Demonworld Book 3: The Floyd Street Massacre Page 26

  Pelethor was included in the meeting, and eventually he stood and clinked a fork against his wine glass.

  “Gentlemen,” said Pelethor, “in the battle against the Ugly, and in the murders that took place beforehand, we lost more Captains than in any other generation of our order. Is this not so?” Pelethor waited, then said, “But there has been no talk of honoring Lieutenants with new positions as Captains. Indeed, we have only talked of eating up the markets of deceased Captains, not to mention the markets left open by our ancient enemy that we’ve destroyed. Isn’t that so? So here… here’s to eating the weak.”

  A few of the Captains chuckled and raised their glasses.

  Pelethor drained his wine glass, then glared at the others and said, “But I say that we are not eating enough. In a sense, we still lurk in the shadows. We’re no different from the hoodlums that sell the drugs we produce.”

  The audience grew quiet, then one Captain said, “What do you propose?”

  “I propose that we take up ownership of this city, which rightfully belongs to us!” Pelethor shouted.

  One Captain leaned over to another and whispered, “He’s changed, ever since his wife and child…” while another Captain shouted, “That’s sedition, Pelethor! The Master Thieves would never stand for it!”

  “And if they don’t?” said Pelethor. “What will they do about it? Who will they send to stop us? We’re the ones who carry out their bidding!”

  “Pelethor,” said another Captain, “we know that you’re grieved at the Masters because they abandoned the exchange. But you got your child back, so-”

  “This isn’t about my son,” said Pelethor. “It’s about power - and those strong enough to take it.” He paused, then said, “Consider this. Those of you who hear the orders of the Masters, you know about the new tax levied on us. They know that we’re spreading into our dead comrades’ territory, and even as the Masters lick their lips at the thought of dipping into our increased profits, they also fear our growing power. They know they must leech off of us to keep us weak. And those poor fools expect us to comply with their wishes… and police those of us who will not comply.”

  Most of the Captains were unsure what to think as they weighed greed against fear, but one Captain stood and said, “Pelethor, I urge you to stop this now. You’ve had too much to drink. We have more opportunities for profit now than ever before, but… well, the Cognati will kill you if you continue this.”

  “The Cognati have already been paid to leave,” said Pelethor. “They are gone even before the Masters would have liked, and you have my funds to thank for that. The truth of the matter is that you answer to Masters who have only your own power to use against you.”

  Pelethor waited for his words to sink in. While several of the Captains seemed floored by his audacity, many of them masked their intrigue poorly. Sensing the tide shifting in his favor, Pelethor said, “We, the Captains in this room, have always been the true power behind the Coil.

  “We were the ones who continually bought off the Law, and the Smiths have never been anything but our employees. That’s the way it has always been. We’ve just chosen to ignore it. Even if the Master Thieves tried to rein us in, they would have to make new contacts within their own organization. Who else do they speak to, besides us? And if they did find other, less influential Captains, to marshal against us, they might outnumber us – but they could never overpower or outbid us. We’re not just Captains – we’re the High Captains. If we came together, the Low Captains would have to fall in line with us… or find themselves left out in the cold, their businesses sacked and their Lieutenants either dead or bought by us.”

  Most of the men in the room were completely enthralled. Increased power, increased profits, and no more worries about the shadow of the Master Thieves looming over them. Only a few of the Captains stood and left the room, muttering dramatically.

  Pelethor burned the men’s names into his mind but, before he could say something, a young Captain laughed at the retreating Captains and said, “Run back to your masters, dogs. This is the new face of Pontius!”

  * * *

  “Partying! With gangsters!” shouted Mister Zentl. “Is this the way you’ve chosen to waste your life!? After everything I’ve done for you?!”

  Pete was overcome with shame. “Father - I - I had a plan to-”

  “A plan to do what? Kill yourself in some street brawl? To put your mother in an early grave worrying about her idiot son?”

