will give you that return?”

  “And how much would you have made? Twenty percent?” Saltvyk laughed. “What would Duke do with so much foreign currency from a country like Ranx?”

  “Well that was my problem as well,” Fogyett said. “I can generally dispose of ten thousand to a hundred thousand worth of it easily amongst my foreign gamblers. I have done more and will go up to a quarter million stars equivalent in foreign currency for a fat commission. There are perhaps three or four individuals in the underworld who can handle currency conversion of up to two million stars. But five million!”

  “So what happened?” Saltvyk asked.

  “There is only one man in the whole country that can handle those large sums,” Fogyett said leaning forward and speaking softly. “Duke knows him. He has done business with him. You do as well.”

  “The Broker?” Saltvyk wondered out aloud. “Gymyett Ryx?”

  “That’s right,” Fogyett sat back and smiled. “That’s who I pointed them to. That’s all I know. You will have to get more from him.”

  Saltvyk thought for a second and then said, “That sounds reasonable.” He picked up his pistol and stood up. “If I find out that you lied, next time I will let my pistol do the talking. And don’t bother to tell the Broker that I am coming or else I will come back here.”

  Fogyett nodded his head and gave a great sigh of relief when Saltvyk left and slammed the door shut behind him. Fogyett’s guard outside was sweating and he was startled when he saw Saltvyk come out with the pistol in his hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Saltvyk said, “I don’t have a silencer. You would have heard a loud bang, if I had decided to off that bastard. But do get him some cold water and yourself, too.”

  Saltvyk’s men laughed as they followed him out of the restaurant where they picked up their fourth companion, walked to their cars and drove away.

  Saltvyk called Duke from the pay phone outside of his hotel lobby and Dayett picked it up.

  “Hey, it’s me. Is father there?” Saltvyk asked.

  “You are not going to believe this, we lost the polo match,” Dayett said, “I ranted at father as soon as I got back home for sending you away.”

  “Well got to take care of the work first,” Saltvyk chuckled. “Next time I will be there and we will beat them.”

  “Well talk to him, he is pacing back and forth in the room,” Dayett handed the phone to Duke.

  “Hey, son, how is it going?” Duke asked.

  “Got some information,” Saltvyk said.

  “Good, Dayett comes home from the polo match and gives me an earful,” Duke laughed. “You were their best player on the polo team. They missed you badly.”

  “He told me,” Saltvyk said. “So listen to what Foggy told me,” and he told him of his encounter with Fogyett and everything he had heard from him.

  “Hmm…” said Duke

  “Do you want me to go after the Broker?” Saltvyk asked.

  “Definitely,” Duke said. “I called up a few contacts about this SPASI detective Sayett; he is the head of an entire division, very powerful man.”

  “No joke?”

  “No joke. If we do a favor to a SPASI big shot like him, we can use it in the future.”

  “Now I hav
e to ask you this,” Saltvyk said, “How far do you want me to go in intimidating the Broker? He is a powerful player in the underworld and you do deals with him.”

  “Well...” Duke thought for a few seconds. “Go a reasonable distance; don’t hurt him, but we do need that information.”

  “Another matter, I will need a few more men,” Saltvyk said. “He has six gunmen guarding him at all times.”

  “Where do you want me to send them?” Duke asked

  “Send them to the safe house we have outside Weststar,” Saltvyk said.

  Duke said, “I will send a dozen men there.”

  Saltvyk hung up the phone and walked back to his hotel room.

  * * *

  A big six-seater car drove up and parked a couple hundred feet from a car garage beside the national road between King Starryvk City and the Korrwyn’s Junction. The car garage was a front for the go-to car fence in this city, Toftar, who wheeled and dealed in stolen cars and parts out of a large covered parking lot behind his repair shop. His shop was located just outside the border of the city to escape the jurisdiction of Korrwyn Junction’s town police and inside a small town whose police didn’t have the personnel and experience to investigate a big car stealing and fencing ring. There was a gas station some distance on the opposite side of the road, but rest of the landscape was empty except for the cars rushing on the national road.

  Six men got out of the car, all dressed in black shirts and black pants—the uniform of the Black Star syndicate. Five of them were carrying repeater rifles, the sixth man had a shotgun on his shoulder and he was the leader of the bunch.

  This was Hermytt Syk, also known as Shotgun Syk, a master shotgunner with tremendous strength in his arms and wrist who wielded his shotgun like other men used their pistols. Shotgun Syk was the most dangerous man in the Starfirian underworld, even bosses of the smaller syndicates feared him and he was the top enforcer for Black Star, right hand man of Mr. Barryvk himself. He was slightly over 6’2’’ with a big, barrel chest, neatly combed hair, sly smile, oblong eyes and a cut lip. A mean and foul tempered man, it was rumored that he had the most ‘kills’ of anyone in the underworld.

  As he got out of the car, he faced his men and said, “Toffy’s garage has three doors, one in the front and one each on the back and the left wall. I chose you for this because all of you have seen Toffy before. Is that right?”

  They all nodded their heads.

  “Two of you take the back door and two the side door,” he continued. “Don’t interfere with his operations, but don’t let Toffy escape. I am going to wait here and give you some time to get positioned. Get going.”

  Four riflemen started for their posts while another stayed behind with Syk. After a few minutes Syk and the remaining rifleman walked towards the front door of Toftar’s car garage. The man standing there slid his hand inside his pant pocket to his pistol on seeing the two armed men walk towards him. But when they got closer and he saw Syk’s face, he almost panicked, turned around and ran inside to tell his boss.

  When Syk and his rifleman entered the garage, that man was standing besides Toftar who was on the phone. Toftar was a lean and lanky man with a carved out face as if it had been starved for a time and a nose poking out front. His hair was oiled and he stood with a slight hunch.

