Tomorrow, the Killing

28

When I came in Artur’s tantrum was trailing off, his muttered profanities the light mist left by the storm that had just leveled the room. One of his crystal paperweights was lodged in the wood paneling beside the door. The painted canvas above his desk had been stripped from the wall, a rent down the middle defacing the dull pastoral scene. Junior stood next to the line of windows overlooking the neighborhood he owned, or pretended to. His hair was mussed.

I righted the visitor’s chair and set myself into it, untying my tobacco purse and shaking out a sheave.

Blind fury takes its toll on a man. Junior sat down after I did, but it was a while before he stopped breathing heavy. I was kind enough to wait before beginning.

‘Rough morning?’

He had taken a spiced cigarette from an ivory box on the table, but was having trouble getting it started, a mass grave of used matches lining the glass. I lit mine with a quick pass, then leaned over and did the same for him.

He took a stuttering drag and blew clove and tar into the air. ‘Someone hit a shipment of ours last night. Killed the guard to a man, made off with the merchandise.’

‘That’s not very friendly.’

He slammed a fist down against his desk, setting what bric-a-brac had survived his conniption rumbling. ‘A hundred ochre gone. Would have made five times that on the street.’ He ran a hand through his long, blond locks. ‘Not to mention the loss of my guards.’

‘Not to mention.’

‘It’s the veterans, isn’t it? First the Savages, now this.’

‘Could be.’

He folded his arms and ducked his head down into them. ‘I’m going to tear Pretories a new hole. Then I’m going to pull his intestines out of it.’

‘Sounds painful.’

‘Thinks he can fuck with the Giroies, he’s gonna learn clear otherwise.’

‘Blessed are the teachers.’

‘Him and all his men. They got no idea what’s coming for them.’

‘Make the Dren look like milkmaids.’

He’d been too lost in revenge fantasies to hear me, but this last seemed to have broken through. ‘You find this humorous?’

‘It’s all we’ve left, in these times of tragedy.’

‘Easy for you to take things light. I’ve got responsibilities. The entire family waits at my word, and falls if I fall.’

‘The burden of leadership,’ I agreed.

His face bloated scarlet. ‘When I get my hands on that son of a bitch . . .’

As keen as I was to hear the remainder of Giroie’s hypothetical torments, the day was getting long. ‘It’s too early to start picking your targets, Artur, let alone getting flushed. You don’t even know who it was for a certainty.’

‘Don’t be daft – you yourself said they were coming after me, in that very seat, not three days ago!’

‘I was passing on a rumor, not handing you testament from the Firstborn.’

‘I didn’t think you the sort to go soft in the belly when things got hot,’ he snorted, some portion of his faded ardor quick to return and happy to find a new target.

‘Is that what I’m doing? Going soft?’

‘Damn it, Warden! A few days ago you’re a perfect oracle, now you sit there like a half-wit, spouting stale lines and repeating my words back to me!’

I didn’t answer. A droplet of sweat had crawled down from his forehead, languishing on the tip of his nose. He brushed at it and looked away.

A quarter inch had burnt off my smoke before I started again. ‘If my presence here is a nuisance, I’ll shuffle off directly.’

He mumbled something that wasn’t quite an apology. ‘I suppose there are any number of players that would be interested in acquiring my merchandise.’

The toy pikeman lay on its side. I picked it up and wound it, then left it to pace across the desk. ‘Any number,’ I agreed.

‘Perhaps . . .’ He seemed almost to be searching for permission. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to make further inquiry, before committing my forces.’

‘Makes sense. And anyway, even if it was the vets – maybe you’re better off letting it go. They’re well supplied with muscle, and they won’t be slow to press the advantage.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘What did you say to me last time I was here? That the family is a business, like any other? No profit in blood. Write it off and move on. So your rep takes a hit, so what? Nobody ever comes out of a war in the black.’

‘Is that what you think?’ His glance would have withered a daisy. ‘Is that what they think? That I’m weak? That my name is dust? That the Giroies can’t even look after their own interests?’

‘Nobody’s saying nothing, Artur. Even your father didn’t go up against the Association lightly.’

He cocked his head, as if catching something. ‘Even my father?’

‘I just meant—’

‘I know what you meant,’ he snapped. ‘You presume too far, Warden.’

I studiously avoided smiling. ‘My apologies, of course. No offense was intended.’

‘Accepted,’ he said after a moment, nodding slowly, his thoughts of blood. ‘Too many think as you do – that the Junior is not the Senior, that the Giroies have slipped, that we aren’t to be reckoned with. I assure you,’ he said, snapping his attention back to me, hands folded on the table, back straight, a portrait of composure surrounded by the possessions he’d destroyed. ‘These delusions will swiftly be proven false.’

I picked an ashtray up from off the carpet, set it on the desk, then stumped my cigarette into it. ‘No doubt.’