The Infiltrators (13 page)

He visualized himself one
day sitting at a table with Mr. Brass himself, offering advice on
where they should focus their shipments to avoid police. Mr. Brass
would nod gratefully at his wisdom and end every conversation with
the phrase:
My right hand man.

He didn’t know whether Mr. Ritmer
represented a serious bump in the road, or whether the elusive man
might somehow propel his career. His claim he could provide
Smokeless Green twenty percent cheaper than his going rate couldn’t
be passed off as mere puffery. It seemed consistent with the fact
he didn’t deign to touch a single gram from the hundreds of pounds
he had at his fingertips at the stash house.

But what was really behind
all those deaths . . . if he just wanted to talk
business?

Maybe he just wanted to get
your attention and show he was the real deal.

Maybe he had started out
killin’ people for Lefty and then decided it would be better to do
business with you?

Rob was anxious regardless of which
path this meeting took. If the guy was for real, and he offered
Smokeless Green twenty percent cheaper than what he got it at from
Ethan, Ethan wasn’t going to be too happy about him breaking ranks
and going outside Mr. Brass’s organization.

Heck, Mr. Brass himself might not be
too happy about it.

But with a guy like Mr.
Ritmer in your corner, maybe Mr. Brass would know better than to
meddle.

But he knew that was a bit simplistic.
The word on the street was Mr. Brass himself had blown the police
station sky high and scared the daylights out of the city’s
politicians, causing them to quickly round up a few of Mr. Brass’s
disposables and hang them to save face.

Any dude who can pull that
off you shouldn’t be messin’ with!

But Mr. Brass had not always been Mr.
Brass. He had once been a nobody, while everyone swore Heavy Sam
was going to rule this city for decades and pass it on to his
children and create a dynasty. But with a little guts and a lot of
ambition, Mr. Brass had broken the rules and risen to the top
practically overnight.

That’s what you need to do!
Get some guts! Form an alliance with Mr. Ritmer!

When Rob realized it was 11:05 p.m., he
quickly became furious. He had paid off every cop on the beat
within three blocks, in case things got ugly, and had dragged
practically his entire crew here, leaving several of his other
stash houses almost completely unguarded.

And after all that, Mr.
Ritmer is gonna be a no-show?!!

He looked suspiciously at Thin Tim, who
avoided eye contact but had clearly cringed upon seeing Rob’s stare
from the corner of his eye.

“Eleven p.m., he said, right?” Rob
asked with steel in his voice.

“Yes, sir, Robert. That’s exactly what
he said.”

“On Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

Rob considered it a sign of weakness to
wait for anyone more than ten minutes past the scheduled time. Mr.
Ritmer’s offer—if Mr. Ritmer even existed—was just what it sounded
like: too good to be true.

It vexed him that he still didn’t have
a clue just what in the hell was going on. The lack of any
assassination attempt so far, coupled with the lack of Mr. Ritmer
showing up, seemed to suggest Mr. Ritmer simply didn’t exist. But
Thin Tim sure hadn’t killed all those people at the stash house or
masterminded it.

But he knows more than what
he’s saying.

“Well, our date stood us up, men,” Rob
said with affected jocularity, seething on the inside.

He would have to go on dealing with
Ethan, whom, while he had never disliked him before, he suddenly
hated. He now saw Ethan as a repressive obstacle, practically a
slave master.

All in good time.

Part of him wanted to wait another hour
if that’s what it took to meet Mr. Ritmer, but he knew he had
already lost face. He nudged one of his gorilla bodyguards and told
him, “Take Thin Tim to some place far from listenin’ ears and do
what you have to to find out all he knows.”

Richard looked at him with a serious
face but smiling eyes and nodded. He then grabbed Thin Tim by the
left tricep so hard he almost made him squeal.

No one noticed the keen interest the
drunken man was paying to the entire scene with his right eye just
a few centimeters open.

Chapter 18

“Some of it’s rumor. Some of it’s as
good as fact.”

“Just spit it out, Tats.”

“Someone’s—some group of
people’s—climbing up the hierarchy killin’ people as they
go.

“They say it started with a random
attack on some street dealers; then, when their boss—Jack
Hillmeyer—tried to lay an ambush on one of these guys, Jack and all
his muscle just plain disappeared. Then, they hit Lefty’s stash
house and killed everyone except for some toady named Thin
Tim.

“They demanded a meeting with Lefty’s
older brother, Rob, and I just got wind that it went down last
night, but the guys were a no-show. No one’s sure exactly what
these guys are after, Mr. Brass, but they’re climbing straight
upwards. Some people fear Rob’s days are numbered and that even
though they didn’t attack him last night they got a look at him and
followed him.

“Above Rob, there’s Ethan Forrester and
then just a couple more wholesalers, and then it’s me. No one’s
exactly sure what these guys are really after. The leader calls
himself Mr. Ritmer, and supposedly he wanted to meet with Rob
‘cause he could sell him unlimited Smokeless Green at a twenty
percent discount. But since he was a no-show, obviously that ain’t
what the meetin’ was about.

“No one knows what these
guys are after, but they’re movin’ upwards fast.
Real
fast.”

“Me,” Righty said calmly. “It’s me
they’re after.”

