CHAPTER 3
Tuss and Buss
I was pushing my motorcycle to its limit at a hundred kilometers an hour when I pulled onto the highway in the direction of Bridgeport. 100 kilometers per hour was the maximum I was able to squeeze from it. No surprise here. A strange world with strange technology stuck in the 1930s. If I had any interest in Earth's technical history, I could probably pinpoint the exact date the American engineers got here. From the technology examples. It's interesting why there's been no technological progress since. They mostly have what the 'Egineers' built a hundred and fifty years ago and their disciples just copy and reproduce it. But no one develops anything further. Strange! I've thought about this a lot. Could it be that the sacred cow, the Egineers, couldn't be discredited by the followers? Sound crazy! Ridiculous! But that could be the case. Their drawings and developments are 'sacred'? On God's level. Besides, the best minds go into magic instead of copying 'engineer' technology.
There weren't that many oncoming cars. Mostly black ones resembling Retro-Daimlers or often the famous Т Ford. Occasionally there were also trucks with covered bodies. One of them was persistently following me. Though it could have been a coincidence. There was nowhere to turn off for a while. Besides almost everyone was driving to Bridgeport – the capital of the only magical-technological kingdom on the planet. And why follow someone in a truck, a passenger car is more convenient to chase someone, after all...
A minute later I got an answer to my unvoiced question. The truck suddenly accelerated and rushed after me, rapidly approaching my back. As if with it intended to push me off the road. Roaring like an enraged bull attacking a matador. It had a powerful engine, surely capable of reaching 120 kilometers per hour if needed.
The only thing that came to my mind was to pull off the road, slow down significantly, and drive off-road, hoping to catch a side gravel where I could escape from the diesel beast. But the guy didn't seem to wish to overtake, continuing to drive parallel on the highway at an equal speed. Cars from behind constantly overtook him one after another, mercilessly honking, displeased with his behavior, but the driver paid no attention to them. I barely had time to figure out the reason for such behavior, when it was too late. On the gravel, which just happened to be a bit ahead, and I gladly took, they were already waiting. And again the mafia. I stopped the motorcycle fifty steps away from the ambush and turned around. The truck was blocking the exit to the highway stopping and rumbling the engine on single turns, ready to rush forward and run me over at any moment. I could have tried to get away.
Most likely they'll shoot at me with a rifle or a Maxim machine gun, which was probably in the truck bed. Besides, it looked more like an attempt to capture rather than to kill. Why not surrender, I thought, feverishly calculating my chances if a shootout broke out. Two Ronkas were waiting for me by the sedan, baring their teeth in a sinister smile. One with a Browning pistol, another with a Thompson submachine gun, a highly inaccurate weapon, but enough for the distance between us. The Ronkas are poor shots. I knew that. But I would still have tried to shoot them if not for the truck behind them. There was no way I could beat them with a Maxim machine gun in it. Plus, I had no idea how many gangsters were inside and I didn't feel like checking and risking would be wise. Maybe there was even a mage for cover. Though I didn't care much for mid-level mages now. The Ita's tattoo should protect me. Theoretically.
At the end, I got off my motorcycle, put it on its stand, raised my hands, and I moved towards the Ronkas.
"Hey, you! Don't shoot, I'm surrendering!" I shouted with a slightly hoarse voice slowly approaching them.
The guy standing to the left side of the car with the browning spread into an almost grateful smile. Apparently, the shootout with the sniper who won the Bridgeport marksmanship competition wasn't going their way, as they were supposed to take me alive, apparently.
"Give me the gun. Take it out slowly," he commanded, waving the browning. He seemed to be the leader of the two.
I complied with his order and extended the weapon handle forward.
He immediately tucked it into his waistband, covering it with a hideous gray-colored and bad-quality half-jacket. After that, he pointed to the back seat of the car.
"Get in the car, Sharpshooter."
I sat in the indicated place. Ronka with the automatic sat next to me, pressing me against the side door with his giant meaty and muscular body. Feeling the door on my side, I noticed that there was no handle for opening the door from the inside. Thoughtful guys.
He drove past the truck, honking the people inside goodbye. And started his improvised interrogation.
"You were told not to stick out."
