Chapter 7: Reliable Men

Thrak

Lord Bellafonte gave me six men.

Five of them were armed.

The sixth was Lou.

Lou was also armed, but I had begun to understand that this did not necessarily make him useful.

“The Blue Canary,” Lord Bellafonte said.

He pushed a photograph across his desk. I picked it up. A building had somehow been trapped inside a small square of paper. I had stopped asking how this world did things. It was exhausting.

“What is it?”

“A club.”

It was neither a cudgel nor any other weapon. I tried another meaning.

“A gathering place?”

“Drinks. Music. Dancing. Gambling upstairs if you know who to ask.”

“A tavern.”

“Sure,” Vincent said.

“Then why did you call it a club?”

“Because that’s what it is.”

Humans here had an alarming number of words for the same thing. I studied the photograph again. The building was narrow, three stories, brick walls, front entrance facing a crowded street.

“Who owns it?”

“Sal Marzano.”

“Does he serve you?”

Vincent smiled.

“No.”

“Then why does he possess a profitable establishment in your territory?”

His smile disappeared.

“Exactly.”

I liked this assignment already.

Vincent leaned back.

“Marzano’s been pushing north for months. Frankie kept him honest.”

People spoke of the missing servant whenever something went wrong. Apparently this was praise. Vincent tapped the photograph.

“I want the club.”

“Destroyed?”

“No.”

That was disappointing.

“Take it intact. Booze stays. Furniture stays. Cash stays. Customers ain’t part of this. Girls working there ain’t part of this. Bartenders keep their hands empty, they walk.”

“And Marzano?”

“Bring Sal to me breathing.”

I considered the restrictions. Reasonable enough.

“You said there are guards.”

“Eight, usually.”

“Usually?”

“Marzano’s got maybe twelve soldiers total, but he can’t keep all of them there every night.”

“How many entrances?”

Lou answered.

“Front, alley, basement delivery door.”

“Windows?”

“Couple upstairs.”

“Neighboring roofs?”

Lou stared at me.

“What?”

“Can the upper floor be reached from neighboring buildings?”

He looked at Vincent. Vincent looked at him. Lou shrugged.

“Probably.”

For preparation this poor, Lord Azrath would have praised Shiiruk and beaten me for pointing out the deficiency.

I preferred Chicago.

“When?”

Vincent looked at the clock.

“Tonight.”

“Good.”

He pointed toward Lou.

“Lou knows the neighborhood. Five guys are waiting downstairs. You take the joint and bring me Marzano.”

He looked directly at me.

“Without burning it down.”

“I understood the first time.”

“I know. I’m making sure.”

I stood. Vincent stopped me.

“Thrak.”

“Yes, my lord?”

He sighed.

“Boss.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Try not to get creative.”

I considered promising, then decided against lying. The Boss had yet to have me beaten for my insolence, but I was not about to test his generosity.

The Blue Canary had fourteen armed guards.

Possibly fifteen. One remained behind an upstairs curtain long enough that I could only confirm the barrel of his weapon. I watched from across the street. Cars moved between us. I had learned the name, if not why anyone had chosen it. People entered the club laughing. Music escaped whenever the door opened. A painted blue bird hung above the entrance. Lou stood beside me smoking.

“Well?”

“Lord Bellafonte was incorrect.”

“Boss.”

“Boss Bellafonte was incorrect.”

Lou exhaled smoke.

“About what?”

“The number of guards.”

He looked toward the club.

“How many?”

“Fourteen. Possibly fifteen.”

Lou stopped smoking.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I counted them.”

He stared at me. I was beginning to believe counting was a rare skill here. It certainly had been back home. Lou looked at the club again.

“That ain’t good.”

“No.”

“They knew.”

“Yes.”

Lou rubbed his jaw.

“Maybe Marzano just brought in extra muscle.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“Precisely.”

I turned away.

“Where are the others?”

“Back alley.”

I had already acquired what I needed. The apothecary had been difficult to find because this world called apothecaries drugstores. The clerk asked several questions and found my refusal to answer suspicious. Fortunately, money solved suspicion here with remarkable efficiency.

I was learning.

The five men waited behind the club. Mickey. Paulie. Rocco. Danny. And a thin man everyone called Fingers. Lou had advised me against asking how Fingers had earned his name. They stood among trash cans and wooden crates beneath a single yellow light. All five carried guns beneath their coats. Mickey saw me first.

“There he is.”

Rocco looked toward Lou.

“This the little guy?”

Lou stopped looking toward the street.

“This is Thrak.”

Rocco grinned.

