Birth of a Monster (6 page)

Months and months he had spent
analyzing his quarry, hoping for some overt gesture on Mr. Brass’s
part ever since the death of Heavy Sam to initiate a business
relationship. But when none came, the chief had been left with no
choice but to treat Mr. Brass as a target. Throughout the entire
time, however, he had been filled with a kind of awe as to the
mysterious nature of a man who had managed to become a kingpin in
the chief’s city without so much as ever being arrested.

The chief studied him
carefully.

“Today has been a disaster of
unspeakable proportions,” the chief said.

Righty agreed but wasn’t sure whether
it was prudent to say so. What a police chief viewed as a disaster
might be deemed propitious by a criminal.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. But
I barely saved it before it became irrecoverable.”

Righty remained silent, glancing at the
chief occasionally, but mostly looking down. His confidence was
obliterated.

“You are a subject of great mystery to
me, Mr. Brass,” the chief began. “No arrests before today. And yet
you’ve been the kingpin of my city for quite some time now. And
still I don’t even know your name.”

The chief continued studying him like a
lawyer analyzing the fine print an important contract.

“But . . . I have the strangest feeling
. . . that I recognize you,” he said with incipient
satisfaction.

The chief stared at him unabashedly as
though he were a slave on an auction block, bereft of the right to
become indignant by such conspicuous evaluation.

The chief’s mind began to recall
images, all over a decade old. His mind began to subtract age from
the face before him, give it a cocky flush, and remove the nascent
forehead lines.

He was in a room . . . no, much larger.
A stadium. He was near a ring. He turned to his left:

“AND NOW . . . RIIIIIGHTY RIIIIICK!”
the chief shouted out, imitating a boxing announcer.

Righty felt the inner core of his soul
freeze, as he realized he may as well be hung upside down before
this man, with a bright line indicating the jugular
vein.

“YES!! It is you!!” the chief said, and
then stood up from his chair and began slipping and ducking,
throwing out jabs and crosses, before delivering a heavy right hand
to the body of an imaginary opponent. He then backed away wincing,
holding an imaginary wound to his ribs.

“YES, YES YES!!” the chief said,
thrilled.

“You were one of my favorites. You
could have been a legend. You were . . . an almost champion.” The
chief’s tone terminated in a doleful note.

“Broken wrist. Trained hard anyway.
Fought hard anyway. And almost won anyway. Almost. Almost,” he
repeated, his eyes filled with pleasure.

“Are you seeing a repeat performance of
that, Righty Rick? Or should I call you Richard? You know, the
Sivingdel Boxing Association keeps detailed records of all
professional boxers going back at least a century. And if I’m not
mistaken, they’re indexed both by real name and ring name. So, I’m
about thirty minutes on horseback from the SBA, and I think it
would take me an hour at the most to find your last name. Are you
going to make me work like that, or are we going to work
together?”

It seemed to Righty that the last time
a cop suggested they work together he had been rewarded with
handcuffs and an extra criminal charge. He kept his mouth
shut.

“Okay, I can understand if you’re a bit
distrustful. Those NDP boys are real idealists. I’m a realist. Do
you know why you’re even here, Righty? And I’m not being cute; it
seems you really don’t.”

“I know what I’m accused of,” Righty
said laconically.

The chief rolled his eyes.

“You pay to play . . . get
it?”

Righty was silent. He “got” it, but he
wasn’t sure whether the “it” was just another trap.

“Okay, okay, let’s start over,” the
chief said. “This is my town. You’re doing business in my town.
That business happens to be illegal. I’ve got to make some arrests,
or important people start to wonder. And when important people
start to wonder too long, I lose my job. So, you pay to play. Those
who don’t end up paying in a different way. The way you’re paying
right now.”

Righty was silent.

“You’ve been flying free for a long
time now, Righty. I could have gotten to your men a long time ago,
but I wanted to get someone near the top once I realized you were
going to be hard to reel in directly. So, I took my time. And when
I saw how hard-core these NDP fellas are, I realized that if I
arrested you before Sivingdel passed a statute analogous to SISA,
the NDP was just going to sweep right down and take you from me.
They almost did.”

Righty’s trust was beginning to build
slowly towards the chief, and he realized staying silent wasn’t
going to get him anywhere. Just before he could, the chief began
again.

“As for the rough treatment, that
wasn’t supposed to happen. I think you noticed the changed
attitudes of the processing officers. It all happened too fast for
me. I threatened Tats this morning that I was going to send his
case to the prosecutor’s office tomorrow if he didn’t talk. I was
expecting him to break, tell me where I could find you, and then we
could arrange the whole thing nice and pleasant, without all the
frisking and needless humiliation.”

Righty found himself surprised that it
seemed the chief was telling him the truth.

“But I had no idea you were just going
to waltz in here and ask to speak to me. If I had known that, I
would have alerted the processing officers to send you straight to
me. You see the bad things that happen when there’s no
communication.”

Righty felt it was now or never for him
to talk. After the number of charges he was already looking at, he
felt like he was certainly doomed without trying to make some kind
of deal.

“How much and how often?” Righty
asked.

Clap of hands.

“Now that’s more like it!” the chief
said. “That’s what you should have come to me and said the day
after you killed Heavy Sam!”

