Blackfish City(17)



“You’re late,” said Go’s first lieutenant when Kaev arrived at her Arm Five floating headquarters. Dao; tall, thin, levelheaded. He handled her strategy and planning, the big-picture stuff. Kaev liked the guy, even if he was an asshole. There was something wise about him, something calm. More pleasant than the lieutenants who headed up her operations, security, intelligence.

“Delayed. I got. I got delayed.”

“By what?”

“The wind.”

“Idiot.” But he said it affectionately, and stepped aside for Kaev to ascend to the boat.

The thing was big, a tramp steamer long out of commission, its side emblazoned with the name of a corporation and a city, neither of which existed anymore. Go and her operatives ran Amonrattanakosin Group out of it, and they lived there, and they used its cargo hold for storage. And paid the hefty priority docking fee, which came with a guarantee that Safety and Narcotics and Commerce would only ever attempt to board in the most egregious cases. Qaanaaq’s whole hands-off approach to law enforcement had been successful in minimizing crime syndicate violence, but it had also allowed the syndicates to amass significant influence and legitimacy. Kaev reached the deck and turned around to look down, at his city, the Arm he’d left behind, and wondered what would happen when people like Go decided they wanted more.

She’d fought hard enough to get where she was. He remembered the horror of her rise. Even back then, when they were together, she’d had enemies. People she wanted out of the way; people determined to dismember her. Stab wounds she ended up with. Weeks when she had to disappear.

One woman in particular: Jackal, real name Jackie, but don’t ever let her hear you use it. A runner, like Go, with her eyes as set on climbing the ladder as Go’s were. Whatever happened to Jackal? Or the better question: how, exactly, had Go destroyed her?

“Darling,” Go said when he reached the bridge. She embraced him. He wondered if she knew how he felt about her. How much he hated her. She must have. She was too smart not to. “A magnificent fight the other night.”

Kaev yipped accidentally, then paused until he could collect himself. “Kid’s good.”

“He’ll become something special,” she said. “People love him.”

“Means money.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And who knows. Maybe someday he’ll see you, remember you, buy you breakfast.”

Kaev winced. He had made the mistake of telling her, once, when one of the kids he’d lost to who’d made it big ran into him on the street, treated him to a fancy meal, shared his disruptors, started crying, telling Kaev how he owed him everything. The problem with Go was that she knew him too well, knew how he felt about things. That sense of people made her a good crime boss, and a terrible ex.

“Fight,” he stuttered out. “You have anything for me?”

“Sort of,” she said. She went to her cabin’s front porthole, looked out onto the deck. Exactly like a captain would. She was dressed in drab green, Kaev’s favorite color. He wondered if that was on purpose. The machete scabbard hung from her belt, as always. No one had ever seen her use it. Kaev knew she wouldn’t hesitate; wondered if she’d used it on Jackal. “Dao has two names for you. See him on your way out.”

“Names. Names?”

“Business rivals,” she said. “I’m not going to lie to you to spare your feelings, Kaev. You’re a grown-up, at least in body you are. I need you to soak them.”

Kaev felt very close to crying. He said “I’m” several times, and then finished in a rush: “I’m not a thug, Go, I’m not going to go rough up your enemies for you. I’m a fighter and I’ve made my peace with doing your dirty work in the ring, losing fights I know I can win, training young punks so you can make more money on them, but I’m not going to throw somebody into the water because of some business deal you need to get done.”

At least, that’s what he tried to say. He was pretty sure he got all the words out, and maybe even in the right order, but probably too fast for most of them to make any sense.

She patted his cheek. “Oh, Kaev. My noble warrior. I know this is hard for you.”

“Me?” he asked. “Why. You have people. Lots. Who do this. Do this kind of thing. Better at it than I’d be.”

“True,” she said, “and lots of them are ex-fighters. You’re getting old, Kaev. You know this. Couple of years, you won’t be able to put on a convincing show in the ring anymore. And then what? If you can do this job, and do it well—well, then, you have a whole new career opening up ahead of you.”

“And if I refuse? Or. If I mess up. Because I don’t know how to do this thing?”

“Then good luck with your life,” she said, her back to him, the conversation over, no point in arguing. He’d stared at her back like this before. “Needless to say, you’ll never have another beam fight again. Or unlicensed skiff brawl, or snuff film knife fight, or anything.”

Dao beamed him the details when he descended from the deck. And, because he really was a good man under all the assholishness, he didn’t comment on the wetness beading up in the corner of Kaev’s left eye.





Ankit


Ankit’s job was as good as gone. Her boss would lose. There was nothing she could do about it.

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