The Man in Shadow

by Taylor O'Connell

  The Norsic pinned Sal to the cobblestones with a boot on his chest.

  “I’ll be taking it, now,” said the Norsic. “All of it. You can consider it the first of an ongoing protection payment.”

  Bartley continued to roll about on the cobblestones, holding his nose, but no longer moaning.

  Sal looked back up at the Norsic kid. “Protection tax is it?” he mumbled through bloody lips.

  The Norsic nodded. “You can consider me your new boss. I take my cut off the top of every job.”

  “Oh, boss is it? And what should we call you?” Sal asked coldly.

  The Norsic kid smiled a big wide smile. “Don Vincenzo has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

  Sal pursed his lips and gave the slightest of nods. “Well, Don Vincenzo, I’ll tell you what. The Yahdrish and I are going to keep our take, and you can keep your protection services all to yourself.”

  “Is that right?” Vincenzo asked.

  “That’s right,” Sal said. “In fact, you can take your protection tax and shove it right up your craw.”

  Vincenzo smiled and nodded, and the next thing Sal knew, the bottom of the Norsic kid’s boot was coming for his face.

  5

  The Wax Seal

  “Right,” Sal winced, doing his best not to let the pain show, as he was dragged to his feet by the young Moretti thug, Danilo.

  Blood dripped from Sal’s nose, and he wiped at it with a sleeve, no longer able to smell the musty damp of the Underway through the bleeding.

  “What was it you wanted to know?” Sal asked, looking up at the squat man seated on his throne.

  Don Moretti looked down on Sal, hands grasping the polished ebony wood with a white-knuckled grip. His jaw set, the don nodded to his lieutenant.

  “Dominik D’Angelo,” Alonzo Amato said. His white teeth hidden behind a stern frown. “What do you know about the man?”

  “Not too tall, bald head, long beard, bit of an ugly mug. What else can I say? I never much paid him mind, always preferred the girls myself—”

  Sal huffed as a blow took him in the stomach, he dropped to his knees and put his hands down to break his fall. Drool ran from his mouth and dripped off his chin as he tried to catch his breath.

  Sal cried out, his back arching as someone grasped his hair and wrenched him upright.

  “What do you know about D’Angelo’s plans?” Alonzo asked, kneeling to Sal’s level to face him square on. “What is his next move?”

  “I don’t know,” Sal said. “I hardly know the guy. Sacrull’s hell, far as I know, he’s just a porter.”

  The young thug Danilo drew back a meaty fist, but Alonzo stopped him with the shake of his head.

  “No, I want him acquiescent—not inoperative,” said Alonzo, before he turned back to Sal. “Well then, care to tell us the truth?”

  “What are you asking me for anyhow?” Sal said, his words somewhat muffled by his swollen tongue and the blood in his mouth. “Why not ask people who know the man?”

  Alonzo smiled his big, white smile, looking all the more foxlike with every tooth he showed. “It would seem no other acquaintances, friends, or family remain to the man. Apart from you, scant anyone in this Sacrull forsaken city has exchanged even a simple greeting with him.” Alonzo’s white smile shifted to a hard frown, nose wrinkling as though he’d smelled something rotten. “Would you care to enlighten us as to why that would be?”

  Sal shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t say. The guy tried selling me something.”

  “Selling, something?” Alonzo asked. “Do tell, what was that, something?”

  Sal frowned. “You won't believe me, but I really couldn't say. I wasn't listening to the guy; I was more worried about walking away with my pockets cleaned out.”

  Alonzo sighed. “So, what do you know?”

  Sal shook his head. “Not as much as I ought to, it would seem.”

  Alonzo turned to Don Moretti.

  The Don sat silent and motionless for a moment, a far off look in his eyes. Then he made a sweeping gesture with the back of one hand, and the men loosened their holds on Sal.

  “I remember you well, boy. I recall the scrawny imp that stuck his hand in my pocket and had the gall to look me in the eyes and tell me it wouldn’t be the last time.”

  Sal swallowed, waiting for more.