I paused for a bit before giving a replay knowing the fact Ronkas hate intelligent smart phrases and decided to tease them a bit.
"You, as you so eloquently expressed, most honorable Ronkas, were commanded by you, not to address the assembly with a complaint. There was no mention of disappointment in your written message."
Ronka behind the wheel grunted:
"You should have kind of figured it out yourself. You're not stupid, aren't you?" asked the Second one next to me," chortling with satisfaction.
"No, although it's a trivial piece of information for you, my intellectual index approaches one hundred and fifty on a scale of Kuala-Lumpur. And that was confirmed by independent tests by highly respected experts of the military academy which your humble servant has completed with honorable mentioning and a red diploma.
"What're you chatting about?"
The 'Thompson' sitting on the left jabbed me painfully in the side:
"You, quit it, fool!"
I wrinkled my face in pain from his poke but continued to be a fool to fool.
"What should I quit, most respected Ronka? These are just the usual lexical expressions that I resort to in a stressful situation like this one..."
Thompson jabbed me again. And moreover, Ronka even put his toy's barrel to my head.
"Leave him, Buss!" said the chief Ronka behind the wheel.
"But he was talking normally in the atelier!" protested Buss, quite angry with my botany behavior and speech.
"Cool it. We can't kill him. And he knows it."
Ah! I mentally whistled a bit surprised. Even Ronkas can be smart. The guy probably could even finish high school in Bridgeport. Though math would've been a problem. Most likely. I decided to keep up the charade:
"In your position, noble gentlemen, there was no need to subject me to such wild kidnapping. I' have come to the boss myself if he had called me on my home number. There is no problem here. Politeness and courtesy are like a sip of cold orange juice on a hot day. For, as Schopenhauer said in his philosophical essay, manners..."
"Тuss, let me shut his mouth," Buss suggested plaintively, not being able to take another portion of my senseless intelligent gibberish word mix.
"OK, I'll be quiet, dude," I gave up, deciding it was best not to spend the whole ride with a gag in my mouth. Not a pleasant perspective at all. At least I know the names of these gorillas now. Tuss and Buss. Probably brothers. The family names of the Ronka siblings sound in perfect consonance. There is a joke in Bridgeport that their parents gave them names using a coin and a brass basin. Although it could be true too. Not a wise idea to ask them right now.
Buss exhaled with visible relief.
Tuss, without turning around for a moment, shook his head disapprovingly, switched on lights, and drove on. Outside the car was beginning to get darker. The dusk was going to be in charge.
For some time, we drove in silence. Then, I broke it. Again intentionally.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead," Tuss permitted.
"But in a normal language!" Buss quickly added, threateningly waving his Thompson gun.
"Why did that dumbass with geisha look and flour all over his face, curse me with an absolute curse? What interest do I have now in killing even for million reals reward? Am I supposed to spend them after passing away? In some bar in the next world for selected drunker ghosts?"
Buss snorted in satisfaction. Ronkas catch simple jokes and like them a lot. And of course, they didn't get the part about 'geisha'.
"That's right, dude! On the other side, your million is now waiting there. Casinos whores and cards. Ha-ha!"
"Shaman shouldn't have done that," answered Toss, not paying attention to his friend's evil remark. "The boss scolded him for that."
"Supposedly I should be relieved now? Scolded! He!"
"Our deal has been revised. At least, that's what the boss said. I don't know what it's all about. My job is small. Auda will explain everything to you when we arrive. The choice is yours, Marksman."
"Who is that?" I asked, surprised that he was so readily giving me this information. I was expecting no names. At least at this stage of events.
"A lawyer. The boss's attorney."
I didn't like that. Why was he telling me all this? Were they expecting my voluntary cooperation after all that had been done? Would they lift the curse? That's weird! Is that even possible? Some gangster gang from Bridgeport is certainly not capable of that, not even magi of the extra-class like Kulu-Kulu...
It was already getting dark when they brought me to some warehouse in the port area of Bridgeport. Tuss stopped the car at the green-painted metal gates with chipped paint, Tuss got out of the car and roughly kicked with his giant feet the size of my forearm five times at the gate. After a while, the gates sadly creaked in response to the animalistic force of the micro giant. Not bothered to wait for a response from the other side of the gates, Tuss returned to the car and sat behind the wheel again.
