The Infiltrators Read online

  “I wish people like you grew on trees, Rob,” Righty said as he looked over the immaculately organized bank deposits, all with the official seal.

  “Here’s for your troubles,” Righty said, sliding over 20,000 falons in 100-falon bills.

  Robert’s eyes nearly bulged out.

  “Now, I want you to know somethin’, son.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “There’s a reason I’m so good with you.”

  Robert was clearly on the edge of his seat.

  “I recognize talent. Not always right at first, but when I do I try to make sure talent sticks with me. You’re not only honest and hardworking, you’re smart. And you’ll go far, if you stick with me. Now, you know your crew, and I don’t, so you reward them out of that as you see fit. Remember—generosity brings good luck.”

  A quick movement of Robert’s eyes revealed he planned to store that aphorism away for later scrutiny.

  “But, as with everything, there’s a catch. Are you ready for a big task?”

  “Yes, sir. You name it!”

  “I’ve decided to close the store in Ringsetter. Here, there’s plenty of room to expand, but it’s going to be a waste of time and money having you go back and forth.”

  “I was thinking that,” Robert said, then immediately wondering whether he had been too frank.

  “Well, you thought right. You thought exactly right. I’m too busy right now sniffing out some potential new locations and negotiating a good price, so I can’t be involved. Can you take care of it?”

  Seeing a hint of doubt in Robert’s eyes, he quickly added, “If you need to hire more people to keep the store running here while you go down to Ringsetter and clear out the store, that’s absolutely fine. As long as you keep this store running deep enough in the black, I’ll leave the rest of the details up to you.

  “Here’s a sealed limited power of attorney giving you the right to sell the store in Ringsetter.”

  Righty preempted Robert’s next question—“Bargain some, but I want that thing sold in a week, even if you take a loss. You’re too valuable to me to have you dealing with some relic of the past like that store. This” (he swiveled around in his chair and pointed around them) “is the future. Here, in Sivingdel.

  “I want to go down as one of the biggest tycoons this city’s ever seen.”

  “I’ll head out today. There’ll be a skeleton crew while I’m gone, but I’ll leave Jimmy in charge of hiring some temporary help while I’m gone.”

  “As I said, I’ll leave the details up to you.”

  Robert assured him he’d get it done, and then Righty headed out the door to his horse.

  He felt that maybe a horse ride would be just the thing to clear his mind. He had told Janie he might be gone for a few days on business. Going to the ranch was out of the question while Harold and a large chunk of the konulans were out looking for pholungs.

  He had packed some food and a sleeping bag based on a hunch, and he realized now that he could take his time and still make it to Pitkins’ dojo for his next lesson. The time on the road would maybe be just what he needed to clear his mind.

  Once he was out in the countryside, he whistled and invited a few konulans to join him. Seeing as their information-gathering capabilities exceeded even that of Harold’s and that his life depended on their loyalty, it couldn’t hurt to nurture their friendship a little.

  “Anything odd happening in front of Ethan’s house lately?”

  “All’s clear so far. We’ve got twenty of us taking turns watching it.”

  Chapter 21

  Pitkins was in a sour mood today. Koksun had somehow gotten out during the hullabaloo last night, and Donive had sobbed half the night. Mervin also seemed gloomy.

  Pitkins, aka The Serpent Slayer, ex-general of the elite Nikorians, had been unable to keep the house cat from escaping.

  But his mood turned downright rotten when he saw the handwritten note left underneath a rock on the path he took from his property near the woods.

  Dear Pitkins,

  Do not fret! Blackie will one day return. I am his original owner. I have missed him dearly, and I tracked him here. My wife told me not to return empty-handed, and she meant it! I’ve heard you’re awful good with a sword, and since I couldn’t exactly prove Blackie was mine, I thought I had better just take him.

  It wasn’t exactly the most honest way, but my wife . . . . Blackie is going back to his original home, where there is much love. I am truly sorry. I will bring him back one day for a visit. I promise.

  Fred

  He was seething all the way to the shop.

  When he got there, a curious bag was left by the door. He opened it, half-worrying he would find Lookout’s severed head with an apology note from Mr. Fred rambling about his wife, in which case he planned on making it his life’s mission to track down Fred and cut him to pieces.

  He recoiled in far greater shock when he saw the bag was stuffed with money, all in large bills.

  Consider this an advance. We’ll be in touch soon. Keep making swords.

  Your admirer

  “Well, either Fred’s a guy with money to burn and an obsession with cats, or this must be National Write Pitkins A Letter Day!!”

  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 wha
t 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.