The Infiltrators

Chapter 1

Eat your food while it’s hot!

It had been a long time since Righty heard those sagacious words issuing from his mother with all the love and affection of a drill instructor. Once, a scrawny, awkward kid needed to hear them in order to overcome his lack of enthusiasm at emptying his plate.

But just as the child had grown to be a ravenous hulk of a man who could clean several plates with the alacrity of a tornado, so too had the application of his mother’s wisdom evolved far beyond its sweet simplicity.

He had murdered the chief of police, killed two federal agents, dispatched several politicians, and blown the city’s police station into about five million splinters. He could almost see the storm soon to emanate from the nation’s capital, moving towards the city of Sivingdel like a swarm of locusts thick enough to blot out the sun and ready to devour any and all responsible for the recent outrages.

Whether he would survive that storm was not a prospect he himself would have cared to place a bet on, which meant the next several days might be the last he would ever get to spend in peace with his family.

Thus, while every instinct urged him towards commencing the meticulous steps necessary to weather the merciless tempest headed his way, those ancient words from his childhood reverberated in his ears, assuring him that he would forever regret not taking this opportunity to spend a few days of bliss with his wife and daughter, during which he would store a treasure trove of happy memories to sustain him during the black days ahead.

Chapter 2

Many a man has remarked with sullen perspicacity that few moments live up to the grand expectations preceding them. An adherent to this philosophy would have sourly witnessed the replete happiness of Mrs. Simmers, who proudly defied this unwritten law of human nature.

Absent were the quizzical stares Righty had uneasily expected from his wife regarding the grandeur of her and their daughter’s new home. Perhaps his belief in the justness of this moment’s happiness gave his words an irrefutable conviction when he explained that the new store in Sivingdel was succeeding so wildly as to make possible the purchase of this remote estate without so much as a penny of debt.

A house roughly two hundred times the size of their measly shack at the edge of Ringsetter greeted them with open arms, assuring Janie she had not ruined her life by following her heart into marriage with a savage boxer. The immaculately kept garden, the gently blue sky, and the proudly tall pine trees added to the chorus singing to her that she had finally reaped the rewards of placing her life’s bet on Righty Rick.

Yet while Janie reflected on the many signs surrounding her as proofs of the correctness of her life’s course, Righty appreciated far different aspects of the ranch. It was no hop, skip, and a jump from here to the nearest town. And he had previously found time to make clear in no uncertain terms to the several servants Righty had permitted to stay at the ranch that not one newspaper was to arrive without his express permission.

Righty had whisked Janie and baby Heather away from Ringsetter the same morning the first news of the unfortunate events in Sivingdel began to reach local ears, so no troubling questions were to spoil these three days of bliss.

Righty spent many a moment bouncing Heather up and down on his knee and listening to her giggles as gratefully as if they were medicine in acoustic form, traveling down the corridors of his ears into his soul to remove the blackness of deeds recently done.

As he looked into her innocent blue eyes, he promised her silently that he would one day fix this situation. He would get out of his current trade. He would cut all ties with crime. He would be a legitimate businessman.

But he also asked her to understand that Daddy had made a bit of a mess and even daddies have to clean up their messes.

Life as a legitimate businessman will only be possible after far more blood is spilled.

But he was beginning to formulate a plan—a plan that would ensure far less blood would be spilled than what he was thinking just days before. It was in scattered pieces, but a rough outline was beginning to form.

He almost jumped as he felt his wife’s fingernails suddenly stroke the back of his neck. He was initially relieved he had not done so, as this may have caused her to ask what had him so apprehensive. Then, he felt alarmed at his failure to detect her approach.

You’ll have plenty of time for jumping at every shadow soon enough, friend, a rather unpleasant voice told him.

I love seeing you happy with her, Janie said softly. She looked deep into his eyes. Those were the looks that had been leading to a lot of amorous exercise the past couple days, so much in fact he justly forgave his temporary relinquishment of sword practice.

At this pace, Heather will soon have company, he told himself, as he continued to look into Janie’s eyes.

The thought left him confused more than anything else. Heather brought him so much joy, but he feared he would one day cause Heather twice that amount of pain. Could he rationalize bringing another creature into his world?

What’s on your mind, babe? Something’s got you worried, Janie said, her blue eyes searching his dark ones tenaciously.

He paused, searching for a story.

Is it because this can’t last forever?

He couldn’t help looking up at her a bit abruptly, wondering what was the basis for her uncannily accurate guess.

He held her eyes, preferring to wait for her to elaborate, rather than betray his own sentiments while attempting to extract more details from her.

