by E. C. Myers
“You’re turning yourself in and you brought us a present?” Dunn opened the bag before Looney could stop him.
“What’s wrong with you, Dan?” Looney said. “That could have exploded or something.”
“With me in the car?” Roman tsked and shook his head. “Just a peace offering.”
“Donuts!” Dunn said excitedly.
“Don’t—”
Dunn bit into a donut and started chewing. Red jelly dribbled down his chin.
“Eat that,” Looney finished. “He probably poisoned them.”
“You’re a very suspicious man. You should be a detective,” Roman said.
“Don’t get him started,” Dunn said, his mouth full.
Looney took out a powdered donut and sniffed it. He gently squeezed it and then rubbed some of the powdered sugar between his fingers and thumb. “These are fresh.”
“Nothing gets past you,” Roman said.
Looney looked at the bag, which was marked with the logo Dough to Go. He peered out the windshield at the DOUGH TO GO shop just across the street.
“I picked them up just this morning,” Roman said.
“How’d you do that? We’ve been staking out your place since last night,” Looney said.
“It was disappointingly easy,” Roman said.
He had noticed the car from his window before he went to bed, and it was still there in the morning when he woke up. But he certainly wasn’t going to confront the boys in blue before he had his morning cup of coffee.
And he’d thought it would be nice to remind them that he was always one step ahead of them. Of course other than the beautiful view in his apartment, Roman had chosen his building because it offered many different exits, some less obvious than others. For some reason the many people who could afford to live there were also the kind of people who wanted to come and go unnoticed.
Looney scowled. “Then why turn yourself in?”
“I’ve realized the error of my ways and want to give up my life of crime, et cetera et cetera.” Roman laughed. “Kidding, of course. I just figured we would cut to the chase. Actually, skip the chase entirely.”
“And you aren’t going to resist?” Dunn said. “Matte, don’t eat all those. You didn’t even want them.” He grabbed the donut bag from his partner. “Aw, you ate my favorite kind.”
“Look, we have the same goal here. You want to get the praise for bringing me in. And I want to talk to your boss.” Roman winked.
“All right. If you say so …” Dunn started the car.
The car drove several blocks over to the police station—then past it, picking up speed. Roman smiled to himself. Just as he’d thought. These guys either weren’t real cops or they were accepting pay from someone else. Whatever their job, they were terrible at it. Roman would never want someone like them working for him. This was why he didn’t want anyone working for him—good help was hard to find.
They kept driving north, into the commercial district, the beating heart of the city. Roman sat back and pulled out a cigar.
Looney looked at him in the rearview mirror. “No smoking.”
Torchwick lit the cigar with a grin. “Arrest me.”
“I have asthma,” Looney grumbled, and lowered his window.
Roman puffed on his cigar and blew a stream of smoke toward the front of the vehicle. Both of them coughed. Roman chuckled and enjoyed the ride.
After ten minutes, the car parked behind a cozy restaurant named Just Right.
“End of the line,” Dunn said. The two men exited and Looney opened Roman’s door for him. “Come with us.”
“I didn’t know this was a date. I should have brought flowers instead of donuts.” Roman checked the time on his pocket watch. “Little early for dinner, though. I haven’t got an appetite yet.”
“Get in there.” Looney shoved Roman toward the door. Roman shot him a dirty look. “Sorry,” Dunn said.
“ ‘Sorry’? Stop treating him like a guest. He’s a prisoner, remember? And if the boss doesn’t want him, we’ll turn him in for the reward,” Looney said.
“Reward, huh? How much is it? Maybe I’ll turn myself in. Again,” Roman said.
Roman stepped through the back entrance of the restaurant and found himself in a kitchen. It was nearly empty except for a man wearing an apron and chef hat, holding a butcher knife. He was taller than Roman, wiry, and strong looking.
“Carnation, take his weapon,” Looney said.
Roman held up his cane. “This thing? It’s just for walking.”
“We saw the video of the robbery.”
