The Infiltrators (16 page)

He grabbed the bag, whirled his body
around several times, and then flung the bag as far as he could.
The money went scattering everywhere.

“HEY, FRED! GIVE THIS TO YOUR WIFE!
SHE’LL FORGET ABOUT MY CAT IN NO TIME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!”
Pitkins screamed with more fury than he had felt in ages, though he
realized far less than half of his fury had to do with Lookout,
though he was fit to be tied over that.

He knew that the donor of the money
would be coming around soon enough. The donor must have a
connection to the punks he had turned away at his shop.

“Some big fish has taken a liking to
me, and he ain’t gonna like it when he learns money can’t buy
me.”

Like a spark leaping from a fire and
quickly disappearing, his mind returned to what just yesterday had
been the biggest problem plaguing his mind: Mr. Simmers’ bizarre
encounter with a man whose fighting style stirred up bad memories.
But his mind was back on the present problem with such focus Mr.
Simmers had disappeared.

Were he all alone in the world, he
would welcome the coming struggle with these sword-craving thugs,
but as a family man he was vulnerable. Losing a house cat to some
deranged thief was bad enough.

Losing Donive . . .
.

“Donive!”

He jumped onto his horse, wheeled
around, and went galloping back to his house.

Chapter 22

Pitkins didn’t find a bloody mess at
home or discover any disappearances, but he did find Donive
red-eyed and pouting.

She looked at him with only brief
surprise at his return home, followed immediately by a look of
contemptuous indifference. Their family’s cat had been robbed on
his watch after all.

Pitkins kneeled down in front of Donive
and grabbed her hand. She didn’t retract it completely, but gone
was the warm clutch Pitkins could usually take for
granted.

“I thought that since I have to accept
not having children it would be nice if we could at least keep a
couple pets, but now Lookout’s gone for good.”

“Well, what do you say we fill the
house with a replacement?”

“What are you talking about?” she said,
knowing exactly, but thinking this must be some kind of
trick.

“I mean it. I think it’s time. You’re
not getting any younger, and I’m just about over the hill, so . . .
.”

Koksun would have felt the following
scene sacrilegious, as his hallowed memory was so abruptly replaced
by animalistic fervor scarcely reminiscent of the grief his absence
had inspired such a short time ago.

Pitkins feared injury briefly as Donive
jumped on top of him and began tearing his clothes off in a manner
that made him feel more like her prey than her husband.

The next thing he knew she was on top
of him pumping wildly, and this characterized the rest of what had
at first seemed likely to be a long, gloomy day. The bizarre note
and even the ominous bag of money he had tossed to the winds now
disappeared within the recesses of his mind as more pressing, and
more pleasurable, matters vied triumphantly for
attention.

By the time evening fell, they were
both beyond exhausted and went to bed early.

Mervin, his loyal face showing he had
not yet deemed the mourning period over, appeared at the side of
their bed.

Pitkins patted an empty spot next to
him, and Mervin soon joined him, providing Pitkins with an armrest.
Soon, the three of them were dozing happily and
peacefully.

Chapter 23

Pitkins awoke to the smell of fresh
bacon and eggs wafting into the room and teasing his nostrils. He
leaped up, feeling a hunger far more ravenous than he had felt in
ages, and walked into the kitchen.

“Eat up,” Donive said with a coy smile.
“You’re gonna need your strength for a while.”

Pitkins patted her on the behind,
kissed her on the lips, and said, “Is that so?”

“Mmhhmm. Sit and eat.”

Pitkins did as told, willing to be
submissive if the order was to chow down on a well-prepared
meal.

Twenty minutes later he was out the
door with a smile on his face, joy in his stomach, and a whistle on
his lips.

As he approached his shop, a few nasty
thoughts began to tempt his mood, like little ants trying to push
over a delicately balanced object. His happiness stood firm, though
he did feel his carefree bliss moving in the direction of a more
neutral mood.

To his surprise, there was someone
waiting at his shop. He was relieved as he got closer and saw it
was no tattoo-covered punk with malice in his eyes.

It was a middle-aged lady, from what he
could tell. Her horse was tied next to the shop, and she was
sitting cross-legged by the door, looking like she didn’t have a
care in the world.

“Good morning,” Pitkins said, hoping it
would not soon cease to be one.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, standing
and looking at him directly.

She was a small lady, probably no more
than five feet plus an inch or two at most, but he felt a power
radiating from her eyes even before he could tell what color they
were.

“You do know this is a sword shop,
right?”

She smiled, as if she held some
secret.

“Okay, well, come on in and have a
look.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Very impressive,” she said, surveying
the swords with the appearance of an expert. “May I hold
one?”

“Just be careful.”

The lady picked up a small one and gave
a few graceful strokes through the air. She touched the edge of the
blade ever so slightly.

“You combine aesthetics with utility.
That is your reputation. I now see it is deserved.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Do you sell daggers also?”

“Over here,” Pitkins
invited.

The lady surveyed and touched several,
expressing numerous compliments.

“Can we sit and talk business?” the
lady asked.

