Chapter 17: Planned

“Here are your men,” Tybalt said as he entered into Zoltan’s room above the training center. Njal stooped under the door frame, followed by Erik, Sten, and Stanimir.

“Already!?” Zoltan seemed surprised at the speed at which Tybalt seemed to work. Zoltan scanned the faces of the men that stood before him. All of Corvus seemed worse for the wear for their time in prison, but clearly the men felt bad for their failure as they hung their head low before Zoltan.

“What did it cost to take these men out of the penitentiary, huh?” Zoltan asked from his desk.

“Only a favourite the men there.” Stanimir responded.

“Pennies, most likely. Okay, well, I’ll let Lukasz inform you about tonight’s operation. You may all leave.”

Every man, with the exception of Tybalt, gave a slight bow before leaving.

“Ah! Not you, Erik. You stay.”

Erik swallowed.

“Yessir,” he muttered under his breathe.

The rest of them left before they could receive the peripheral anger of this local boss.

* * *

Tybalt, Stanimir, and the men of Corvus sat around a long table at the bar Tybalt first met Lukasz. A large platter of hard bread, bruised fruit, mangled meat, and less-than-fresh cheese decorated the tabletop. Lukasz tore a large chunk of bread for himself, throwing the load back into the chaos of second-rate food.

Pouring for himself a small amount of linseed oil into the bowl in front of him, he sprinkled some salt and assorted spices into the oil. He segmented his portion of bread, dipped it in the seasoned oil, and took a bite of it. He chewed forcibly as he looked at the men around the table. He took up his beer stein and washed down his food.

“Gentlemen, it’s simple. Tonight, we’re going to hit Transport. Normally, the merchant gates are open only during the day. With all the hanger-ons, the deal-makers, and other human refuse that linger by those gates, it’s hard for merchants to get into the city without being noticed and swarmed. When the gates officially close, these vultures disappear until the next morning. That’s why Transport is coming afterward. They made a deal with the officials to come afterhours -- not a small favour by any means. Two hours after night fall, the gates are opening. They’ll haul in one eighteen-wheeler and a few side vehicles. They’ll start unloading, finishing everything they need within an hour. Then, they’ll be out again. Not only are they unloading their regular goods, but they’ll have an abundance of ammunition, weapons, and man power. Vassilios feels threatened in this election and this is final push. He’s pouring in enough money to bribe a chunk of the inner council and enough manpower to coerce the rest. Everything else is business to curry the favour of the crowds. Even if the council members are resistant to electing him Reeve with all of his meddling, the echoes of his name throughout the outer and inner circles will ensure these men stay resolute, or even convince a few others. It’s hard to make decisions when the rabble chant a name when the ballots are cast.”

Lukasz ended his speech and looked to the men gathered around him.

“And the city guards?” Stanimir asked

“Turns out this interloper is worth something,” Lukasz said, using a chunk of bread to point at Tybalt. “The city has a good amount of their outer ring garrison will be ensuring a smooth transition. If they help Vassilios get elected, they’d probably have favours showered their way. But, it turns out that the men you sent my way are worth something. They’re our inside men. They’re already stirring some of the militiamen to accept the role, only to fail to show up. Others, when the shooting starts, have been told not to fire and simply abandon their duty. All on the downlow, of course. But it seems there is a lot of dissatisfaction in the ranks. You really tapped into something.”

Tybalt looked up from his segment of moldy cheese. Leaving the fuzzy rind aside, he popped the cheese into his mouth, tasting the little goodness it could give to his palette. He simply acknowledge the compliment from Lukasz, but didn’t want to make a show of it.

“And weapons?” Erik asked.

“Oh, we have more than enough for everyone. It’s not going to be us. That’d be stupid. Zoltan’s bring out a lot of men. I’ve never seen him rally so many men to arms. The fact he’s willing to bust your butts out of jail and even trust Stanimir with another job is proof enough of how worried he is. When night falls, we’re all rallying at the depot -- you know, where you guys dropped off the cargo -- and we’re all getting a solid sized arsenal. Magazines aplenty.”

Njal grabbed a fistful of meat piece and plopped them on his plate. With a little bread, he started to stuff his face with his mini-sandwiches. “So we go in, kill them. Then, what?” he said with his mouth mostly full.

“Your jobs will be mostly done. If Vassilos is there, we want him to survive the ordeal. No point in generating more chaos than necessary. If he’s killed, it’ll look like a political assassination. If he survives, it could be spun as high-level crime. Everyone knows things have gone to the dogs when the last Reeve died. People might point figures to Zoltan, sure. But GoldenFlax and a few other minor players might also be seen as the culprits. That’s the fun part of this mission. Since Zoltan things you guys are only useful in being hired guns, once the firefighting is done, and you’ve checked that everyone is in fact dead, all you need to do is head to the bars, buy a few drinks for yourself and spread rumours. You’re going to need to get people confused and pointing fingers at everyone. Tell them it was Zoltan’s caravan that was robbed again and how Mercury Transport is making the streets unsafe. Tell them it was GoldenFlax that got hit and they lost their last shipment to the street-gangs. Say that it was a rebellion among the city guards because their commander is incompetent and is trying to get himself the position of Reeve. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. If you sew confusion throughout the city, then people will be confused and unable to figure out what the truth is. Will it come out? Doesn’t matter. As long as it comes out after the election.”

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Lukasz drank deeply from his stein. He looked at Sten and Tybalt.

“Any other questions?” he asked.

Erik gave a frown in the negative. He was satisfied. He didn’t have to spend time in jail, and, he was able to get back into Zoltan’s good graces.”

“What about our kuttes?” Sten asked.