Tats gulped, not quite sure how to
respond.

“Remember when I told you I’d expand
the amount of knowledge I entrusted you with if it became necessary
to the survival of this organization?”

Tats nodded somberly.

“Well, it’s about to expand again. Can
you take me by Ethan’s place tonight?”

Tats had objections. He felt like
bunkering down and not peeking outside until someone cleared the
streets of this menace eating its way through their organization
like a fox inside a henhouse. And going past Ethan’s mansion, which
by now was likely under the surveillance of these phantoms, seemed
a good way to get himself under surveillance and make this his last
night on earth.

But a private would have sooner voiced
these objections to a four-star general than Tats would to
Righty.

“Give me a minute. I’ll make it
happen.”

Tats dashed upstairs and began asking
amongst the dozen or so toughs posted inside the house at various
windows and doors (another couple dozen were outside) whether any
of them knew where Ethan lived.

Finally, he discovered that one of the
men’s sisters was dating Ethan. She had bragged to him once about
her new beau’s gorgeous mansion, and he had followed her one day to
it and surveyed it with a combination of awe and malicious
envy.

He thought that perhaps Ethan was in
trouble of some sort, so he happily conveyed the information to
Tats, hoping Ethan had some kind of comeuppance in store
tonight.

Tats ran downstairs with the
information and quickly began consulting a large map on the wall
showing the entire city. He studied it cautiously and mentally
noted the spot after touching it with his finger, though putting no
marks there. He didn’t want to make the police’s job any easier if
they ever raided this place.

“I’ll get two horses. Should we bring
any muscle?”

“Just our own. This is a low-profile
job. You ride in front by a hundred yards or so, and, without
stopping, just grab your hat and adjust it slightly when you’re
next to his house. Will it be to your right or left?”

“Right.”

“Got it. Let’s go.”

They stepped outside, and Tats quickly
explained to the guards that if for any reason Mr. Brass came back
alone he was to be given full access to the house and they were to
take whatever orders he gave.

Tats then rode off down the street.
Righty waited a couple minutes and then began after him.

The trip was without hitches. Road
traffic was very light, and there was nothing obstructing the view
of Tats when he adjusted his hat.

Righty had begun to worry he wouldn’t
know the exact spot Tats had been at when he himself reached there,
but the exquisite nature of the mansion—even though surrounded by
luxurious houses on either side—left no doubt as to which was the
one in question.

A couple hours later, Tats and Righty
were back in the basement, and Righty told him.

“We need to talk outside in the
backyard. No guards.”

Tats went out and sent all the guards
to the front, and their curious faces darted back and forth
multiple times as they headed away, wondering what spectacle they
would miss, but not thinking it worth their life to sneak a peek at
it.

A moment later, Righty and Tats went
outside, and to Tats’ surprise he saw five small birds on the
table, looking directly at him and showing no signs of
fear.

“Say hello to your new
friends.”

Tats mechanically said “hello,” feeling
so foolish he blushed in the process.

“You ever heard of talking
parrots?”

“Heard of them, yes. Some say they’re a
myth.”

“They’re not,” Righty responded,
realizing then that he actually had never seen one
himself.

“These birds are a tad smarter. I’ve
raised them since they were chicks. I trust them with my life, and
I would view any injury to them as an injury against myself or a
family member.” Righty paused to let that sink in.

“They’re going to be watching you, for
your own protection. If anyone suspicious attempts to approach
you—whether at your houses or while you go down the street—they
will take certain steps to help you. If you need to send me a
message at any time, just whistle and one will fly down to you.
Give him the message, and he’ll take it to me right
away.”

He could see Tats thought he had gone
crazy and was making inhuman efforts to disguise his
disbelief.

“It’s all right,” Righty said,
chuckling. “I wouldn’t believe it either if I didn’t see it. Go
ahead give it a try.” He looked upwards, and the birds immediately
flew away.

“Now, just a soft whistle. We don’t
want your guards coming back here and seeing something they’ve got
no business seeing.”

Still feeling foolish, Tats let out a
really soft whistle.

A konulan immediately dropped down and
landed on the table smiling.

“Call another if you feel one’s too few
for a party.”

Tats let out four short whistles, and
the rest immediately dropped down onto the table.

“Well, let’s convince of you of the
rest. What would you like Sammy here to tell me?” he asked,
pointing.

“Mr. Brass is a good man,” he said, the
words coming out mechanically.

Sammy turned to Righty, “Tats says
you’re a good guy.”

“Were those his exact
words?”

“No.”

“What were they?”

“‘
Mr. Brass is a good
man.’”

Tats’ face was now a completely
different shade of incredulity. Skepticism as to whether Mr.
Brass’s claims could possibly be true was replaced with skepticism
as to what his eyes and ears had just reported to him.

“That’s . . . that’s—”

“Amazing. Yes, it is.”

Tats exhaled in
astonishment.

“Tats, look at me.”

Tats turned.

“You now know essentially all of my
secrets. I trust you more than anyone else in this organization,
and so I had no choice but to part with this. Believe me—it wasn’t
easy. I hope you’ll understand that if this information were to be
discovered in any way that was due to your lack of discretion I
would be very disappointed.”