A minute later the gates opened, revealing a black void of an entrance that led through the darkness to a lonely lamp on the ceiling, dimly illuminating the center of the warehouse. Tuss drove carefully inside and shut off the engine. Someone immediately slammed the gates shut with a heavy bolt, sealing off any hope of getting out of there if such foolish idea would come to his mind.
Auda had an excellent jacket, worth no less than five thousand reals. Spending days on end at Shania's atelier, I learned to differentiate good clothing from mediocre and bad, acquiring a silly habit of assessing its worth at first glance. This was sometimes useful during investigations. Being able to instantly determine a suspect's social status by observing their clothing was often of great value.
Auda was a Zingaru – a very rare beast-like race in the world of Rydii. In the nearly million-strong Bridgeport, there were only a few hundreds of them. No one knew exactly. They are very secretive and do something unknown in their small circle. Zingaru had a dark complexion by look, a rather large nose, big black pupils, and dark brown or sometimes bright-red hair that resembled a lion's mane around the head, creating a feeling of a cartoon-looking CG lion. When talking, they have a characteristic accent, very unusual: thick and low. And sounds kind of pleasant for the human ear. They talk among themselves in a frequency range almost inaudible to humans. It is said that Zingaru lawyers use this advantage in court processes, talking to each other without others being able to understand them. So far, no one has been able to learn properly the Zingaru language. It's too complicated and there are no books on it had been published.
As is usually the case with representatives of a foreign race, to us humans, the Zingaru appear to be similar to one another and all have the same face. Yet the Zingaru themselves can easily tell one another apart.
The Lawgiver was sitting at the table, lit by the meagre light of a kerosene lamp suspended from the rusted hook in the ceiling on a thick wire. There was no electricity here. Or it had been deliberately switched off – it was completely unclear. Someone was standing to the sides, but it was impossible to make out who they were. The metal shade on the lamp only illuminated the table in a three-meter circle of light, and I could only see blurry shadows in twenty meters along the wall, in relaxed poses. Around seven to eight people. Undoubtedly armed.
I was unceremoniously plopped down on a chair. Ronkas handled my weight as if I was a child. Zingaru gave a contented nod to my escorts, Tuss and Buss, who after that blended into the shadows along the wall with other mafia guards.
A ten, I wrapped up my calculations. Plus, one Zingaru. They say Zingaru have an incredible reaction. I began to weigh up my chances of getting out alive from this scuffle. First I'll shoot the lamp. After that, him. Or, maybe first him, then the lamp? Not an easy task. What course would be most efficient?...
Auda must have read something on my face, or been taken aback by my composure. For some reason, he decided to start with a polite greeting, interrupting my musings on the impossible idea of getting both him and the lamp simultaneously:
"Greetings, Marksman!"
"Max Light," I corrected him. "And I am a sniper, not a marksman."
I love the accent and strange, hoarse pronunciation of the Zingaru. It's incomparable. For any earthling, they would undoubtedly arouse curiosity and great interest. Living aliens, 'true extraterrestrials'. Extraterrestrials who perfectly understand people, although they consider others much lower than themselves. Much Much lower than themselves, I would say. And they don't try to hide it. Maybe deliberately. That's like them. Zingaru smiled. A lion's smile.
„Is there any difference, Mister Light?" His eyebrow arched questionably.
"Marksman is just a soldier who is good at shooting among other soldiers. A sniper isn't someone exceptional from others. Hitting the target is his job. A profession."
"Very nice explanation. My name is Auda Hariisky. Pleased to meet you, Mister Light, the Sniper."
His introduction scared me much more than before. To kill a Zingaru was a death sentence itself. They are vengeful, like Sicilians or Chechens. And to kill someone from the Hariisky clan was even worse. What had my foolishness with shooting gotten me and Shania into? Oh Lord, forgive my stupidity!
"So, what's your problem, Mister Light, the Sniper?" Auda asked weirdly phrasing the question. But I understood what he had meant. It was both a test of my cognitive abilities and a check if I could make out his confusing question, which, of course, had some underlying context.