Roman hesitated, but then he handed Melodic Cudgel over. Carnation put it in a drawer below the counter and locked it. Then he jerked his head toward the double doors leading into the dining room. He slowly sharpened his blade and followed Roman with his eyes as he walked by.
The dining room was mostly dark, since it wasn’t open for business this early in the morning. The gaudy decor with fancy crystal chandeliers, gold trim, and mirrors everywhere suggested this was a place that you needed reservations for, probably at least a year in advance. The tables had white tablecloths and elaborate glass centerpieces, already set with silverware. It was clear where Roman was meant to go: One table was lit in the center of the room, with a heavyset man in an expensive suit waiting at a table for two.
The cops nudged Roman over.
“Roman Torchwick.” The man’s voice rumbled. He had shoulder-length black hair streaked with gray and a scruffy beard that almost hid his double chin and ruddy complexion. He had triangular eyes, the color of stormy clouds. But most notably, the top of his left ear was missing. It had healed in a ragged line, suggesting that it had been bitten off, rather than sliced or shot.
Roman bowed. “And you must be Hei Xiong.”
Xiong looked disapprovingly at the two cops.
“We didn’t tell him anything, sir,” Dunn said.
“You’re new here, but you already know my name?”
Roman sat down across from him and kicked his feet up on the table.
“Of course I recognize you. You’re the head of the Xiong crime family. I was hoping to meet you. I figured my stunt yesterday would get the attention of the biggest crime boss in Vale.”
“That it did.” Xiong slapped Roman’s feet off the table. The gesture was careless, but he packed a lot of strength in that meaty hand of his. Roman lurched up and sat straight in his seat.
“Show some respect,” Looney said.
Xiong held up a hand. “I’ve dealt with people like you before, Torchwick. You like to put on a big act, pretend like you know everything, have it all worked out. But you’re just making it up as you go along, going through life scared someone will figure it out.”
Roman forced himself to keep smiling. “That’s fascinating. Do you charge by the hour for this service? Because if we’re going to keep talking like this I’ll need to rob another bank.”
Xiong laughed once, a loud barking sound that grated on Roman’s ears. “We have a funny guy here. Some kind of clown.”
He held up a hand and gestured toward the kitchen. Roman avoided turning around as the doors opened and solid footsteps approached, but he was ready for anything. His hands tightened into fists.
The chef stepped up to the table and dropped two heavy bowls in front of them. Roman looked distastefully at the gray slop in his bowl.
“Oatmeal. The best way to start the day. I’ve had oatmeal for breakfast for over thirty years.” Xiong picked up a heaping spoonful of it and shoveled it into his mouth. A glob of it rolled down his beard. Roman tried to stir the muck in his bowl, but it was like trying to mix setting cement.
The chef eyed him and shifted his grip on the butcher knife in his right hand.
Roman tasted a small spoonful of the oatmeal. It tasted like mud. He swallowed it and smiled. “Delicious. Hearty.”
“I brought you here to ask your intentions in Vale. What are you doing on my turf?”
“It i
sn’t just your turf anymore.” Roman sniffed. “I’m taking over.”
“How? Robbing banks? You’ll never get away with another job like that. You got lucky, Torchwick. They didn’t see you coming, and then those buffoons got in the way and made an even bigger mess than you did.
“You can’t just waltz in here and start breaking the law. There’s a protocol. We do things a certain way. I don’t know what it’s like wherever you come from— Where’d you come from, anyway?”
“Mistral,” Roman said.
Xiong tossed down his spoon. “That explains it! I think you’ll find that we’re a little more refined here. We aren’t just crime bosses—we’re businessmen. I already have an arrangement with the banks. You rob them, and you rob me.”
Xiong took another bite of food and chewed it slowly. He swallowed and pointed his drippy spoon at Roman, jabbing it toward him to punctuate each word: “No. One. Robs. Me.”
Roman put down his spoon. “I consider myself a businessman, too.”
Xiong shook his head. “You aren’t getting it. Your business is my business now. If you want to stay in Vale, you work for me.”
