Anson remained silent as he tried to figure out another plan and wait for the Kadon triad leader to come out. Maybe he could explain it to him then, but for now, all that Anson could look at was that disgusting scar on Osman’s neck. He wondered where it came from. A moment later a knock came at the front door, Osman shot up in excitement and strolled over to the door. Opening it, he seemed to be thanking a servant. He couldn’t believe his ears, but amongst Osman’s pleasantries, it seemed Anson could hear the creaking of wheels.
He couldn’t figure it out on his own, but instead, the true reality of what was happening threw itself in front of Anson’s eyes like that disgusting scar. Before even closing the door, Osman pulled in a man on a wheelchair, more specially the leader of the Kadon Triad. Sure, Anson knew he was old, but when he took a look at the shriveled and bandaged man that Osman rolled in, he didn’t believe it. There was no man to explain anything to. He and Cyril were surely dead, and looking over to his partner, it seemed Cyril reached the same conclusion. “Gentlemen,” Osman announced while rolling the leader to an empty spot next to him at the table. “May I introduce the Kadon Triad Leader Yusuf Yildiz!”
There were bandages all over the man’s head, shoulders, and neck. The man could barely move. All the while, Osman smiled like a madman as he introduced Anson and Cyril to Yusuf. “Boss, these are the men who are trying to rob the country. I told you about them earlier.”
“Warrior boy, huh?” Anson blurted out. He couldn’t believe it. Looking around the office, he realized that he should have figured it out earlier. No random warrior intermediate triad member can just lounge around in the main office of Kadon triad leader. “You a caretaker?” Anson asked. “Is that why you can just relax in here and no one notices? Why guards know knew you were in this man office,” he said pointing to Yusuf, “But not their own boss? By the way, they were the ones who caught me, so I would split some of that sweet reward with them.”
Osman took a quick bite of Lokum. “Sure, they did,” he remarked as his smile disappeared. “You have astute observation skills,” he said while chewing. “But your friend over here hasn’t spoken much, and I would very much like to get acquainted. So, Cyril was—”
“No,” Anson interrupted. “First, you tell me what the hell is happening here. Who the fuck are you and how far up the Kadon leader are you? I would like to know.” Anson was writhing in his chair. Wishing that he could break his restraints and strangle this cocky Kadon man.
Looking over to Yusuf, Osman chuckled. “You said it yourself. I’m his caretaker.”
“And what qualifies you to be his caretaker?”
Osman seemed shocked at the question. “Are you an idiot?” he asked. The smile was gone from his face, only pure confusion remained. “Did you not notice the resemblance of last names when I said introduced the man?”
“We don’t know your last name,” responded Anson. Suddenly, he remembered how he pretended to be Osman while sending that pigeon to Zeki. What was the last name he chose? Oh, that’s right: Onur. Couldn’t have been more generic.
“How did you get in here, then?” Osman asked.
“I told you; the guards caught me.” Anson plainly responded.
Osman sighed. “Last name is Yildiz. I’m Yusuf’s nephew.” Turning once again to Cyril, Osman tried to break the ice with the former treasurer, or at least pretended to. Meanwhile, Anson tried to put the pieces together. Was Osman in charge? If so, why was he running around the streets like a madman? That’s probably there was no doubt about him being a “warrior boy.”
While he was thinking, Cyril didn’t respond to any of Osman, much to the annoyance of the man. “Okay then, if you don’t want to talk, we could always end this conversation early and chop you up ahead of schedule.”
Cyril took a big gulp before finally answering. “What—What did you do to him?” he finally said. Osman looked back in confusion, wanting clarification. “Yusuf, I doubt you would let your uncle be hurt like that and remain so calm.”
“Yeah, his office must be mighty comfy,” Anson added on.
Giving out a fake smile, Osman took another sip of wine. “It was an accident,” he responded. “He fell down the front stairs early in the morning. I wasn’t there when it happened.”
They all knew it was a lie. Cyril looked over to Anson with a look of shame. Seemingly too shy to look at Osman with the same look. Anson gladly did it for Cyril and stared back at Osman. “Let’s cut the shit,” he said. “You’re in charge here, and so let’s talk. If you forget about the robbery, we’ll return the shares and we’ll continue on our operation.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” responded Osman. “The Kadon Triad was supposed to stay out of the whole thing until the very end. You think the Chairman is going to see a robbed Kadon Local Chapter and not question why Anson Xenos Elias and Cyril Adonis Bakas were being marched down halls of our headquarters for only nothing to happen as a result? I have to turn you in now.”
“How do you know our names?” asked Anson, delaying having to answer the question.