  “Who are you calling Toffy?” Syk asked.

  “Mr. Barryvk,” Toftar said. “Don’t do anything, Shotgun Syk, till I have had a chance to talk to him.”

  Syk walked up to Toftar, and yanked the cord away from his hand with a swing of his shotgun; the phone crashed on the table. The rifleman picked up the phone and slammed it on its set.

  “Mr. Barryvk would be playing with his grandchildren now and wouldn’t like to be disturbed,” Syk said. “I am here to talk about a deal you offered us a while back.”

  “Which one was that?” Toftar was scared, slightly shaking and couldn’t think straight.

  “The deal where you wanted to buy back a large number of stolen cars that you had sold to Black Star some time ago,” Syk said. “What was that all about?”

  “Oh that,” Toftar said composing himself. “Some foreigners wanted to buy a large number of stolen cars with identification plates that couldn’t be traced back to them. And they wanted only cars in good conditions. Even for a big time car fence like me, my car thief network can’t deliver so many in such short time. So I offered to buy them back from your syndicate, at a price that would have given you a profit.”

  “Forget the profit,” Syk said. “Who the fuck were those foreigners? Ranxians or Karxians?”

  “Ranxians,” Toftar said.

  “Tell me about them,” Syk ordered, but Toftar stood there frozen not saying a word.

  Shotgun Syk aimed his shotgun straight at the face of Toftar and then looked around the room. He saw a nice, expensive car parked just to his side.

  “That windshield has some splotches, no doubt you will have to replace it before selling.” Syk turned his shotgun towards the car and blasted the windshield with a shot. Toftar and his men jumped in the place. “I saved you the trouble of taking it out.”

  “Please, Syk, please,” Toftar pleaded.

  “Tell me about those Ranxians who wanted to buy the stolen cars,” Syk said and aimed his shotgun back at Toftar’s face.

  “I can’t tell you much, but I can tell you this,” Toftar said hesitatingly. “I told them that I only take cash, no bank checks and sure no foreign currency like they were offering. Then I pointed them to the Broker from whom they got Starfirian currency to buy some cars that I managed to get for them. Although nowhere near as many they would have liked.”

  “The Broker huh?” Shotgun Syk wondered aloud.

  “He collects information on his clients, especially the bigger ones,” Toftar said.

  “I know that,” Syk said. “Weststar isn’t that far from here. I am going to collect some more gunmen and drive there directly and Toffy you better be telling the truth, because if not then I will come back here and blast each one of your cars with my shotgun.”

  Toftar didn’t say anything but let his head slump down. Syk and his man walked out of the garage and he radioed the rest of his men to meet him back at their car.

  * * *

  Saltvyk was sitting on the front passenger seat of the lead car of a five car caravan. They had just exited the national road leading to Weststar and taken up driving on a smaller, two-lane road that used to be the main road connecting Gold Harbor with Weststar before the newer and bigger four-lane national road was built. Duke Ragfelvyk had sent more gunmen and now they numbered sixteen distributed in threes and fours amongst the five cars. Saltvyk was sitting with a driver who was an experienced, old hand of Duke. A younger man in the back had an illegal ATR automatic rifle. He was the only one in the caravan with an automatic, a risky move since those were unlawful for civilians to possess. But the Broker had gunmen of his own and Saltvyk needed firepower to intimidate him. The great irony that it was the Broker himself who had supplied them with many ATR automatic rifles.

  The Broker, as his name implied, specialized in getting materials and objects. However, he was no ordinary broker; he dealt in unlawful goods. If you wanted something and if you were willing to pay high enough price, the Broker Gymyett Ryx could get it for you. Even the big time underworld syndicates came to him to get goods that they themselves could not procure. The Broker had cultivated connections all throughout the Starfire nation and even internationally; he knew big shots in the underworld, purchase managers in industrial companies, army supply depot administrators, customs officials, international traders and shippers, and assorted collection of individuals across fields that could help him get his hands on interesting and many times unlawful products. The Broker could get large amounts of foreign currencies, automatic rifles, army-grade explosives, poisons, safe cracking and lock breaking machines, gambling machines and the likes. However, it wasn’t just illegal products that he acquired for his high commission
paying clients, it was also items that could be purchased legally but certain clients wanted to avoid transaction records and legal trails. Airplanes, cars, boats, submarines, trucks, if someone was willing to pay cash and a hefty broker’s fee, he would arrange it, no questions asked, smack down the money, pick up the good and be on your way.

  Naturally, if the existence of such a man was known to the SPASI and the Police, they would not have allowed him to continue. SPASI had long heard rumors of the Broker, but never anything definite. The Broker was very clever and had a small ego that allowed him to operate beneath the SPASI and Police detection. He had no organization of his own; he operated all alone, except for the six gunmen that he had hired as the bodyguards. They were paid generously and were in his employment continuously for years, even decades. He kept no inventory. He would tell the seller a remote place to put his goods in and he would tell the buyer another remote place to put the cash in. Even his buyers and sellers rarely knew each other, as to who they were buying from or getting their money from. He only talked to them on the phone, often used public pay phones or changed his phone companies often. His actual name was known to less than a couple dozen people. Most of his clients only talked to him on the phone and had never met him and did not know who he was; only big shots like the bosses of the syndicates had had a chance to meet him face to face.

  For that purpose he operated out of an old warehouse that he had purchased just outside the city limits of Weststar to avoid the Weststar Town Police. Generally the police in larger cities went after big-time players like him, while the small town police would leave it up to SPASI to deal with such underworld characters.

  Ragfelvyk’s adopted son and his gunmen were driving towards this destination. This old road was surrounded by vast steppe with nothing except over grown grass on each side stretching flat in all directions. The Broker’s dilapidated warehouse was visible and stood out as the only structure.