  “You do recall, I’ve purchased your mark already. It’s been years, but believe you me, marks don’t spoil. That death mark is as good as the day I bought it. I own your life, boy. And if you were not kin to Stefano Lorenzo, you would find yourself at the bottom of the Black Bay by evenfall,” said Moretti. “But know this. If you do value your life, I recommend you steer well clear of Dominik D’Angelo.”

  The pair of thugs that had dragged Sal into the Underway dragged him back out and dumped him bodily into the muddy street outside. The young one, Danilo, sneering as he flicked a glob of mud at Sal with his boot.

  When they’d gone, Sal got to his feet and brushed himself off best he could, then trekked north, moving as fast as his sore legs would take him at a walk. He hurt all over and wanted nothing more than to curl up on the side of the road and close his eyes. But just because he’d made it out of the Underway alive, didn’t mean he was safe. He was still in Lowers Point, after all.

  Lowers Point was a God-forsaken cesspit of a district, known mostly for the incessant howling winds, reeking rubbish piles, and random acts of violence that often arose in the streets. It was among the roughest districts in Dijvois, as one typically found that the farther south one went, the rougher things got. The Underway, being at the heart of Lowers Point, was about as far south as anywhere in the city possibly could be.

  Sal made for Vinny’s place, a wattle-and-daub shack on the north end of the Shoe. He just needed to go around the Black Bay. Every step was agony, each breath a feat, but Sal trudged on until he finally reached his friend’s home.

  Vinny answered on the third knock, his face quickly shifting from annoyance to concern as he ushered Sal inside.

  “What happened?” Vinny asked.

  “The Moretti Family.”

  “Moretti!” Vinny exclaimed, his eyes going wide. “Sit—sit down and hold a moment.”

  Sal did as he was told, while Vinny went to the hearth and stoked the fire.

  “Bloody hell, Moretti?” Vinny asked, returning to the table and take the seat across from Sal. “What in Light’s name would Moretti want with you?”

  “He wanted to know about Dominik D’Angelo.”

  “D’Angelo?” Vinny looked all the more confused, as he took his seat across from Sal. “What’s he done now?”

  “Well, it seems Moretti isn’t too happy about his involvement with the Scarvini Family. He seems to think Dominik was somehow responsible for Giuseppe and Garibaldi.”

  “Oh? And why should Moretti care if D’Angelo wants to kill a few Scarvini bastards, ain’t no skin off his sack,” Vinny said. “How’s that saying go, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  “Right.” Sal shook his head. “But I think you’ve got it backward. For the Moretti Family, Dominik is the common enemy, not Scarvini. The Five Families might be rivals, and at times enemies, but when the Commission is attacked from the outside they’ll stick together. I was stupid not to see it. We should have expected this from the start.”

  “Suppose your right.” Vinny sighed. “But what can we do about it, go to war with the whole Commission?”

  “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that,” Sal said with a sigh.

  “Might be it doesn’t need to,” said Vinny.

  Sal arched an eyebrow and frowned.

  “You did say Moretti was asking about Dominik, right?”

  Sal nodded.

  “So, he thinks Dominik was responsible for both murders?”

  Sal shook his head, anticipating where the half Norisc was leading. “No way, not like that.”

  But it seemed Vinny was determined to get it out, and so he pushed on. “Look a
ll I’m saying is it wouldn’t be a bad way out. It’s what that mad bastard wants anyhow, isn’t it? He’s been saying all along he wants to go to war with the Commission. Well, let him have it, and then everyone else gets what they want, and we get ourselves a way out.”

  “There’s no way in hell, Vin. I won’t do that to Dominik.”

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything,” said Vinny. “It’s already been done. All we would have to do is let Dominik out. Moretti, Scarvini, whoever wants him can have him, and we will be home free.”

  Sal shook his head. He’d be lying if he claimed the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but he knew he couldn’t do it. And when it came down to it, he didn’t think Vinny would either. Despite all his talk.

  “Look, mate, it's just not going to happen,” Sal said. “Dominik is one of us now. Besides, even if Dominik takes the blame, for now, there is still Valla's backer to consider. She's not told us who set up the warehouse job, and she's not likely to do it now.”