I decided against playing the fool. Zingaru won't be fooled. Not by people. Trying to trick them is dangerous and futile.
"I don't kill people for money. That's my only problem, Tana Auda."
Tana – a respectful addressing form to the Zingaru.
"And how do you kill them?"
"Only in self-defense. If I'm forced to do it."
Auda lowered her head.
"Wise and reasonable behavior," He noticed.
"I've thought that too. At least until I met your gorillas."
He chortled. He was talking slowly to me. Not because he wasn't able to think fast, but for some other reason, I couldn't guess at the moment. The tension inside me constantly rose. What a shit I've landed myself in!
"Do you play chess, Mister Light?" Auda changed the topic, as if not noticing my jibe. Although I wasn't sure he knows what 'gorillas' mean. There is no such animal here in this world.
"Yes," I replied," egging him on. "I'm almost as good at playing chess as at shooting."
I truly did have a knack for chess. I wondered if I could stir up this cat. Chess play into this world had brought mysterious Egineers, and it was one of the games that Zingaru race recognized as a benchmark for intelligence. Some of their philosophers even went so far as to say that humanity was created for the sole purpose of creating this game for Zingaru race. For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a match. For my life and Shania's. I would have taken the risk. I was ready to see the familiar board with rattling chess pieces inside my mind's eye. But Zingaru Auda again suddenly changed the topic, asking:
There is a situation in this game when one side has no legal moves to make.
"A common stalemate, I suppose," I added a name to his description.
"Yes. And it seems to me that we are in a similar situation right now. You don't want to accept our offer and you know that we can't just let you go. Your behavior is unusual too. As if you're hiding something. I still cannot give the order to kill you for refusing our interesting offer yet.
"It's not that interesting offer," I objected dryly.
"How come?" He was playing being surprised, both genuinely and oddly.
"Can't you just let me and Shania go? What's the problem?" I suggested a way out. "I know how to keep my mouth shut. And the Pixie has nothing to do with it either."
Auda shook his head. Looking truly disappointed.
"Unfortunately, it would be a loss of authority. The Reputation. If one person refuses to our offer, then so may the others do the same. You should understand how badly this will affect the whole Business. Sniper."
"I understand. But couldn't you make an exception for us? Especially since your shaman has cursed me with an absolute curse. What reason would I even have to do this 'job' now.
Auda paused with his answer, then said:
"Yes, it's a powerful curse. Didn't consider it'll be wasted so stupidly. But the curse is not a problem here, Mister Light. It will be lifted if you successfully eliminate the target. You have my word, as Zingaru."
"Sorry, but I couldn't just believe you," I said, trying to feel him out for deceit, maybe he really wasn't lying. "The Dan-Dan Flors curse cannot be broken so easily. I have been hearing that constantly since yesterday from highly respected mages. First-class mages!"
"Did they tell you there are three entities that can do it in our time?"
"O, Yes, they did. The mythical Queen of Black Elves, the mythical God of the Invisible Flying City, and another supposedly non-mythical guy, but whoever he might be, he is at thousands of stages away from here. It would take two months to get there. On horseback. I forget his name, by the way."
"Nonetheless, you've forgotten the most important one for you, Mister Light. He is the Grand Master of the Order of the Semenites. Most dangerous war mages in the world. And they are not mythical. I have myself visited the last Grand Master a while ago. A hundred years, I think. Or was it eighty? I can't remember exactly. Quite a long time passed since.
"Ah, yes, I remember," I corrected myself. "The Order of the Desert war knights. Ascetics and powerful war magicians refined their skills for centuries. But that's no better than mythical gods and queens, they are on the other side of the continent, as far as I am aware…"
"At any rate, I see that your problem is not a curse," Auda interrupted my speech, slightly confusing me. How he was able to be so perceptive? A hell of intuition!
"Really?" I countered.
Playing on the fact that they can't lift the curse seemed like a sensible idea to me. I wouldn't have done the dirty work for them anyway, but saying it outright meant I was courting a fight. In the criminal slang, it was a 'good dodge'. So I made it up. A good dodge.
"So, Mister Light, the Sniper, you mean you'll do the task as soon as the absolute curse will be lifted?"