“Mercenary Commander Eros informed us of who was going to attempt the operation.”
“Informed you?” tried to clarify Anson.
“Informed my uncle.”
“Sure, he did. Now, when your uncle’s accident?”
“And when were you going to tell your Kadon comrades?” interjected Cyril.
Giving out another fake smile, Osman also dodged the question. “Why do you care? You’re already dead men.”
“Maybe, maybe not. How about if you tell us, you can have all the shares.”
“All the shares?” Osman laughed. Shaking his head, he threw his hands up. “Forget it. You guys already know. He fell down some steps early in the morning. Or at least that’s what I—”
“Fell or pushed?” Cyril quietly asked. “By you?”
“He—”
“Remember, your honors on the line,” Cyril added on. Anson looked at Cyril, confused at the mood of the man. He spoke with confidence and calmness, but his skin was bright red, his hands shook under the table, and his leg tapped the floor faster than drummer hitting a cymbal.
“Honor?” chuckled Osman. “I’m sure you are very honorable.”
“This isn’t about me,” said Cyril. “It’s about you. And I’m asking you if you would take out a relative, who you seemingly wanted out of the way, in an honorable or dishonorable way. Sure, he might have fell, but do you like lying in front of dead men?”
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“How about we ask your uncle?” added on Anson, facing the crippled man.
“How about you shut up,” snapped back Osman. Anson actually leaned back in his chair in surprise. That reaction was certainly surprising. “This doesn’t matter. Whatever you are getting at, I’m sure you are offering something at the end and I’m not going to accept it.”
There was a moment of silence before Anson spoke up once more. Throwing up his hands, he flashed the restraints on his wrists. “I got no other option, so I’m going to make the offer anyway.” But before he could continue, Osman got up, made his way to the door, opened it, and yelled for some guards to come to the office. Coming back to the table, he sat down and slouched in his chair.
“You have thirty seconds before they drag you away to await transportation to the Chairman.”
When Anson heard that, his hands twitched, sweat formed in a millisecond and drenched the back of his neck, and curled his toes trying to think of how to say what he wanted to say in enough time. “We have the entire mercenary service. I have nothing else to lose so I am offering all my shares. If you don’t accept, you are going to have to fight thousands of mercenaries and explain to your men why you are giving orders and not your uncle. We have an ace in the hole! We can rob the stock market, the Sovans, and the Chairman during the Knees final tonight! Also, you need to delay that so everything can go as planned! And you need the game to play out fairly! That way Zeki wins, and everyone is distracted by the frenzy!” By then, the guards came, and not the ones that brought Anson and Cyril in the first place.
“I’ll consider it,” Osman nodded. “Boys!” he said as he turned toward the bodyguards. “Take them to the holding cells. No one touches them until I’m there.”
The guards made their way to the table, and Anson’s heart punched through his chest as he resigned himself to what would most likely be his waiting room to the afterlife.
#
The two were dragged off to the holding cells about halfway across the building. They sat there as Anson tried to figure out what to do but there was nothing. He couldn’t talk his way out or couldn’t fight his way. His hands were still tied with his feet now tied to the edge of the cell with Cyril at the other side, resting his head against the bars. Around fifteen minutes later, Anson finally said something. “What are we going to do?”
Cyril slightly moved his head so he could peak at Anson. Unlike his boss, Cyril wasn’t shaky or darting his eyes around the room. He only sat there, staring at the cage door. It wasn’t like there was anything else to look at besides empty cages enclosed within a room that seemed more akin to a storage unit than a holding area. “What can we do?” responded Cyril. “We’re tied up in a cage at the discretion of Osman. The only other guy in the room is a guard twenty meters away, standing at the door.”
Anson shook his head. “I don’t know, I am just trying to think of something. Do you think he’ll take us up on the offer?”
“I don’t know,” Cyril quietly responded. It was almost as if he was about to sleep.
“Are you alright man?” questioned Anson. “In the room with Osman, you were shitting bricks, but now you seem to have lost all stakes in what is happening. Like a fly watching two guys rot in a cell.”
Cyril sat up pulled on his restraints. “I can’t exactly do anything at the moment, so I am waiting. I don’t know about you; I am kind of used to these types of situations. Waiting around, powerless. And it’s not like you’re no better. In the other room you were acting all confident and mocking the man, but in here you are acting like someone’s got a knife to your throat.”
“Probably because I could do something while in that room. In here, I am a sitting duck!” Anson threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t get it. Is he trying to intimidate us? He doesn’t really have time to waste in deciding. If he agrees with us, we are wasting time in here, and if he doesn’t, every second we spend in here without announcing he caught us makes him also seem like a traitor in front of the Chairman. What is he doing?”