  “I - I wanted to - to make you proud of me-”

  “Oh, I’m real proud! Re-e-e-eal proud, Pete!” His father paused and poured himself a drink with shaking hands, then shouted, “Why did you even come here, Pete? You going to demand money from the family business? Or else have your Coil friends burn it all down?”

  Pete was numb with shock. He had come to admit everything about Anne and the baby. Instead, he’d been hit with the fact that a friend of the family had seen him in public with gangsters and ratted on him. There was nothing he could say. He turned to leave.

  “This gangster bullshit is going to get you killed, son! Do you hear me? It’s going to get you killed!”

  * * *

  “What talk is this?” Miss Oliver shouted. “Pelethor, this is dishonorable… disgusting! Hasn’t enough blood been spilled in Pontius?”

  The Businessmen at the meeting stood together behind Miss Oliver and glared at Pelethor, who stood alone.

  “Perhaps I misjudged you,” Pelethor said coldly. “I took you for a powerful woman with the sense to judge when the time was ripe to take the reins of this city into hand. But… perhaps your time has passed.”

  “And I misjudged you,” said Miss Oliver, drawing herself up. “You were supposed to be a spy within the Coil, Pelethor – not the worst gangster among them! You’ve let their ways cloud your judgment. Pelethor, think about it. They’re the very organization responsible for abandoning your child to monsters!”

  “I’ll have my revenge against those responsible,” said Pelethor. “But I would also have still more.”

  “By becoming one of them? By selling your very soul to them?”

  “You once told me yourself, Miss Oliver, that there will always be gangs in Pontius. Be honest: I know that you would never starve them out. Your doomsday plan is a joke, mere posturing. Your own organization is a gang itself, and a weak one at that. I had thought to include you into my new order. I am sorry that none of you are strong enough to join me.”

  Miss Oliver shook her head slowly, then said, “You are out of the Business. Leave. If you continue on with this foolishness, remember that we can freeze your assets. We are the banks and we are every legitimate business in Pontius, and you and your kind will never walk free in the light of day among our kind.”

  Pelethor turned to go and Miss Oliver added, “And Pelethor, if you try to strike at us, you won’t be able to find us.”

  “I can make new assets,” said Pelethor. A butler held the door open from him. Turning as he left, ice was in his voice as he said, “And eventually... I will find some of you.”

  * * *

  A Coil van rolled through an abandoned section of Pontius and stopped at a derelict building. The back opened up and a Lieutenant and several Soldiers unloaded boxes full of food and alcohol. Pelethor stepped out of the passenger’s seat and strode up to the building.

  He entered and a troop of Ugly berserkers glared at him uneasily. They sat far apart from the four Coil thugs who were Pelethor’s most trusted guards.

  “I’ve brought you some alcohol,” Pelethor announced. “I want you all to remember that you’re one gang, one brotherhood, from now on. I hope you gentlemen will come to understand that.”

  One berserker snorted and looked away, but Pelethor had faith that within a few minutes of drinking, they would all be drunk and in love with one another. In a worst case scenario, if they tried to kill one another, they would be stopped by-

  The Hand stepped out of the shadows, completel
y covered in black. “You are my new master,” he said, voice grating and flat.

  Pelethor nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  The Hand started to bow, but Pelethor recoiled and shouted, “Do not bow to me!” Pelethor turned away quickly and grabbed his belly, swallowing desperately.

  The Hand stood straight but tilted his head slightly to the side. Pelethor glanced about, then turned away from the others and gave a sign with his hand. The Hand stiffened when he saw the gesture, then said, “A-a-a-ah! I understand.” He laughed, and the sound was horrid and unnatural.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anything That Eats

  Wodan spent less time with his friends over the next few days. Anne ceased visiting and Ullrich stayed busy helping his boss finish renovating their pizza restaurant. Hunley visited a few times, but after he heard two different versions of how Jens had led an assault on a group of Ugly manning a machinegun turret, Hunley took a break from his friends. Pete often left early, returned late, and said little to Wodan. Wodan wondered if it was because he had been awarded with a Lieutenant’s pin but never bothered to show up at any office, while Pete was still relegated to “Lieutenant training”. However, it seemed like heavier things weighed on him, so Wodan withheld judgment and decided to wait until Pete was ready to talk.