“Thrak the Small.”

There it was. Normally, laughter followed. Instead Mickey said:

“Sounds like a name.”

I did not understand.

“A name?”

“Yeah. You know. Like Joey Knuckles. Frankie the Blade. Tommy Two-Times.”

“Why would a man be named after his frequency of speech?”

Nobody answered. Probably wise. I looked toward the club.

“You were told the plan?”

Mickey shrugged.

“Go in. Take the place. Grab Sal.”

“No.”

Five faces turned toward me.

“That was the objective.”

Rocco chuckled.

“What’s the difference?”

“The plan explains how one achieves the objective.”

Silence. Lou covered his mouth. I was beginning to suspect he did that when amused. I continued.

“The front entrance is watched. The alley is watched. The rooftops are watched. They are expecting us.”

That got their attention. Danny looked toward the alley mouth.

“How the hell would they know?”

“Someone informed them.”

I examined the five silent men. At least one had betrayed Lord Bellafonte, and I could not determine which before the operation. That created an unacceptable risk.

Fortunately, unacceptable risks could often be corrected.

I reached inside my robe. Every man tensed. I removed a bottle. They relaxed.

“Before battle,” I said, “my people drink to victory.”

This was not true. My people generally screamed invocations over bowls of blood. I doubted they would appreciate the distinction. Rocco grinned.

“Now you’re talking.”

I produced seven small glasses. Lou stared at them.

“Where’d you get those?”

“The establishment around the corner.”

“You stole shot glasses?”

“I purchased them.”

Lou looked almost disappointed. I filled each glass. Then my own. Mickey raised his.

“To Bellafonte.”

The others followed. I lifted mine.

“To reliable men.”

They drank.

I did not.

Lou brought his glass toward his mouth. Then stopped. His eyes moved to mine. I tilted my glass. The liquid spilled onto the pavement. Lou went very still. Then he poured his out too. Rocco coughed. Once. Then again. Mickey looked at him.

“You all right?”

Rocco grabbed his throat. His glass hit the ground. Fingers bent forward. Danny staggered into the wall. Paulie managed half a word before his knees failed. It ended quickly. That had been intentional. There was no reason to make them suffer.

There was an eternity ahead for that.

Lou backed away from the bodies. Then from me.

“What the fuck?”

I crouched beside Mickey and checked for a pulse. None. Lou’s breathing became louder.

“Why?”

Rocco had no pulse either.

“Thrak.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you do that?”

I looked up.

“There are more guards inside than Lord Bellafonte told me.”

“So?”

“They are positioned for an attack.”

Lou stared. I stood.

“Someone warned them.”

His eyes moved toward the five bodies. Then back to me.

“You think one of these guys was the rat?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“I do not know.”

Lou’s mouth opened. Then closed.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I remain unfamiliar with this person.”

“You killed all five!”

“Yes.”

“One of them was the rat!”

“Yes.”

“What about the other four?”

I considered this.

“They are no longer a security concern.”

Lou just stared at me. I knelt between the bodies.

“Now.”

I placed both hands against the pavement. Necromancy was easier here. I had noticed that almost immediately. Perhaps because these humans buried their dead without wards. Perhaps because their priests lacked proper training. Perhaps because this world had simply forgotten how close death always was. Whatever the reason, the corpses answered beautifully. I spoke the invocation. Green light moved beneath their skin. Lou stepped backward.

“What are you doing?”

“Improving them.”

The bodies jerked. Bones cracked. Flesh collapsed inward as the magic consumed what was unnecessary. Lou made a noise I had never heard from an adult man.

Within moments, five skeletons stood in the alley.

Their clothing hung strangely from bone. One still wore his hat.

I liked that one.

They bent together and picked up their weapons. Lou stared. Mickey’s skeleton checked the action on his Thompson. Enough memory remained in the bones to handle a gun. That would save considerable time. I turned toward Lou. He had gone pale.

“I am very glad you were intelligent enough not to drink.”

His hand moved toward his pistol. I glanced at it. His hand stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“If you were the informant, then you are intelligent enough to understand that you should never betray me again.”

Lou swallowed.

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then you are intelligent enough to be worth keeping.”

For several seconds he said nothing. Then:

“I wasn’t.”

“A pity. I would have respected you more if you were.”

I turned toward the club.

“Come.”

Lou stayed where he was.

“Are you coming?”

His eyes moved from the five skeletons to me.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed again.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Good. I liked Lou.

The guard at the rear door knew Mickey.

That helped. Mickey’s skeleton knocked. A small window opened.

