Birth of a Monster (20 page)

“Yes, sir?” he said calmly, realizing
he had no innocuous alias with which to address Mr.
Brass.

Righty drew as close as he could
without drawing undue attention so that he might convey a
direct-enough message to let Tats know he needed him right
away.

“Can you leave your lady friend for a
task?” Righty inquired.

“Of course,” Tats said,
unblinking.

“Come this way,” Righty said, setting
off towards the hotel.

As soon as they found themselves at
least ten to twelve feet from the nearest passerby, Tats said to
Righty in a hushed voice, “How long?”

“If all goes well, you’ll be back this
evening. Otherwise . . . you won’t.”

Tats gulped.

They reached the hotel.

“I don’t want to attract any attention.
Go tell her what you need to. I’ll walk five minutes from here and
then come back at the same pace.”

“Got it,” Tats said, setting off
towards Rose.

Chapter 37

When Tats entered the room, Rose was
just stepping out of the shower, and as soon as she heard it was
Tats, she dropped the towel and walked towards him
boldly.

When Tats beheld her, he felt like a
fat kid suddenly tempted by a giant piece of chocolate cake. His
desire to jump on her could not have been stronger, but he knew if
that ship set sail, a very angry Mr. Brass would be waiting for
several hours downstairs and perhaps wouldn’t think it necessary to
bribe Tats’ way out of jail the next time.

“Babe!” Tats said, looking at
her.

She approached him confidently. He knew
this was going to be a fight, paying customer or not.

“Babe, I have to go do
something.”

He didn’t know if it was his tone that
saved him, but he supposed it must have been, because whereas the
same line might have earned the average man a slap across the face,
Rose’s response was one of concern rather than the bitter
resentment he feared.

“What?” she asked simply, but
approaching him while she did so and hugging him lightly around his
lower back, pushing her still nude body against him.

“I don’t know, but I have to. I hope to
be back tonight. Please stay.”

Her eyes scanned his for the faintest
trace of guile or hypocrisy, but her search simply added to her
apprehension rather than serving to fuel a sullen
bitterness.

She grabbed him and kissed him
lengthily, this being—strangely—their first kiss.

Tats’ urge to stay
redoubled.

“I’ll wait,” she said. “Go do whatever
it is you must.”

She wanted to leave it at that but
couldn’t control her tongue: “You come back.” It sounded like a
command.

Tats almost hugged her but knew the
clock was ticking. He simply nodded, his eyes turning moist, and
then left the room.

Chapter 38

When he met back up with Mr. Brass, he
just motioned for Tats to follow him. To Tats’ surprise, they set
off behind the hotel.

“We can’t talk much here, but I’ll
explain it to you soon enough . . . oh, and I hope you’re not
afraid of heights.”

Tats in fact was afraid of heights, and
although he vainly attempted to squash his instincts, they
correctly informed him he was going to get a first-hand experience
with the creature that was an integral part of Mr. Brass’s power
and mystique.

“I suggest holding on and just closing
your eyes until you’re so far up you know there’s no point thinking
about jumping off,” Righty said as they walked into the vacant
construction site.

The konulans had already been
instructed not to make their presence known unless instructed
otherwise. Some cards Righty just had to keep to
himself.

Tats gulped as he saw Harold looking
directly at him with his intelligent eyes.

“We’re off,” he said to Harold, who
immediately prostrated himself.

Righty got on first and gripped a
leather strap.

Tats overcame every instinct in his
body to flee, but as he got on top of Harold and grabbed the straps
he became detached from his body and was witnessing a foolish
person perform the deed while his mind hovered over him.

“We’re gonna have to leave kind of
fast,” Righty said. “I don’t want to be in tomorrow’s
news.”

Righty then leaned forward and pinned
his body underneath a tight strap, after which he grabbed onto a
second one for good measure. Tats, still feeling outside his body,
mimicked these actions, and no sooner did Harold feel their chests
against his back than he took out of the site like the proverbial
bat out of hell.

Tats started to puke, but it seemed the
downward pressure on his esophagus as Harold quickly accelerated
prevented what would have otherwise been the evacuation of
everything in his stomach down to the last drop of acid.

Righty laughed, remembering he had felt
that way before.

As soon as it was clear Harold was now
soaring calmly, Righty sat up and urged Tats to do the
same.

“There she is—Sodorf City,” Righty
said, admiringly.

Now that Tats was slightly calmer, he
couldn’t help but feel regal, as the awareness that he was doing
what no king could settled upon him. Then, a sense of foreboding
threatened his momentary triumph.

“Something tells me that, for you to
bring me up here on Harold, something really bad has
happened.”

“No, not yet,” said Righty. “It’s
something bad I aim to keep from happening that earned you a ride
on Harold. We’ll talk more calmly once we’re on solid
ground.”

They were already well outside the
city, and Harold was calmly descending into a forest.

They dismounted, and Righty said, “All
right, here’s the situation.”

Chapter 39

Tats wasn’t exactly thrilled to be
tasked with killing Mr. Hoffmeyer. All Mr. Brass would tell him was
that he had been the supplier to Heavy Sam and was currently the
supplier to what was left of his gang. But in Tats’ mind there must
surely be more to the story because Mr. Brass had never been the
type who sought to eliminate competition by killing them, even
though in self-defense it had often worked out that way.