  “Bloody hell.” Vinny lowered his chin to his chest, eyes downcast. “Well then, what do you want to do about it? I mean, you have to admit, Moretti knowing of Dominik by name is a problem.”

  Sal nodded. “No doubt, something will need to be done about it. Might be once we’ve taken care of Don Scarvini none of this will be a problem anymore.”

  The quiet hung between them for a moment, before something occurred to Sal.

  “The real question is, how in Sacrull's hell did Don Moretti hear Dominik's name, and why did he connect him not only with Garibaldi but with the murder of Giuseppe, as well?” Sal asked. “Dominik was nowhere near the warehouse the night Giuseppe died.”

  “Rumors?” Vinny shrugged. “Could be, he was seen at the Pit last night. You never know how rumors get started, but they always grow. Someone sees Dominik at the Pit the night Garibaldi gets himself a red smile, only makes sense his name would get lumped in with Giuseppe’s murder. Rumor on a rumor, you could say.”

  “It’s possible,” Sal admitted, “But isn’t it possible someone gave up the name?”

  “How do you mean?” Vinny asked.

  “Someone slipped the name,” Sal said bluntly.

  “The fuck are you saying?” Vinny asked, sitting up tall. “You trying to say I turned Dominik over?”

  “Vin, take it easy, mate. I'm not saying you did anything.” Sal said, putting up his hands. “All I'm suggesting is that it's possible someone mentioned Dominik's name in the right ears. I mean, think about it. What better way to take the heat off the rest of the crew? It's just like you said before. If Dominik plays the stooge, we're all off the hook.”

  “I’d never turn on the crew,” Vinny said. “Not even that mad bastard, D’Angelo, you know I wouldn’t. All I said was we could let Dominik off the leash, and let the pieces fall as they will. You know I’d never turn on you. I’d never turn on the crew.”

  Sal nodded. “I know you wouldn’t, mate. I know.”

  “Well, I still can't believe it.” Vinny shook his head. “A Sacrull damned rat in the crew. The fuck? I mean, it's only us: you, me, Aurie, Valla, and the big man. Hell, only one in the crew I don't trust with my life is D'Angelo. Who else could have even known?”

  Sal sighed and shrugged. Who indeed?

  “I didn’t know better, I’d say it was that bloody Dominik D’Angelo himself was spreading the rumors,” said Vinny.

  Sal scoffed and shook his head, smirking at his half-Norsic friend.

  But Vinny didn't return the smile; he simply stared back at Sal, deadpan.

  “Think about it.” Vinny had a thoughtful look in his eyes as he spoke. “The mad bastard has done nothing but spout off about making war with the Commission since he joined up with us. Who’s to say he didn’t go out there spreading his own name?”

  Sal could hardly believe it. “No, he couldn’t—he would never have put his name—”

  “How can you know?” Vinny asked. “I mean, what do any of us really know about Dominik anyhow?”

  Sal shrugged. Oddly enough, it made sense, albeit in a twisted, backward way of thinking. Dominik had been after a war from the get-go. It had only been after a good bit of convincing that the man had agreed to go about things subtly.

  “There was a time when I didn’t know anything of you either, Vin.”

  “That’s not my point,” said Vinny. “Back when you and I had to trust one another, we had a common goal. We’re trusting Dominik with our lives here, but while the rest of us are just trying to survive, D’Angelo can’t shut up about trying to start a fucking war.”

  Sal sighed and slumped down in his chair, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

  A short, misshapen tallow candle burned at the center of the table. The glowing orange fire flicked this way and that as Sal focused on the flame.

  Fire was light, heat, and impossible to handle without burning oneself. Terribly useful, and terribly dangerous, a double-edged sword. Not so unlike Dominik D’Angelo—a double-edged sword.

  “There are two sides to every coin,” Sal said. “We know Dominik was once a bounty collector. Before that, he was a soldier.”

  “And so he says, but we don’t—”

  “He’s a man of honor, mate. And one of the first good men we’ve come across in a long time. I know he’s a touch—well, touched, but I think we can trust him.”