“What?”

Mickey stared through it. The guard frowned.

“Mick?”

I nodded. Mickey fired through the door. Wood splintered. The guard disappeared. The skeleton kicked the door inward. So much for subtlety. We entered. Two men waited in the kitchen. They opened fire. Mickey lost three ribs. Paulie’s hat came off. Neither seemed bothered. The men shooting at them were less composed. One screamed. The skeletons returned fire. The kitchen became very loud. A cook dropped flat behind a counter. Smart. A woman carrying plates screamed and ran. Also smart. I ignored both.

The Boss had been explicit. They were not targets. We moved into the main room. Music stopped. Every head turned. People screamed. Tables overturned. One man in a suit reached beneath his jacket. I struck him with necrotic force before he cleared the weapon. He fell. I raised two fingers. His corpse rose behind the bar. I left it there to watch the front entrance while the original five continued with me. The screaming faltered.

Fear was wonderfully efficient.

“Everyone who does not work for Marzano may leave.”

Nobody moved. I pointed toward the front door.

“Now.”

They moved. Very quickly. One bartender remained behind the bar. His hands were raised.

“Do you serve Marzano?”

“I serve drinks.”

“Acceptable.”

I pointed toward the door. He left. Gunfire erupted from the staircase. Rocco’s skull snapped backward. He fell. Then stood again. Someone upstairs yelled:

“What the fuck?”

I liked this world.

The skeletons advanced. Bullets struck bone. Some shattered ribs. One round removed Danny’s jaw. He continued climbing. The men above began retreating.

“Stop shooting!”

Another gun fired.

“I SAID STOP SHOOTING!”

A door slammed. Lou stood beside me, pistol drawn but unused.

“You planned this?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Not every detail. The outcome, yes.”

A bullet struck the wall beside his head. He ducked.

“I had hoped they would surrender sooner.”

We climbed. Three more men died upstairs. Two joined us afterward. The third had lost too much of his skull. Useful information. By the time we reached the office, seven skeletons stood behind me. The door was locked. Lou raised his pistol. I stopped him.

“Why?”

“Door’s locked.”

I pointed toward the largest skeleton. It broke the frame with two blows. Lou stared at me.

“I gotta admit, that’s handy.”

“Thank you.”

Sal Marzano stood behind a desk holding a shotgun. He was broad, dark-haired, sweating badly. Two men stood beside him. Both had guns. Neither looked eager to use them. Sal stared past me. At Mickey. At Rocco. At the others. His shotgun lowered slightly.

“What the hell are you?”

“Thrak.”

He kept staring.

“Thrak what?”

There was always a laugh. I waited for it.

“Thrak the Small.”

No one laughed.

Sal dropped the shotgun. That was better.

Vincent was waiting when we returned.

Sal Marzano sat in the chair opposite his desk. Lou stood near the wall. I stood beside Sal. Seven skeletons waited outside. Vincent had insisted. Apparently they were distracting. Vincent looked at Sal. Then at me. Then at Lou.

“Where are the five guys I sent with you?”

“Outside,” I said. Lou looked at the floor.

Vincent frowned.

“Outside where?”

“The hall.”

He looked toward the door.

“Mickey?”

“Yes.”

“Paulie?”

“Yes.”

“All five?”

“Yes.”

Vincent relaxed. Then Lou said:

“They’re all dead, Boss.”

Vincent slowly looked at me.

“What?”

“They betrayed you.”

“One of them,” Lou added.

Vincent’s face changed.

“One of them?”

“One was leaking to Marzano,” I said.

“Which one?”

“I do not know.”

Vincent stood.

“You killed five of my guys because one might’ve been a rat?”

“Yes.”

His hands went flat on the desk.

“You don’t whack my guys.”

I waited.

“You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t whack one of my guys unless I say so.”

A rule I had not been told. I would remember it.

“My apologies, Boss.”

Vincent stared at me. I lowered my head. Old instincts.

I waited for the strike.

It did not come. Instead Vincent sighed.

“Jesus Christ.”

I was really going to have to ask Lou about this Christ person. Vincent sat.

“Next time, you find out which guy’s dirty first.”

“Understood.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You actually understand?”

“Yes.”

He did not appear convinced. Sal shifted in the chair. Vincent noticed.

“So.”

He turned toward him.

“Sal.”

Marzano swallowed.

“Vincent.”

“Who tipped you?”

Sal looked toward me. I smiled. His face drained.

“I can question him,” I offered.

“No!” Sal shouted. Vincent blinked. Sal leaned forward.

“I’ll talk.”