Righty felt like
saying,
Sorry for not taking it for granted
that the Sivingdel chief of police enters into a partnership with
every reigning kingpin
, but realized that,
in addition to angering the chief, it might make him appear
naïve.

“You’re right,” said Righty.

“A million a month!” the chief said,
with a challenging look in his eye, daring Righty to defy
him.

Righty pinched his right thumb so hard
he almost drew blood in order to quell a laugh that nearly escaped
his throat when he heard the chief so proudly announce a sum that
was now a fraction of a day’s pay.

Never having been one prone to acting,
he was in new territory. He grimaced, cleared his throat, and said,
“Every month?!”

“There’s a jail cell down there waiting
for you,” the chief said.

“It’s a deal,” Righty said, his
confidence now partly resurrected from the dead, and he extended
his hand.

A sly look in his eye, the chief said,
“I’m going to consider the amount we confiscated today as a
donation for your unpaid prior months as kingpin. And I’m being
awful generous by not charging you for every month since Sam bit
the dust.”

Righty nodded appreciatively, knowing
that until he was out of this jail, he was going to have to play
his cards very carefully.

“Today’s the twenty-second. On the
thirty-first, you’ll go to this address,” the chief said while he
wrote rapidly onto a small piece of paper, which he then handed to
Righty. It was a brothel.

“You’ll meet with a man named George,
whom I’ll casually introduce to you on the way out.”

“I’ve got a demand,” Righty said
firmly.

The chief looked a bit startled at the
confident tone emanating from the man who, frankly, seemed like a
bit of a weakling to him, nothing like the terrifying Heavy Sam he
had worked with before.

The chief raised his eyebrows slightly,
not wishing to dignify the request with a verbal
response.

“I get my dagger back.”

“But of course,” the chief said. “Just
remember, if you miss a payment, I’ll tell Willis the
misunderstanding was all mine and that we currently don’t have the
resources to deal with your kind. And that will be the end of you,
pal. I know where Tats’ mansions are. I know where Crabs’ house is.
I’ve infiltrated you. I own you.”

“Yes, sir,” Righty said.

“We’re going to get along great; I just
know it,” the chief said.

He got up and went to the door and
whispered something to the guards. About three minutes later, he
was back with Righty’s dagger in hand.

He whistled admiringly. “She’s a
beauty. I’m wishing I could renege on that part of the bargain,” he
said, his eyes quizzing Righty.

Righty tamed the beast within . . . but
only barely.

“But, I’m a man of my word,” he said
extending the compressed sword to Righty. As his fingers touched
it, a salve—nearly magical—descended upon his soul like the
restorative kiss to a dead princess in a children’s tale. But
unlike the love transferred by the mythical kiss, this restorative
power lay in something far more sinister—the knowledge that it was
up to him whether he wished at that very moment to protract the
game of broken prisoner or slice this vermin into more pieces than
a diced onion.

“And one more,” Righty said. He almost
delivered it in a menacing tone but got control of himself at the
last second. With a weak shrug and a soft voice he said, “It’s
gonna be hard for me to get that kind of cash to you each month if
my associates downstairs are locked up.”

The chief’s eyes scanned Righty’s
thoroughly, perhaps looking for signs of a challenge to his
authority before responding, and then said, with some reluctance,
“I wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me, would I?” He
paused. “Wait here a moment.”

“Carl! Watch him!” the chief barked at
Mr. Uppercut while the chief disappeared from sight.

“Anything I can do for you while you’re
waiting, Mr. Higler?”

Righty shook his head.

About ten minutes later, the chief
returned.

“Now, you can’t go waltzing out the
front door. For all I know, Benjamin and Willis are out there
waiting. You and your compatriots are going to leave in the wagon
Tats brought to Crabs’ house. And to show you I truly am a
businessman, I’ve had your merchandise replaced as well. I don’t
want to make it hard on you to meet that payment you’ve got coming
up in just over a week!” The chief smiled. “I’ll show you the
way.”

They headed downstairs, went through a
series of hallways, and then finally ended up in a warehouse-like
area.

There, in front of the wagon, were
Tats, Crabs, and all the underlings, a competing blend of
trepidation and hope on their faces.

“One last bit of information, Mr.
Brass,” the chief said to Righty, deciding it was not necessarily
prudent to reveal his old boxing name in front of his men, “I
suggest you act very discreetly while leaving here. If you get
busted by the NDP outside these walls, there’s nothing I can do for
you. Is there George?” he added with a wink at Righty, who then
looked at George, the man he was to pay a million falons to in just
over a week.

“We’ll be discreet, chief,” Righty
said. The chief and George then left Righty alone with his
men.

“Crabs, you drive. Everyone else in the
back. Drop me off at the city park.”

Crabs asked no questions. He just
hopped onto the front of the coach like a rabbit.

Righty was immeasurably glad his
rough-handed humiliation had not occurred before the eyes of his
subordinates.

As he and the others piled into the
wagon, the mood continued its contradiction of hope mixed with
apprehension.

As soon as the wagon pulled out and had
made it a safe distance from the police station, Righty addressed
those in the wagon.

“I’m not in the best frame of mind
right now to have a detailed discussion about this. All I want to
say is I don’t personally blame anyone here. There was a bit of a
misunderstanding with the chief, and I believe everything has been
straightened out. Tats, we’ll meet tonight at your
north-by-northeast mansion at 11 p.m. to talk some more. Be alone
in your backyard.”