And here I've made a fatal mistake. I told myself not to be tricky. As a man from the non-magical world, I kept forgetting that thought.
Auda tilted forward his head and drilled me with his raven-like black eyes. I endured the stranger's terrible gaze, but I had already made my mistake.
Zingaru then raised his gaze, looking somewhere behind me, and asked one of the shadows standing by the wall:
"Is he speaking the truth?"
"No!" came the clear voice in response, belonging to a very young, almost teenage subject. "He is lying and he's thinking of how to kill you!"
Telepath-sensitive! I shuddered. Ice formed in my stomach. Thankfully, I hadn't said anything about the lamp. Of course, it was understandable. A telepath-sensitive could only detect my desire. Thoughts and words were beyond him.
Auda's voice now held a scent of the grave. In a Bussiness-like tone, with a beautiful, raspy Zingaru accent, he simply said:
"Kill him!"
"ACE!"
No! This is not a flight over a cuckoo's nest. This is a flight over a gangster's table! My flight! I flew above the table with a revolver in my hand, turning sideways in the air and shattering the kerosene lamp into tiny pieces, shielding my eyes with my other hand. Auda's body had not yet touched the floor when the room had already gone dark from the single source of light that I had extinguished.
"TEN!"
I began the countdown.
I slammed onto the other side of the table, gripping the already warm revolver, which had so quickly emerged from beneath Tuss jacket and into my hand, ready to spit fire like an enraged beast. Evade. Change position. Quickly!
I barely made it, a lead rain poured down on the place where I was a second ago.
Idiots! The flashes of gunfire illuminated their figures for a brief moment. And I, shedding my jacket and doubling back, fired back in response, using it as an improvised flame arrester. The first rule of a sniper – conceal your position when firing.
The two flashes of light ceased before they could figure out what was going on
"NINE, EIGHT!"
I continued, slowly and silently inching away. Rule number two of a good sniper – change your position even if you think it hasn't been spotted.
A pause longed in thick darkness. A thick darkness pause that could be cut and eaten in slices, so tensional, so palpable. A dark death lottery! It was foolish to bring me here! So foolish, guys! What did you think?
My hair was standing on end and the adrenaline was rushing through my veins.
The pause stretched and stretched on.
Almost endlessly! Gangsters didn't know what to do. They were just waiting for me to make the next move. To provoke me to make a mistake: to start shooting first, or to run for the gates, making a perfect target at the gate threshold. A rectangle of light outside. O! Don't be so naïve!
Or do you really want to test a sniper's patience? Oh! I have an ocean of it! You wouldn't even dream of how long a sniper can lie in a frozen ground, blended in terrain with dirt, grass, and leaves, becoming simply a part of the landscape. Awaiting that single moment when the enemy flashes in a kilometer distance. The only way to spot such sniper is a combat helicopter with a high-tech thermal sensor. And you don't have one if I'm not mistaken. Have you a combat heli, guys? Come on, you can't one-up me here!
Someone's nerves gave up first. I heard the desperate thud of feet spurting toward the car, as heavy as an elephant's gait.
Right. Run to the car, and turn on the headlights. Illuminate so, that the others can take me out.
What a stupid idea! If you don't have Indian leather moccasins, then the thud of fifty-five size-boots is certain death!
Besides, you can't just run through the warehouse in the darkness. It's dangerous. There's a lot of stuff here, you can trip over, break your legs: boxes, wagons, snipers... The last ones are especially troublesome. Beware!
I fired twice. The sound of a falling body and chocked cry signaled the results of my blind shooting.
"SEVEN!"
I quickly changed positions again, reloading my revolver. The gangsters could shoot at the sound of my shots. Even without seeing the flame through my folded jacket.
And I was right. They risked trying to get me. Again the flames from barrels and again beautiful targets lit by flashes:
"SIX, FIVE!"
What are you doing?! Don't you learn! There's no rush here. This is not your standard situation. There are no shopkeepers to easily intimidate with a mere glimpse of your gang of racketeers, no timid pleading café owners, no painted-up prostitutes down Mofa Street (God knows why it's called that). Here is a sniper's domain and it requires patience to survive! A lot of patience! Bandits have no place here. I am the lord here. The lord of death in the darkness! Beware!