  Vinny sighed, slumped down in his chair and frowned down at the floorboards.

  “Besides,” Sal said. “If I'm entirely honest, I am a tick scared of the bastard.”

  “Scared, you?” Vinny said in mock surprise. “And here I thought the great wizard Salvatori Lorenzo feared no man.”

  “I can think of five right off the cuff, another ten if you give me the time,” Sal said, smirking. “The point is, I trust Dominik, and I think we should follow through with the plan.”

  Vinny shrugged. “If you think so, but what about Don Moretti?”

  “We need to send word to the others,” Sal said, putting pressure on his ribs to dull the pain.

  Vinny shook his head. “No, you look awful, mate. Like you just got done making it with a plow horse.”

  “Charming,” Sal said, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head.

  Vinny laughed. “You ought to head home and get some rest. In fact, you ought to just sleep right here. I’ll head out and warn the others.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “No,” Vinny interrupted. “I've got this; everything is handled.”

  Sal opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself. There was a definite possibility of a rat in the group, but if there was someone Sal knew he could trust, it was Vinny—or so he hoped.

  “Suppose I ought to warn D’Angelo first,” Vinny said. “Although, if I leave him for last, might be Moretti will just take care of the problem for good and all.”

  Sal shot him a disapproving look, but Vinny merely winked.

  “I’ll pray to the Lady the Moretti Family just decides to off the both of you,” Sal said.

  Vinny leaned forward, reached across the table, and gave Sal a soft pat on the cheek. He clicked his tongue and winked, then scooted back his chair, and stood.

  “Keep an eye out, will you?” Sal said.

  “Two,” Vinny said. “Now you get on into that bed and get some sleep.”

  “Oh, mother,” Sal said. “I think I’ll make it to my own bed. That one there looks full of fleas.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Vinny. “I’ve never much minded a few fleas.”

  “They do make for good eating,” Sal said. “But I’ve always preferred to sleep alone.”

  Vinny laughed. “Aye, well, not as though I could get any sleep this morning anyhow. What with the bells and all. Still, been a good hour since I’ve heard a bell toll.”

  Sal had nearly forgotten about the bells, but Vinny was right; now he thought on it, it had been a while since he’d heard the bells toll. “Midday break, or have they finished for the day?”

  “Surely the d
eath of a prince warrants a full day of bells,” Vinny said with a grin. “I would think they should resume come the close of the noon hour.”

  “What do you think about it?” Sal asked.

  “About, what, precisely?”

  “Matej, and his death and all,” Sal said with a shrug. “I don’t know, I mean, don’t you find it rather odd?”

  “Odd how?”

  “Well for one, he was a prince of the royal blood. It’s not every day one of the royal blood drops dead.”

  “But men die, do they not?”

  “Sure, men die, but this was a prince of the royal blood.”

  “Even princes are mortal men. I admit I don’t know the specifics.” Vinny shrugged. “I've only heard that he died. Honestly, I don't see much to be suspicious of. Matej is dead, and that's that. What's to wonder?”

  “How did he die?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Does it—Lady’s sake, Vin. What if he were murdered?”

  “A prince of the royal blood?” Vinny asked. “Not likely.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because he was a prince. They’re not often murdered.”

  “But didn’t you just say that doesn't matter? Besides, it's happened before.”

  “You’ve got me there.” Vinny frowned. “I think I'll take my leave before you try and fill my head with more to worry over.”

  Sal could hear the sounds of music and revelry long before he pushed through the door and entered the taproom.

  “Not lacking in lust, nor horror, nor pain.

  A song sung as a lesson, a song sung to refrain.

  Yes, a cautionary tale, a song sung to refrain.”

  The man sang louder, tapping his feet and strumming his lute faster with each cord.

  The Hog Snout’s patrons clapped and cheered as the tune picked up pace, and the singer danced a little jig.

  “A tale of power, a tale of woe,

  a tale of corruption and of the unknown.”

  Sal passed the clamoring taproom and headed for the stairs.