Birth of a Monster by Daniel Lawlis Read Free Book Online

prior months as kingpin. And I’m being
awful generous by not charging you for every month since Sam bit
the dust.”
     
    Righty nodded appreciatively, knowing
that until he was out of this jail, he was going to have to play
his cards very carefully.
     
    “Today’s the twenty-second. On the
thirty-first, you’ll go to this address,” the chief said while he
wrote rapidly onto a small piece of paper, which he then handed to
Righty. It was a brothel.
     
    “You’ll meet with a man named George,
whom I’ll casually introduce to you on the way out.”
     
    “I’ve got a demand,” Righty said
firmly.
     
    The chief looked a bit startled at the
confident tone emanating from the man who, frankly, seemed like a
bit of a weakling to him, nothing like the terrifying Heavy Sam he
had worked with before.
     
    The chief raised his eyebrows slightly,
not wishing to dignify the request with a verbal
response.
     
    “I get my dagger back.”
     
    “But of course,” the chief said. “Just
remember, if you miss a payment, I’ll tell Willis the
misunderstanding was all mine and that we currently don’t have the
resources to deal with your kind. And that will be the end of you,
pal. I know where Tats’ mansions are. I know where Crabs’ house is.
I’ve infiltrated you. I own you.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” Righty said.
     
    “We’re going to get along great; I just
know it,” the chief said.
     
    He got up and went to the door and
whispered something to the guards. About three minutes later, he
was back with Righty’s dagger in hand.
     
    He whistled admiringly. “She’s a
beauty. I’m wishing I could renege on that part of the bargain,” he
said, his eyes quizzing Righty.
     
    Righty tamed the beast within . . . but
only barely.
     
    “But, I’m a man of my word,” he said
extending the compressed sword to Righty. As his fingers touched
it, a salve—nearly magical—descended upon his soul like the
restorative kiss to a dead princess in a children’s tale. But
unlike the love transferred by the mythical kiss, this restorative
power lay in something far more sinister—the knowledge that it was
up to him whether he wished at that very moment to protract the
game of broken prisoner or slice this vermin into more pieces than
a diced onion.
     
    “And one more,” Righty said. He almost
delivered it in a menacing tone but got control of himself at the
last second. With a weak shrug and a soft voice he said, “It’s
gonna be hard for me to get that kind of cash to you each month if
my associates downstairs are locked up.”
     
    The chief’s eyes scanned Righty’s
thoroughly, perhaps looking for signs of a challenge to his
authority before responding, and then said, with some reluctance,
“I wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me, would I?” He
paused. “Wait here a moment.”
     
    “Carl! Watch him!” the chief barked at
Mr. Uppercut while the chief disappeared from sight.
     
    “Anything I can do for you while you’re
waiting, Mr. Higler?”
     
    Righty shook his head.
     
    About ten minutes later, the chief
returned.
     
    “Now, you can’t go waltzing out the
front door. For all I know, Benjamin and Willis are out there
waiting. You and your compatriots are going to leave in the wagon
Tats brought to Crabs’ house. And to show you I truly am a
businessman, I’ve had your merchandise replaced as well. I don’t
want to make it hard on you to meet that payment you’ve got coming
up in just over a week!” The chief smiled. “I’ll show you the
way.”
     
    They headed downstairs, went through a
series of hallways, and then finally ended up in a warehouse-like
area.
     
    There, in front of the wagon, were
Tats, Crabs, and all the underlings, a competing blend of
trepidation and hope on their faces.
     
    “One last bit of information, Mr.
Brass,” the chief said to Righty, deciding it was not necessarily
prudent to reveal his old boxing name in front of his men, “I
suggest you act very