“He could be telling the Chairman right now. He doesn’t have to warn us beforehand, you know.” Cyril reasoned.
The man was right. Anson knew what Cyril said could very well be happening and there was nothing he could do about it. At least it would be the right thing to do. He thought for a moment more before reminding himself of another matter that dealt with doing the right thing. Turning to Cyril he asked “What was that thing you were telling Osman? Honor?”
Sighing, Cyril sat up. “I was just saying that if he is going to get to seriously injure or kill a relative, he should be honest about it. For example, if I killed my dad, I wouldn’t hide it. I would tell people.”
“You would tell people?” Anson asked, surprised. He then remembered the guard who was listening to all this but when he turned around, he found the man to be fast asleep, so his worries about accidently leaking that the Kadon triad leader was injured or dead was gone. He really didn’t need another negative thing for Osman to think about when he decided to take the deal or not.
“Yes! I wouldn’t want it to seem like he disappeared, and make people hope for a potential return of my dad. Whoever those people are.”
This whole thing seemed ludicrous to Anson. People were killing their own relatives and causing the whole operation to go array. Didn’t people like their relatives and treat them more closely than friends? Osman throwing Yusuf down the stairs, Vasos and Cyril hating each other over something? What was it? He remembered something back at the office about when people ask Vasos about a certain person. “Hey, why did you join the mercenaries. Sure, your dad is an asshole, but that doesn’t mean to risk your life. Did he not give you money or anything?”
Cyril turned to Anson in surprise of the sudden question. “No. He offered. Back then he thought I should take over the stagecoach business when he dies. Hell, maybe he still thinks that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t want his blood money and with nowhere else to turn I joined the mercenaries.”
“Couldn’t find a job?” Anson mocked it a bit.
“What about you?” Cyril answered. “I like having some time to myself sometimes. Better than slaving away at a blacksmith or fruit market with a couple of hours at the beginning and end of the day. Besides, my dad couldn’t touch me as a mercenary. Still, even with that plus, the Sovans would have accepted me with open arms, but I don’t know… Being in the Sovan Triad seemed wrong. Immoral.”
“But you said at the beginning of the day that you got your treasurer position because you were a rich guy’s son?”
“Yeah!” Cyril laughed. “I couldn’t believe it, but when the war started, my dad bribed some people to give me the position. I was qualified, but no new recruit gets that position as their first job. He didn’t want me to die I suppose.”
Anson nodded along. “Understandable.” He spoke. “Dying is a terrible thing.” There was a moment of silence again as he contemplated telling Cyril about Ahmed. Going through the pain again like he didn’t tell Baldwyn. Sitting there for about another minute, Anson slowly convinced himself to tell the story, so clear his voice he spoke up. “You know, Cyril, there was a guy—”
But before he could begin, the door opened at the end of the hallway. Anson stopped talking and along with Cyril, the two looked over at it could have been only one man. They sat up, trying to prepare for whatever Osman decided, and after a long walk to their cell, he talked. “Anson, I have a couple of questions.” With a nod, Anson let Osman continue. “First, has that guard been asleep this entire time?”
Looking over to the guard, Anson felt quite shocked that was the first question. Hopefully, this wasn’t the start of useless questions so Osman could lower Anson’s guard. “Yeah,” Anson replied.
“So, he hasn’t heard anything you have been talking about. Good! So, I have decided what I am going to do,” he said as he looked over to the guard with disdain. Anson and Cyril leaned forward, waiting to hear the answer. “How convincingly can you make a grand escape look?” Neither responded as they looked for some elaboration. “I mean,” Osman continued. “I need a way to kill my uncle so I can take legitimate control of the Triad. Can you make it look like you killed him as part of an escape plan? Your offer sounds enticing, but I can’t exactly just let you walk out.”
“Kill him?” Anson asked. Mere hours after it seemed like a great mercenary revolution would take place with no deaths, the bodies were dropping. First, Deo must have killed an entire local chapter, second, there could be mercenaries killing and torturing people for information on share locations. Anson didn’t exactly have an eye on things or know how well Baldwyn was holding down the fort, and third, Deo probably killed the Bandit as he was already a dead man.
It seemed pointless to try to keep this whole no-killing rule in place, but isn’t that what separated him and the Chairman? “Well?” Osman asked, waiting for a decision.
“I have to kill him?” Anson asked. His tone was as close to begging without directly begging.
“Yes, you do. Or you have to die, and I make it seem like the two of you died fighting each other.”
With that, Anson was left no choice. There was death either way, with the only difference being the amount. Sighing, Anson resigned. “One death is better than three.”