“Naturally, you can’t wear them. People will link Corvus to Zoltan.”

“What!” Erik exclaimed. His interjection brought attention from others around the bar. They stared at the leader of their gang. He didn’t care. “This kutte is not coming off. We wear it proudly. To toss off this leather is like asking you to be ashamed of your skin, or, for like cronies like you, to shave your head. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

Lukasz crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Erik. He was annoyed at the outburst and the amount of attention the leader of Corvus brought to them in a public place. He waited in his anger, letting time fill in the gaps. He wanted Erik to squirm uncomfortably.

“Look, I mean, it’s only for one job,” Tybalt said across the table.

“One job. One job. Look at how one job changed your life,” Erik said.

Tybalt rose from the table.

“Do not mention that!” Tybalt shouted. At this point, everyone in the bar was looking at them and their table.

“Oi!” the bruiser of a barman called from the counter. “If you lads are going to fight, take it outside.”

“You want to fight about it?” Erik asked.

“Yeah, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be happy to clean these city streets with your face.” Tybalt responded.

“Let’s go, then!” Erik shouted. He gestured to Sten and Njal to get up. Sten did as was suggested, but Njal remained seated. He grabbed Erik’s sleeve.

“Sit down, konungur. You bring shame to the kutte,” Njal said.

“Shame!? Will I be betrayed by one of my own?”

“There is no betray here, Erik.” Njal said. He rose from the bench they sat at and pulled back his shoulders. At full height, Njal’s presence could intimidate almost everyone.

“I am going to kill this man. Either watch, or get out of my way!” Erik said to Njal.

“Enough!” Lukasz said. “The lot of you are failures.” He threw his mostly empty stein across the table and made for the door. “Rudy, put all of this and whatever mess these children make on my tab. I’ll have no part.” Lukasz left the pub.

Tybalt cracked his neck. He was trying to limber his body for his fight against Erik. A lot of bitter feelings remained from Corvus onto Tybalt. This tension could be solved with fists, if nothing else.

“Well, what are you going to do, fledgling?” Tybalt teased.

“Don’t egg him on,” Njal reprimanded. “You’ve done enough harm.”

“Don’t forget what I did for you.” Tybalt said. “Twice! You guys owe me!”

The crowd of the pub began either to leave in the fear of their own injury, or formed a circle around the offending table. One man from the crowd started a chant of ‘Fight!’.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The call grew louder as more and more patrons began to chant the words.

“Outside,” Erik said. He walked around the table and made for the doors. Sten and Njal followed obediently.

Tybalt and Stanimir remained by the table. Stanimir merely took another portion from the table.

“What!?” he said. “If we’re going to leave, might as well get as much food as we can. It’s not as good as the hotel, but it ain’t bad. I’ve definitely had worse.” Stanimir chugged the rest of his beer. “So you going to fight him?”

Tybalt said nothing and merely walked out of the bar.

Erik had been squaring up to fight. Njal continued to advise Erik not to do this, but their leader seemed adamant on fighting Tybalt.

“You ready, punk?” Erik called out.

Patrons left the bar and made a circle for the fighters. Others that walked by joined the crowd and watched these bikers get ready to duke it out with Tybalt.

Tybalt entered the circle and slung off his bag. He unholstered his pistol and put it on top of his stuff.

“After everything I’ve done, you still have the bravado to challenge me,” Tybalt called out. He wanted to give the people a good show. If he had to beat Erik into a pulp, then he might as well have an audience shouting his name.

“You’ve done? Who got you that new leg? Who brought you into this city? I did! Me! You are the one in debt.”

“Save it for your prison-mates.” Tybalt spat on the ground and lifted his fists. He started to bounce on the balls of his feet. He was excited to throw a few fists. This guy had slowed him down in his pursuit of vengeance. If he needed to clobber him so he could get into position to ambush Mercury Transport, then so it shall be.

Stanimir walked to the spot beside Tybalt.

“You should probably not do this. Be reasonable,” he said.

“Reasonable!?” Tybalt shouted. “I’m here to give these fine people a show!”

The crowd shouted with ecstasy. This would be the highlight of their days. A short man in the crowd started to take bets on the fight, including whether or not the other men – Njal and Sten, or Stanimir -- would join in the fray.

“I’ll give them a show alright,” Erik said laughing. He took a heavy step forward. He lifted his arms in front of him, waiting. He wasn’t going to move quickly, but he would make every single punch count.

“Boss, I really think this is a bad idea,” Njal said. “There is no shame in ending this fight now.”

“End it? I haven’t started it!” Erik tried to pump up the crowd. Tybalt had been the showman so far, but he would best him in this manner as well.

Without warning, as though a silent boxing bell rang, the men charged at each other and their fists started flying. Their fists made contact with the other. Tybalt hit Erik in the mouth. Erik launched a punch to Tybalt’s midsection and continued to take body shots. Tybalt careened away and got another hit to the side of Erik’s face. Erik spat out a glob of blood and wiped his face.

As Erik charged at Tybalt, a gun went off.

Stanimir stood with a revolver in his hand. He shot the gun into the air.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said. “You’ve both drawn blood. It’s time to put these childish things away.”

“Let them fight,” said the short man who had been taking bets. A few ‘Yeahs!’ came from the crowd.

Stanimir aimed the revolver at the short man.

“This fight won’t be the only thing I cut short. How much do you value your life?”

The short man slipped behind a stout woman in the front row.

“You wouldn’t!” he shouted behind the stout woman.

“Want to bet?”

Members of the audience laughed at the fearful bookie. His credibility sank with the verbal jab.

“Go home, everyone,” Stanimir said.

Erik and Tybalt eyed each other. Each of them wanted the fight to continue.

And so it did.