  Instead of hanging out with his friends, Wodan spent his time walking to Virgil’s house and waiting for him to return from work. Even though Virgil came home exhausted, Wodan was on fire with a plan to transform Pontius. He wanted to keep up his momentum. Wodan pestered Virgil, prodding and drawing him out until the tired detective was finally on board with his strange and unprecedented plan.

  The day that Wodan had planned for finally came. Wodan did one-armed pushups, then washed and ate breakfast while preparing his mind for the trials ahead. He dressed in his Coil black-and-greens and, as he fixed the jade square to his breast that marked him as a Lieutenant, he saw Pete striding through the Party Room. He looked haggard and exhausted. Wodan waved to him. Pete lifted his head in greeting, then left without a word.

  Virgil picked Wodan up at their appointed meeting place, then drove him through a neighborhood near Precinct Zero. Virgil was dressed in his least-ratty suit.

  “Barkus will be hanged tomorrow,” said Virgil, grinning through his mustache. “But there’s other stuff going on, too, and I can’t quite understand it. The last week has seen an incredible number of Coil Captain deaths. They won the battle, but… it’s not like when we were killing them. These are powerful Captains with plenty of guards on hand. They’re dying as fast as we can do the paperwork on them.”

  “Is that so?” said Wodan.

  “And a few are just disappearing - from the gangster business, I mean. There’s a power struggle going on, and some of them are going legitimate just to get away from the blood.”

  “Then maybe this thing we’re about to do won’t even be necessary.”

  “Not likely. The other end of the power struggle is the worst part. Someone out there is directing the murders. Someone out there is profiting from it. Wodan...” Virgil paused for a moment, then said, “Wodan, some of the Ugly we’re picking up these days are saying some weird stuff. They’re saying stuff about a “new lord of Pontius”… that’s what they’re calling him, anyway.”

  “Him, who?”

  “Whoever’s filling in the power vacuum.” Virgil looked at Wodan and saw that his eyes were locked ahead. “Listen, Wodan. Pelethor, he... he isn’t what you think he is.”

  “You don’t trust him,” said Wodan, “because he’s a gangster, and he’s powerful.”

  “I don’t trust him because the man’s power-hungry. He’s cold-blooded.” Wodan said nothing, so Virgil continued. “We already know he got kicked out of the Businessmen. Miss Oliver says he turned bloodthirsty and ambitious. What if he’s the one behind all these killings? And since he used to be a Businessman, then… it means he knows about you and your friends.”

  “Even if he is what you think he is, it’s not like he knows where I live. He can’t find me if I don’t want him to. Hell, even you don’t know where I live.”

  Virgil laughed with frustration, then said, “I don’t see how you can admire that guy, but then come up with a plan like this that could destroy his entire organization.”

  “You said yourself that the plan is crazy. It might not work at all.”

  “It probably won’t. But if it does?”

  “If Pelethor is a strong and decent man, like I think he is, then he’ll adapt and survive. If he’s weak or evil or just too set in his ways, then he’ll be destroyed. It’s as simple as that.”

  “If we find out he is an evil bastard, then we could, you know… do things the old-fashioned way.”

  “No. It’s time for a new way of doing things. If we can change the city, then we can change the people that live in it.” Virgil parked the car beside a large house. Wodan turned to him and said, “We can’t keep killing people just because they’re dangerous.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the demons aren’t going to stay behind these city walls forever.”

