Pawn, page 19
Of course he wasn’t going to visit his sick aunt or whatever, as they’d probably assumed, and at the end of the hallway instead of turning right, he turned left, pushing open the heavy wooden door with its glass inset and stepping into the antechamber that led to Aidan Hennassy’s room. The chair outside the room was empty, just as it was meant to be, the guard on a break as planned, and of course the camera staring down at him and the rest of the room was off. The little red light was a beautiful black. Everything was just as it was meant to be.
After taking a comforting breath or two, Venner stepped into the hospital room itself, satisfied that no one had seen him. No one that hadn’t been paid off by him that was. They wouldn’t talk and of course the hospital’s cameras were down for a few minutes. All that he needed. The power of money at work. He loved it. But sometimes it required things of him, and this was one of those times. Still, he had the strange looking glass vial in his pocket, given to him by his lord, and the task was fairly straight forwards. Simply feed it to his pet thief.
Of course that might not be quite so easy. He discovered that when he finally set eyes on Aidan Hennassy, lying in his bed, covered in bandages from head to foot, and with tubes and a mask covering his face. Getting something down his throat was not going to be easy, especially without setting off the alarms on all the machines he seemed to be plugged into. But still it had to be done.
He walked over to the bed, masking the noise of his footsteps as best he could, though why he didn’t know, and stared at him for a bit.
Aidan Hennassy. His thief, even if he wouldn’t have thought of it that way. Such a hard man, a hard face, and a cold heart. He was never the sort of man you could trust, never somebody you turned your back on, and never someone you would invite over for tea. But he was good at his job, very good. And he was utterly ruthless with it. In fact in all the robberies he’d asked him to carry out over the years, the man had never failed. And he had been paid for it handsomely. Theirs had been an excellent working relationship and his vaults were filled to overflowing with stolen art treasures to prove it.
Until now. Now everything was turning to custard. A family feud had turned what should have been a clean and simple operation into a disaster. It had led the police straight to him, and worse the endless publicity and the press had let all his buyers know of the theft as well. Worse than that, they knew the thieves. That was never supposed to have happened. And now his buyers no longer wanted to pay for the Rembrandt. They wanted it for free. And while his thief’s family had it in their possession, there was always a chance it could happen.
Worse, he knew that the wiry little police inspector was on to him. He had been from the very start. His people were busy rooting through his accounts, thinking that they would not be noticed. They were. Interpol as well seemed to be taking more of an interest in his activities than usual, speaking with his contacts, checking out his businesses, even looking into his taxes. They would find nothing, his accountants were far too good. But still he knew, they would keep trying. Inspector Barns would push them.
Venner truly didn’t like the man. His eyes, always looking straight through you, his face a portrait of suspicion as he listened to every word that was said and counted it as a lie. The inspector had not believed a word he’d said and no amount of evidence would ever change that. He would not be turned away by money either. So maybe it was time that he had a little accident. In the end that would probably be cheaper. Maybe he could get his tame thief here to do a little killing. He wouldn’t mind, and from what Venner knew of his family, they would probably help. If they were still alive.
And the wife, Serena, she could help. She was a cold, cold woman with eyes that stared straight through you. She was never the sort he would have wanted to get involved with, in any way. But she had a genius when it came to spying. She was a master when it came to intrigue and cunning. And she would never, absolutely never, pull back from a job when it came time to finish things. Rather she would take huge pleasure in the act of sticking one of those horribly sharp knives of hers into an unsuspecting man’s back. And there was another back he needed stabbed.
He had an enemy. He knew it. Plutos knew it and even who it was, though he refused to share that knowledge with him. Someone was leaking information he didn’t want leaked. The stuff about the dead boy. That he didn’t care about. It was just a nuisance, a smokescreen adding to the confusion. But the rest. The information the inspector was being fed. The stuff about the Hennassy’s and their hideouts. That was different. Someone was meddling with his plans, and while Plutos might not be concerned, he absolutely was. A nice quick death would be well in order.
And Aidan here was his chance to do just that.