It’s not meant to, honey, she said, grasping his hand warmly. That’s what makes this paradise.

Her eyes seemed to say much more than that, reinforcing the display of her firm understanding that Righty had meant for this to be a special time that they would never forget, and he almost sensed in her eyes that she knew there were things he wasn’t telling her but also that she would gladly ignore that, provided he could make her feel the way she felt right now.

He slid towards her, feeling as if he were gliding across the stone bench in front of the sparkling lake before them like some kind of mythical creature. He kissed her passionately, and it seemed as though she knew tonight would mark the end of their three days in paradise.

Chapter 3

Harold’s tight-lipped demeanor would have worried any other passenger perched atop this formidable, yet beautiful, creature cutting through the early morning sky headed for Sivingdel. A different passenger may have interpreted the silence as the icy preface to a cruel death to be bestowed upon the hapless victim at some unknown destination, unless he had the guts to become his own executioner and jump several thousand feet to the ground below.

But Righty was no ordinary passenger, and to him, under these circumstances, silence was a good thing. Harold was quick to warn of danger, and thus his refusal to discuss the current circumstances in Sivingdel meant, at a minimum, things weren’t half as bad as what Righty had been bracing himself for.

Harold set him down in the forest of the city’s small park and then flew off without a word.

Righty was beginning to feel Harold was overdoing it with the mystery, but he quickly changed his mind as he found nothing he had expected to encounter. Absent were the checkpoints every stone’s throw. Absent were the scowling policemen with suspicious eyes patting down everyone in sight and asking them their business for daring to move about in a war zone. Absent were the even more formidable faces of federal agents dashing to and fro atop large horses with an arrogant smirk on their faces and swords dangling brazenly from their hips, just waiting for the first excuse to lop someone’s head off in furtherance of peace.

Instead what he saw was what he had seen during every other visit to his beloved city. Men walking about quickly with business on their faces. Women scanning the meats and fruits they were buying with the severity of a detective at a crime scene. Children running about. And an occasional bum begging for change.

Righty handed a hundred-falon bill to the first beggar he saw, thinking it only proper to reward the surreal scene with a surreal tip to a man whose immediately bulging eyes served the purpose of informing Righty there had been no dramatic inflation during his short vacation.

With a singular purpose, Righty walked at a pace that blurred the line with jogging until he reached the first newspaper stand. He paid for copy of The Sivingdel Times and marched to the nearest bench, sat down, and began devouring.

A RETURN TO NORMALCY

Though a few misanthropic naysayers suggest Governor Sehensberg should have continued the state of martial law a bit longer in order to ensure the evildoers be completely annihilated, the hardworking men of this city have spoken with their feet and rejected such ludicrous suggestions of ongoing danger by returning to their businesses and getting this city back up and running.

The absolute lack of any violence since the bold mass execution of our city’s foulest criminals several days ago leaves none but the most inveterate pessimists thinking that there is any reason to doubt that the governor, with his muscular yet judicious response, succeeded in stomping on all of the cockroaches responsible for the dastardly deeds.

The governor promises to replenish the police force to normal levels as soon as funds are available. He thinks the city’s surplus can cover most of the cost but believes Sivingdelians will prove with their wallets that they believe in their city. Reports of donations have been received, and it is this paper’s belief that they will only increase, proving to the rest of Selegania, and to the rest of the world, what kind of mettle we Sivingdelians are made of.

Righty almost left the paper on the bench, but thought better of it, tucking it away inside his coat as a souvenir. With a smile on his face, a whistle on his lips, and a spark in his step, he headed towards the city park. There would be a donation tonight, all right.

Chapter 4

Senator Hutherton was in a black mood. The reports of a return to normalcy and suspension of martial law in Sivingdel were not exactly the ingredients for this senator’s happiness. Here he was dragging his feet through interviews while the crisis in Sivingdel was already yesterday’s news, and the governor’s unexpectedly assertive actions had already sapped the political will out of everyone in the senate and out of the president himself to go in there with a heavy-handed response.

Hutherton’s sole comfort was that The Two for Two Act was law, and that was a reality regardless of whether the cowards in government had lost the guts to go into Sivingdel and find out who was really responsible for the recent crimes. Hutherton didn’t believe for a moment that the guilty had been captured and punished, at least not all of them.

He would get his two hundred new agents, bide his time, and then find out what really happened. He could sense that he had a powerful nemesis. He could almost see the man, perhaps seated and gloating. Perhaps sitting pensively and thinking about his next move. But of one thing he was sure. There was a bold leader behind the recent attacks, and he was going to bring about the arrest and execution of this individual if it was the last meaningful achievement he accomplished in this life.