  * * *

  Judge Rosebudd was a very somber and severe man with a large head and a prodigious memory for the ever-growing Laws that governed Pontius. He had thick gray hair and tanned, leathery skin. Virgil had known him for years, and told Wodan that he was a just man who truly cared about cleaning the city rather than sell his soul in exchange for graft and easy living. When Virgil introduced him, he regarded Wodan’s black-and-greens skeptically, but treated him with cool civility since he was a friend of Virgil’s.

  They sat down to lunch and the judge and Virgil talked about the shift in power in Pontius and the new tide of death flooding in. Eventually Virgil said, “The Coil are more dangerous now than they’ve ever been, sir. That’s the reason why I brought this young man with me here today.”

  Wodan nodded as Judge Rosebudd regarded him. “Well then,” the judge said quietly, “let us hear what you have to say, young man.”

  “Sir,” said Wodan, drawing up his strength, “I have a plan that will utterly destroy the Coil in one fell swoop.”

  “Is that so?” he said, tilting his head sideways.

  “It is. As things are now, the elected officials of Pontius draft new Laws every day in an effort to fight the gangs and control what they represent. It’s widely known that the officials are highly respected and paid well, but they sleep in shifts on cots because they have to stay on top of the constant political in-fighting and deal-making. Most of them become paranoid, nervous wrecks and die from stress-induced illness. Every day they stack new Laws on top of old Laws in an effort to cover up legal loopholes, but it’s a fact that Lawmen on the street often have to ignore certain Laws because they either can’t keep up with the constant changes or the Laws simply become too restrictive and make their work impractical.

  “As for the gangs, they learn to adapt and fight back. Sometimes new Laws lead to spectacular arrests, but in the end nothing changes. The Law and the city officials are desperate for money, so they have to allow wealthy Coilmen to walk out on bail, and they usually don’t even bother to show up for their trials. The only people who can’t afford bail are private citizens who don’t have the money or political pull to make bail, so they end up falling through the cracks as innocent victims in a war between the Law and the other gangs. The gangs only grow in power and violence increases.”

  “Son, I admit that we’ve had our share of trouble fighting these gangsters,” said Judge Rosebudd, “but we’ve made real headway, too. As a judge of the Law, I’ve granted plenty of leeway against civilians who have broken Laws. Also, just look at what your efforts, and Virgil’s as well, have done against the Ugly.”

  “The fact that you’ve had to ignore Laws when it comes to dealing with civilians is proof that the Laws are not just, or even practical. And while I was able to fight the Ugly, I didn’t do it in accordance with the Laws. I did i
t through force of will, meticulous planning, and a willingness to break the Laws. You can’t depend on vigilantes to make up for the shortcomings of the Law. City officials working within a bureaucracy and planning for more and more strict guidelines can never, ever inspire individual citizens to stand up and do their part to fight against evil. That strength comes from within a person. It can never be scheduled or controlled. My plan involves changing the very nature of Pontius itself. Changing it into a world where no gangs can exist.”

  “Okay, I’m listening,” said the judge, lowering his utensils and crossing his hands over the table.

  Wodan swallowed, then said, “The strength of the Coil is money. They survive by milking the city any way they can. Even if Laws are passed that temporarily freeze their accounts, they just move into new black markets and their leaders remain untouchable. They make a lot of money through racketeering, but most of their money comes from the distribution of drugs.”

  The judge nodded.

  “Drugs are valuable. They’re sold in speakeasies and on the street. Even when dealers are arrested, the Coil can always recruit more because innocent civilians don’t have a lot of options when it comes to making a living. Plus, the demand for drugs never decreases. I haven’t heard this in Pontius, but in the land where I come from, our records say that drugs have been used by mankind for as long as we’ve existed. For recreation, for shamanic traditions, for religious rituals, even just for self-destruction. Every year the Law fights harder and harder against the distribution of drugs, but it’s a simple fact that drugs are a part of the human condition. Drugs will never disappear, and the Coil have a monopoly on this fact of nature.

  “Sir, my plan calls for the complete legalization of all drugs in Pontius.”