Roman considered the crime boss across from him. He wasn’t too impressed. He’d expected someone on the level of Lil’ Miss Malachite, but Xiong wasn’t anywhere in the same league with her. He was just a guy who relied on his reputation to do all the work for him.
Roman leaned back in his seat. “Here’s my counteroffer. How about you work for me from now on?”
Xiong laughed again. “You got some spine, Torchwick. I’ll give you that. So that’s how it’s gotta be between us?”
“’Fraid so.”
“You should be afraid. Fear is a powerful survival mechanism. It lets us know when we’re in danger, in a situation we aren’t equipped to handle. Without fear, you sometimes have to learn your lessons the hard way.”
Xiong turned his spoon slowly. In the shiny silver surface, Roman saw Dunn and Looney reaching for him. Roman slipped under the table before they could grab him, then stood up, lifting it onto his back and flipping it toward them. They dove to either side out of the way.
The next thing Roman knew, Xiong had grabbed him in a tight bear hug. He squirmed, but he couldn’t break free. The intense pressure on his chest made it harder for him to breathe.
“Take him,” Xiong said. The cops advanced toward him. Then Looney opened his mouth.
“Mr. Xiong, I don’t feel so—” His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.
“What happened to him?” Xiong asked.
“The donuts,” Dunn said. “You did poison them.”
“Of course I did,” Roman said.
Dunn collapsed onto his partner.
“Are they dead?” Xiong asked.
“Just sleeping for a few hours. They’ll wake up with a headache. Unless I mixed up the powders again. I really should label them.”
“Carnation, you’re up.” Xiong shoved Roman away. He staggered and caught himself on one knee, trying to catch his breath. His arms and chest ached.
The chef slashed at him with his big knife. Roman dove and rolled out of the way. As he came up, he swept his leg out and the chef went down, still holding on to his knife.
Roman popped back up and walked around the chef. The man brandished his blade. He lunged at Roman several times. Roman jumped back as the knife cut across his chest. His Aura protected him from a deadly cut, but his shirt and jacket didn’t fare so well.
“I’ll send you the dry cleaning bill.” Roman peeled off his shredded jacket. “Better yet, I’ll rob the dry cleaners.”
Roman twisted up his jacket and swung it toward Carnation. The chef swiped at him, and Roman managed to get the blade caught in his jacket. He tore it away from the man. It flew across the room and disappeared behind a table.
Roman threw his jacket aside. “That’s better. Now we’ll settle this with our fists.”
He rolled up his left sleeve, then his right. He began hopping around Carnation and was just about to throw a right hook when Xiong shouted, “Stop!”
Roman froze. He and Carnation exchanged a confused glance and turned to look at Xiong.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were sent here by Lil’ Miss Malachite?” Xiong said.
Roman raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“She’s reneging on the deal, is that it? Trying to horn in on my territory? We had an agreement. We operate only in our own Kingdoms. There’s plenty to go around that way. And now this—” He gestured at Roman. “One of her little spiders crawls into my house.”
“I don’t work for Lil’ Miss,” Roman said, his voice hard.
Xiong grabbed his right wrist and held on tight. Roman pulled but he couldn’t break free of his viselike grip.
“This says otherwise.” Xiong pointed out the small spider tattoo on Roman’s forearm.
“I used to work for Lil’ Miss,” Roman said. “But I decided it was time to start my own criminal empire.”
“That’s nonsense. Isn’t that nonsense, Carnation?”
“Spiders are for life, sir,” Carnation said.
“Meaning you’re lying and you work for her, or”—Xiong lifted Roman up by his wrist—“you ran away. In which case, Lil’ Miss is probably looking for you.”
“There’s a third option,” Roman said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re a moron.” Roman grabbed on to Xiong’s arm with his free hand and pulled himself up to kick the man in the face. Xiong bellowed, but he didn’t drop Roman.
“You little punk!” He held Roman up to his eye level. Roman’s wrist was starting to hurt and he couldn’t feel his hand anymore. But he was happy to see his heel had left a red imprint on Xiong’s thick forehead.