A profile of his foe began to emerge. He was no seasoned criminal. No twentieth-generation crime boss, this man. The crimes were far too brazen for that. They were the acts of a madman. A man who thought no rules applied to him and that he could crush anyone in his path.

An in-betweener?

Yes, he bore all the traits one would expect from an in-betweener. True crime bosses knew their place. They came to an agreement with the police, and the police set the terms. And when there were disagreements, they were handled delicately. No professional crime boss would ever think he could box the ears of the state and expect a good outcome. This man had to be a newbie, no doubt riding a wave of riches brought about by the illicit drug market, something whose profits made the old rackets of extortion and loan-sharking look like a child’s lemonade stand.

But this newbie is winning.

Hutherton groaned aloud, then braced himself for his next interview.

Come in! he barked.

Chapter 5

Zelven and Hutherton had far more in common than they could have realized, though their current perspectives on the situation could hardly have differed more drastically.

They shared the same foe and just a very short time ago had been on top of the situation. Then, they had seen their fortunes reversed in the blink of an eye.

But while Hutherton lamented the cruel twist of fate, Zelven relished it and saw in it deliverance from over a year of cruel boredom.

Life at the top for Zelven had turned him into little more than a courier overseeing the delivery of large amounts of Smokeless Green to wholesaler George Hoffmeyer each month. The death of Heavy Sam had crippled the once seamless money-making machine atop which Mr. Hoffmeyer sat, leaving Hoffmeyer with considerable difficulty moving the incoming product through his distributors.

When Hoffmeyer suddenly disappeared, that meant things were going to get interesting for the Metinvurs in Sivingdel. Two of Heavy Sam’s former distributors had subsequently killed each other in a mutual ambush attempt, taking out around thirty of their associates with them. Most of the surviving elements of Sam’s organization had already dissipated or outright switched over to Mr. Brass’s organization.

Thus, there was going to be no attempt to rebuild the once formidable group that had ruled Sivingdel’s underworld with an iron fist. The upstart Mr. Brass had taken over.

Zelven had already sent his swiftest messenger back to the king to acquire detailed orders, but he knew that at a minimum he had full authorization to do whatever it took to heavily infiltrate Brass’s business and impose surveillance upon him so that Brass’s fate would be henceforth no safer than that of a man standing head in noose atop the gallows with the Metinvurs’ hands on the trapdoor lever.

It was a cool night, and Zelven had already spotted a pack of four street peddlers whose furtive glances, menacing scowls, and quick movements suggested they were not selling silverware.

Zelven walked up towards the tallest of the bunch, a mean-looking cuss with a scar on his left cheek. His eyes turned predatory as Zelven neared, and he shot at least three wild-eyed glances back to his compatriots, no doubt assuring them to ready brass knuckles, switchblades, and clubs, should this unrecognized patron prove himself less than a Grade A customer.

As Zelven got closer, the man’s chin lifted, and his eyes grew as they looked down the slopes of his cheeks towards his mysterious guest. As Zelven got closer still, the man took no pains to hide the fact his right hand had gone back towards his waistband, and in fact a smug grin communicated that he hoped this had been noticed.

State your business, friend, the man said in a voice that was calm but with thinly concealed aggression.

This spot’s taken, Zelven replied.

That’s right. It shooooore is, the man said, almost singing his words.

The man took two steps towards Zelven. When he took his third, Zelven’s two hands shot up towards the man’s shoulders quicker than a cobra strike, pulling him towards him and delivering a knee to the groin with the power of a sledgehammer. As the man doubled over in pain, Zelven brought his right forearm under his chin, placing it directly against his windpipe, reinforced his right hand with his left, and then jerked upwards.

The man’s windpipe collapsed, and then Zelven quickly lifted him up and smashed him down on top of his head.

It was at that moment one of the man’s friends approached from Zelven’s right. Zelven stepped forward at an angle and sent the knife-blade edge of his hand flying into the man’s throat like a rock from a slingshot. He then grabbed the man’s left hand—which by this point had grabbed Zelven’s shoulder—and pinned it against his shoulder with his left hand while suddenly lassoing his right arm around the trapped arm.

He then let go with his left hand and clasped his right. He then stepped backwards with his left foot and torqued viciously with his hips, ripping the man’s shoulder out of socket.

He then swiveled back towards the man, bringing his knuckles against the back of the man’s neck in the process. He then punched him in the throat with his left hand, seized his throat, and then kicked his