“Absolutely,” Pitkins said, pulling out
a chair for her at a small table. He then seated himself across
from her.

“I am a business owner. I am the
largest brothel owner in the city. It’s a law-abiding business even
if it’s frowned upon. We provide a service to willing customers and
employ willing women. It's peaceful most of the time. But sometimes
there are . . . problems. There’s a new breed of criminals in this
city, sir. Arrogant men, wealthy from the sale of Smokeless Green,
sometimes think they can walk into my establishment and act however
they please.

“Well, we have standards. I run clean
establishments. And that refers to everything. The outside of the
buildings are kept clean. The insides are immaculate. Any member of
my staff who contracts a disease is let go with a large
severance.

“That leaves just one factor in the
equation.”

“The clients.”

She nodded.

“Most are respectful, but it’s to be
expected that from time to time someone will have to be kindly
shown the door. But it’s getting to the point we’re facing some
rough clients who not only don’t want to be shown the door but are
scaring any of my staff members who try to show them.

“We had an incident just last night
where it took a combination of thirty minutes of pleading, threats
to call for the police, and even the offer of money just to get the
bum out of my store. He was wielding a nasty knife, and none of my
staff have the necessary weapons to deal with someone like
that.

“What I need is a large supply of
weapons so that all of my security staff can be better armed than
the criminals. Is that a need you would be interested in
satisfying?”

Pitkins had been warned by his
childhood nanny about the charms of Rodalians, the inhabitants of
the southwestern portion of Selegania, including Sivingdel and
Ringsetter. The theory was that cool weather from the nearby
mountains gave them a lighthearted, winsome temperament, and their
close proximity to Sodorf and Dachwald and their being directly on
the pathway between the capitals of Sodorf and Selegania gave them
plenty of practice in the arts of dickering.

Here he was seated directly before the
person who had clearly left the bag of cash outside his door that
he had angrily thrown to the four winds and who was most likely the
directress of the sour-eyed punks he had sent packing over the
recent months, and yet not only had he not thrown her out, he was
thinking of conceding.

“Ms.—?”

“Havensford. Rucifus Havensford. But,
please, call me Rucifus.”

“Rucifus,” Pitkins began, the name
somehow feeling awkward on his tongue, “how about we start slow.
You bring me your best security agent in need of a sword, and if he
can convince me he’d make good use of the sword, I’m sure we can
reach a deal.

“This city isn’t the same city it was
just a few years ago. As you yourself have noticed, it’s got an
emerging element that’s none too pleasant.”

“We’ll come by tomorrow, Sir Pitkins.
Thank you so much for your time.”

Pitkins wasn’t sure whether he had made
a mistake as he watched Rucifus walk away.

If he’s a creep, send him
packing. You’re not committed to anything.

Chapter 24

As soon as Robert and the last of his
stern-faced, sneering entourage had exited the alley, Zelven stood
up walking in zig-zagged lines. He counted to six and then
swallowed the bitter pill he had just inserted into his
mouth.

BLUAHHHH!!!!

Zelven emptied the contents of a rather
large meal he had enjoyed just hours before.

“She SAID she’d never leave me!” he
began singing as he threw back a swig of tea from the whiskey
bottle he was carrying.

“But ROMANCE sure can be fleeting,” he
continued.

He had two dozen men on the rooftops,
many of whom were just several yards from Robert’s lookouts, hidden
inside a hollow section of the roofs they had added in preparation
for tonight’s meeting. They were prepared with crossbows to assist
Zelven in case his passed-out-drunk-in-the-gutter cover had been
called into question or if perhaps Robert decided to kill the
nearest thing to him just for being present at a moment of such
displeasure.

Zelven looked towards the top of the
roof of the building across from the alley. At first, he saw
nothing.

Then, he saw it. A series of short,
inconspicuous flashes could be seen emitting from a small hole at
the side of the roof. They were plain language to him:

“Lookouts still on roof.”

More small flashes.

“Engage?”

He turned around in a full circle,
answering no. Then, he again chucked his cookies, this time against
the side of the wall.

Thinking he had done enough vomiting
for one evening, he downed another pill with the next swig of tea,
this one a fragrant-smelling mint that immediately began to calm
his tortured stomach.

He walked out of the alley, turned
right, and began walking north, no longer with such exaggerated
drunkenness. He had played his part well enough for any thuggish
eyes on him. He didn’t need to overdo it and find himself in an
interview with a patrolman.

He could see the tail end of Rob’s
entourage if he squinted, but they were making ground and
disappearing quickly.

He quickened his pace, there already
being enough people about that he would no longer be the sole
object of scrutiny for any eyes that might still be watching him
from the roofs.

Already running ahead of him were
multiple Varco agents, who had been placed several rooftops away
from the meeting site. They were right now rappelling down a wall
into an alley where several horses awaited them.

Zelven put on a pair of telescopic
spectacles that immediately brought Rob and his entourage into
focus. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw several of his
agents, dressed as businessmen, ride out of an alley on horseback
slowly keeping a healthy distance from one another.