“I didn’t ask you anything yet.”

“I’ll tell you everything. Just keep that little freak away from me.”

Vincent slowly sat back. Sal gave us warehouses and truck routes, then named police officers, two judges, three bartenders, and a man called Charlie who apparently handled telephone calls. Finally he offered a familiar name.

“Danny Costa.”

Vincent’s eyes sharpened.

“Danny?”

“One of your guys.”

Lou looked at me. I looked at Lou. Interesting. Sal continued.

“He’s been feeding us routes for two months. Told us about tonight.”

Vincent went very still.

“Danny was one of the five.”

Lou nodded.

“Yeah.”

Vincent looked at me. I smiled.

“You see?”

“That doesn’t make the other four less dead.”

“No.”

I considered this.

“But it does make me correct.”

Vincent closed his eyes. For several seconds nobody spoke. Then Lou began laughing. Quietly. Vincent pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

Lou stopped. Mostly. Vincent looked at Sal.

“You got anything else?”

Sal looked at me.

“Yes.”

He had quite a lot else.

The pistol was beautiful.

It had black steel, silver inlay, and a shortened grip that fit my hand perfectly. I had never owned anything made specifically for me before. Shiiruk’s robes had been old. My books had been discarded. My ritual tools had been whatever remained after senior necromancers chose theirs. Everything I possessed had once belonged to someone more important.

Not this.

I turned the pistol over in my hand. Vincent watched.

“Like it?”

“Yes.”

“Had a gunsmith cut it down for you.”

I looked at him.

“For me?”

“That’s what I just said, wise guy.”

I examined it again. Beside the pistol sat an envelope. I opened it. Money. A great deal of money.

“What is this?”

“Your cut.”

“The money from the club belongs to you.”

“Most of it.”

Vincent lit a cigar.

“You took the joint.”

“Yes.”

“You brought Sal back alive.”

“Yes.”

“You uncovered a rat.”

“Yes.”

“You also murdered four innocent men.”

I hesitated.

“Yes.”

“We’re gonna work on that.”

I nodded. Vincent pushed the envelope toward me.

“But you did the job.”

I looked at the money. Then at him. Vincent smiled.

“In my outfit, you keep what you kill.”

I stared at him. The words settled somewhere deep.

Keep what you kill.

No surrendering it to someone larger. No watching Shiiruk take the credit. I could conquer something and keep it.

An elegant arrangement.

I smiled.

“I like this world.”

Vincent laughed.

“Yeah. Well, we like you, Thrak. You’re all right.”

Lou stood near the door. He did not laugh. He had been watching me differently since the alley. Carefully. I understood. Fear was respect that had learned caution. When the Boss dismissed us, I asked Lou to remain a moment. He looked toward the office. Lord Bellafonte had already called for the next man.

“What?”

“Danny had been selling routes for two months.”

“That’s what Sal said.”

“The men downstairs were not told our approach until tonight. You told me the entrances in the Boss’s office.”

He took out a cigarette and held it without lighting it.

“Danny knew the neighborhood.”

“Danny knew the deliveries. You knew which door I would examine first.”

Lou looked down the hall.

“Sal showed me the note while you fetched the car. Danny carried it. He did not write it.”

I had admired the note. Brief. Exact. It instructed Marzano to let Bellafonte’s men withdraw and concentrate his fire upon the small figure among them. An excellent improvement upon an indiscriminate ambush.

“You told them to kill me.”

Lou stopped turning the cigarette.

“Yeah.”

I smiled.

“There you are.”

He looked at the pistol the Boss had given me.

“Gonna tell him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you arranged an enemy’s death without firing a shot, using another man’s disloyalty to conceal your own. I underestimated you.”

For the first time, he seemed unsure what I was saying.

“Fourteen guards. Three watched entrances. You even had them cover the roofs. Masterfully done, Lou.”

“Didn’t work.”

“No. You chose inadequate partners.”

I put the pistol away.

“Choose better next time.”

He studied me for a long while. Then he lit the cigarette. I had given him a reason to be grateful. I had also demonstrated exactly what happened to men who opposed me.

A sound basis for employment.

Someone passed the open doorway. I heard two men speaking outside.

“Who’s the little guy?”

A pause. Then:

“That’s the Small.”

No laughter. Lou’s eyes moved toward me. Then quickly away. I stood in the office of the first lord who had ever listened when I spoke, with money of my own and a pistol made for my hand.

Thrak the Small.

For twenty-eight years, the name had meant that I was beneath everyone else.

Here, men said it quietly.

I decided I would keep that too.