“When you see Malachite, give her a message. I know she’s been running operations here in Vale, expanding her web throughout Remnant. A museum here, a shipping company there, that’s fine. I can look the other way. But make no mistake: This city is mine. I ran out the other syndicates, and I’m the only game in town. Hear me? If she’s planning another stunt like your performance yesterday—if she starts interfering in my business, there’ll be a reckoning.
“We don’t need that kind of attention, am I right? And in one day, you’ve got criminals on the Huntsmen’s radar, you’ve got the cops all riled up. That’s not good. And I don’t think she wants to go to war with me on top of all the other crime bosses in Mistral. That’s just going to make it harder on all of us.”
He dropped Roman. Roman managed to catch his balance before falling and shook his right hand to get feeling back in it.
“If she wants to negotiate a new deal and give me a bigger cut, let’s talk about it like civilized people, face-to-face.” Xiong squished Roman’s cheeks with one giant hand and shook his head from side to side. “I hope you enjoyed your visit to Vale. Now get outta here.”
Carnation escorted him out of the restaurant, back the way he’d come. On the way he handed Roman his weapon.
“You like working for Xiong?” Roman asked him.
“It’s better than not working for him,” Carnation said. “If you enjoy breathing.”
Roman stepped out into the parking lot and the door slammed behind him. He sat on the step, lit a cigar, then massaged his sore wrist. It still showed a red impression of Xiong’s hand. Roman rubbed at the spider tattoo.
He didn’t work for Lil’ Miss anymore, and he would never work for Xiong. But it seemed he needed a new plan if he wanted to carve a place for himself in Vale, something that wouldn’t encroach on anyone else’s territory.
But first, he needed a new jacket, and he needed to get rid of this tattoo. Fortunately he was in the right part of town.
He made his way back to the strip and looked for the seediest tattoo parlor he could find, where he was pretty sure the spider on his arm wouldn’t set off any alarms.
“What can you do with this? Can you remove it?” Roman showed his arm to the tatted-up
lady behind the counter.
“Remove your arm?” She reached behind the counter and pulled out a bone saw. “Sure, but it’s gonna cost ya. And it’s gonna hurt.”
Roman frowned. “I was thinking something less drastic. I just want the tattoo gone.”
“Oh. Right.” She looked disappointed and stowed the bone saw away. She studied the spider tattoo for a moment.
“It’s good work. Shame to erase work like that.” She took out her Scroll and sketched for a few minutes. “Might be easier to rework it. How do you feel about pumpkins?”
She held up her screen to show him a drawing of an evil, grinning face, carved into a pumpkin.
“I like its attitude. You can do that?”
“Pay me enough and I can draw anything you want.”
“I’m in,” Roman said.
She led him into a dimly lit back room that looked like a surgical theater. A bright spotlight illuminated a chair with a frightening array of straps and buckles.
“It’s still gonna hurt, though,” she said as she readied her needle.
“It always does when the past catches up to you.”
The novelty of living away at Lady Browning’s Academy wore off in less than twenty-four hours. Trivia had never thought she’d miss her parents and the bedroom that had been her prison for so long, but it turned out they had at least given her privacy. She hadn’t slept a wink in her lumpy single bed in a room with nineteen other teenage girls, snoring and muttering in their sleep. Someone had been crying for an hour, and Trivia had been about to find them and smother them with a pillow when they finally shut up and dozed off.
The same twenty girls had to share a bathroom that seemed to have been designed to cause daily arguments. There was only one large mirror over the sinks, which everyone crowded around in the morning. There were only three stalls. And in the row of six showers, apparently only one provided hot water at any given time, four offered lukewarm water, and one unlucky girl had a cold shower. Today, that girl was Trivia.
Breakfast was bland eggs and dry toast in a bland cafeteria with dozens of bland students. Despite Lady Beat’s glorification of girls being seen but not heard, the students at the school were anything but quiet. Trivia had never heard so much noise in her entire life.