His preferred method was to outperform
them in the market and beat them that way. So, he knew there was
more to the story than what he was being told. Nonetheless, if it
weren’t for Mr. Brass, he would be stuck in a gloomy cell
meditating upon the likelihood he would never get out if it had not
been for Mr. Brass showing up at the jail and bribing the chief,
putting his own freedom in great jeopardy in the
process.

Thus, it was with the zeal of an
employee sent to clean a latrine that Tats approached Mr.
Hoffmeyer’s warehouse. In his left sleeve was concealed a
compressed sword, a present Mr. Brass had given him previously.
Tats had practiced a few times with opening the sword, and while he
didn’t feel very confident with it yet, he didn’t dare ask Mr.
Brass for more time to prepare for the mission.

He had on a fake beard and was dressed
in an expensive suit of impeccable design. He carried a briefcase
with a million falons inside.

Inhaling deeply, he extended
his hand towards the door, and turned it, half-expecting it to pop
open immediately, whereupon six goons would spill out slicing and
bashing him into tiny pieces while saying,
Think you’re reeeal smooth, eh?!

But there was only calm, dull silence
as he opened the door. He saw a woman seated behind the main
desk.

Tats began to feel heat around his
collar as if someone had taken a scalding horse shoe and suddenly
slipped it around his neck. His heart had been moving at a quick
walk outside but was now beginning to trot.

In addition to never having seen Mr.
Hoffmeyer (or even a portrait) or having the slightest idea of what
kind of security to expect, Tats realized one of the biggest
factors working against him was the fact his heart was not in this
killing. Perhaps it was Rose’s fault. In her soft embrace, his
hardness had melted away like butter on a hot skillet.

And just thinking for a half-second how
much more he would prefer to be in her warm arms than carrying out
this murder affected his resolve perhaps the same way the thought
of sweet sleep might torment the mind of a laborer trying to force
his body to complete an eighteen-hour shift of digging
ditches.

But it was surely more than the
temptation of Rose’s otherworldly companionship that enervated his
soul. He felt a bit sorry for Mr. Hoffmeyer. Perhaps Tats’ recent
experience with Rose had been a doorway to a sweeter side of life
he had not truly known before, and with this acquaintance had come
the dangerous feeling of empathy, something he must repulse now
like bile trying to make its way up one’s throat when one is in a
public setting and would prefer not to barf like a sick dog in
front of all humanity.

He wondered for a brief instant why he
had almost effortlessly taken a knife to the throat of his once
close friend, Spider, but was quickly reminded that Spider had been
secretly working for Heavy Sam while pretending to be loyal to
Brass’s crew and would have slit Tats’ throat if he hadn’t done it
first.

But with Mr. Hoffmeyer, it was
different. Mr. Hoffmeyer had never been part of Brass’s gang; thus,
he was no defector. He was just competition, and since his market
share had been reduced to practically single digits, what was the
point in killing him? Why not allow him to remain as a possible
distraction for the police rather than Mr. Brass turning into the
sole kingpin target for law enforcement?

You’re just gonna have to
trust Mr. Brass. He wouldn’t tell you to do this unless it was
absolutely necessary.

“May I help you, sir?”

The secretary’s sweet voice lifted him
out of his internal ramblings but possibly added further peril to
his resolve. Was it her perfume? Her lips? Her hair? Her voice? He
couldn’t be quite sure, but it seemed like no sooner had she drawn
his attention than he felt his fortitude plummet even
lower.

Forcing himself through the motions
like a puppet master manipulating his inanimate servant, Tats said,
with feigned confidence, “Yes, ma’am. My name is Mr. Howard Rogden.
I am a new investor in this city and have secured leasing to six
separate business establishments within the city and am in urgent
need of securing an inventory supplier. I’ve spoken to two
potential suppliers thus far, but neither of them seems able to
supply the quantity of inventory I am going to be
needing.

“I would have to enter into a
contractual relationship with both of them to get the necessary
quantity, but I have been told Mr. Hoffmeyer is the largest
inventory supplier in all of Sivingdel, if not the whole country,
and that if there is any one man that can provide all my inventory
supply needs it would be he. Unfortunately, I have employees
already on payroll, and my stores’ signs promise they will be open
for business starting next Monday, which, in business terms, means
I either need to enter into an arrangement with Mr. Hoffmeyer today
or will need to do so with the two competitors.

“I have brought a modest supply of
capital with me as proof of the seriousness of my intentions,” Tats
said, opening a large briefcase with a million falons
inside.

“I’m sure Mr. Hoffmeyer
would be
very
glad
to help you if he were here,” the secretary began before pausing to
think, “but Mr. Hoffmeyer has been gone for a few days now. He went
home after the word got out about the police station being burned
to the ground, and I haven’t seen him since. That’s not like him.”
She paused again as if trying to decide whether it would be prudent
to give more information.

“Usually, Mr. Hoffmeyer never misses a
day without telling me in advance, precisely so that potential
business contacts such as yourself are not sent away completely
empty-handed but at least know when they can come back and contact
him.”

Tats scanned her visage closely for
signs of deception, but all he saw was genuine dismay.

“I’m worried maybe something happened
to him, but I don’t know what to do. A lot of people have been
stopping by to see him, and none of the junior managers at the
warehouse know anything either.”