"Ruffian! Maggot! I'll kill you...!"
"FOUR!"
Talking is not even an option here! Forget! Best not even breathe! Too strong a scent of a healthy body, like a mammoth, can attract death. Nevertheless, you are so scattered and scared now, you don't even know whether I'm shooting or you are shooting each other. The more it lasts the more advantage I gain. I'm one. Most likely you'll shoot at any sound.
With a swift flick of the wrist, I tossed the revolver away, it clattered against the warehouse wall.
My half–silent 'ace' was hidden by the 'Thompson' thunder!
The revolver flew back into my hand, and the 'Thompson' fire ceased.
"THREE!"
Farewell, Buss! We will miss you dearly. The whores and blackjack await you in the hell you wanted for me.
So, there are two left. One mage, with a thin, tinkling voice, and one gorilla. The telepath sensor is the most dangerous. He senses the direction of danger. The exact place where I am. But his knowledge is only mocking him in such a predicament. To say or yell where my location is, means instant death. Besides, the last bandit will open fire at any noise he would detect. Ha, how funny! But mage can play the sick and hide with me for a long time in this darkness. I'm lucky it's a girl and had no weapon. Otherwise, she might come to the idea take me out with the guns of other dead gangsters.
Don't care! I'll be tossing my 'revolver–boomerang' and teleport back as long as it is needed. Or I'll come up with something else. I've got a wagon full of sniper tricks, a whole cartload of them. You, city bandits, have no idea how many tricks I've up my sleeve.
"WE SURRENDER! DON'TSHOOTPLEASE!"
I almost fired at the source of the quickest of desperate screams I'd heard in my life. And at once recognized the voice. Tuss! Rare smart Ronka. No wonder you were the only one not firing in the dark, knowing what it could lead to. You saw how I hit 'the button' from nine hundred meters away.
I stayed silent, not responding.
Maybe you're playing with me, Tuss? Two hours ago I was surrendering and now it's all turned around. But what good is in your surrender for me?
"Don't shoot, Mister Sniper! I know you can't answer without giving away your position. You don't have to answer. Dina is here, with me, she'll tell me your wish and answers. Can we open the gates?"
I paused for thought. I could shoot him right now. His voice was literally ten meters away at most.
Alright. The guy may be useful. They got Shania and if I'll kill this one, the thread to their hideout will be cut. I'll have to dig up the ground, or rather the Bridgeport asphalt, with my hand to find where they hold my fairy, Shania!
The young subject's voice confirmed my desire. The telepath sensor acknowledged:
"All right, he won't shoot, Tuss!"
How convenient to have such a negotiator who feels opponents' most sincere wishes. You can't fool him. And having him on your side is just a giant advantage.
Tuss acted as if following my detailed instruction. He opened the gate, stepped a few steps back, and stood still, arms up and palms grabbed each other behind his thick elephantine neck. The thirteen-fourteen-year-old girl, the magic, did the same next to him. But somehow not quite as Tuss, she lifted her hands at shoulders level and with palms up, as if teasing and mocking me. If she weren't in a deadly situation just a minute ago, I'd have thought she was smiling right now. The young girl was wearing a strange dress like 'Albanian' style national costume: a yellow vest and a white skirt down to the knees. Quite a strange outfit for Bridgeport, if you ask me.
I stood and watched them from the depths of the warehouse for a short while, thoughtfully observing from the darkness, then stepped out. And only now I realized how stale the air was in this cursed storehouse. The night breeze of the coast was incredibly refreshing. The smell of incomparable sea air. I took a deep breath, enjoying the end of that lottery of life and death, approached my captives.
Tuss flinched when I touched him with the barrel of the revolver, but he said nothing and did not turn around.
"Don't be afraid, Tuss. He won't shoot you. He wants to use us," the girl commented on the situation carelessly.
I got angry at her.
"Stop reading my mind! Who are you? Why is a kid sticking to some bandits? Where are your parents?"
The girl snorted and glanced over her shoulder, looking at me with mischievous eyes, emerald green like those of elves. I was shocked. What kind of upbringing! She was really having fun and no single drop of fear was drawn on her cute teenager face!...