Carefully, Venner reached out with his hand and lifted up the edge of his mask, uncovering just the side of his mouth. That would be enough he hope, and he was worried that if he did something wrong, the man’s heart might stop or a lead would fall off, and the machines would start screaming, calling the nurses. They weren’t all in his pay.
Then, slowly and carefully he cracked open his mouth a tiny bit, unstoppered the vial, and let the first few drops of the smoky elixir trickle on to his teeth. Just a little, he didn’t want to spill any. Plutos had been very insistent that he drank it all, and Venner did not want to fail him. Without his support he would never have become the billionaire he was, and he knew his lord could take all of that wealth away from him in a heartbeat. He could do a lot more as well and he would without a second thought. Venner could not afford to fail.
A few drops went down, and then a few more, and slowly little by little the strange looking vial was emptying. That was good. If it didn’t work, it would not be because of him. But it was working too. He could see that in the colour that was returning to the hard man’s face. Whatever it was that he’d been given, it could work miracles. But then what else could he expect of an actual, living god? The most powerful of them all.
Even though it had been thirty years since he had been found by Plutos, a runaway with no prospects who he’d then nurtured into an international businessman and a force of commerce, he sometimes found it hard to believe that the ancient gods still walked the world. But he didn’t doubt their powers, or their silly rivalry. Plutos was the most powerful of course, but he still had to bow down to Zeus, something that Venner didn’t understand and Plutos hated. But that was all about to change. For centuries his lord had been working towards taking Zeus’ place, and now his plans were all coming together.
With the sale of the painting Venner would also seal an accord between rival businesses, and form a new crime empire. The largest and most powerful in the history of the world. Gun runners, drug cartels, criminal gangs of all stripes and all countries, coming together under him. Working together, working for him, and all making money. The world would be theirs, it would be his, and of course through him, his lord’s. And with that sort of power behind him, Plutos would be unstoppable. He would kick Zeus aside and rule, and finally the world would be under the control of the markets.
No more terrorists. They would have no money, and without it, they would quickly be destroyed. No more silly rules and laws. Money would be the law. The rich would do as they always should have done, whatever they wanted, and the rest would serve them or starve. No more whinging environmentalists, or bleeding heart charities. Those people would soon find out that such causes took money, and without it they would fall. And as for the tramps and wino’s and other human scum that kept fouling up the streets, filling the hospital beds, and draining the coffers of the governments, no more of them either. Those who couldn’t work deserved to starve in their ghettos, and the police should finally do their duty, and let them. Their purpose was to protect the important people.
It would be a perfect world. If this worked. And if it didn’t, Plutos would be very angry. But above all else, it would not be his fault. Venner was going to make absolutely sure of that.
A few more minutes was all it took, and when he finally upended the vial into the thief’s mouth and let the last few drops trickle into his mouth, he watched as the man’s eyes opened. Not only cured but awake. Now that was a miracle.
“Shush.” He put his finger over his thief’s mouth like a boy playing secrets, and it seemed to get the message across.
“There was a gun battle. You were shot and nearly killed. I’ve saved you with the help of a very expensive drug, but there are things you need to do. Things that will help you escape from the police and punish those who harmed you and yours. Things that will make us all a lot of money.” And that last was what really mattered, to both of them. They weren’t fools. Things like love and beauty were the delusions of fools. The things that the masses lapped up with their cornflakes. He knew better. He could buy all the love he needed, and he owned so many beautiful treasures that others could only dream about. They were all lies. The only thing that really counted was power, and power came through wealth. That mattered.
“I’ve put some instructions in this envelope. It’ll tell you when the guards are next off and the monitors down. And once you’re out of here, it’ll tell you where to go and what to do.” And if Plutos was true to his word, it would tell his thief who needed to be dead.
“Rest for a bit. Recover your strength. Your chance to leave here will come in a couple of hours. It’s all in the envelope.” He was sure of that. The only thing he wasn’t completely certain of, was that Plutos hadn’t added a little extra instruction or two. Something about harming him. He was an angry god, and a vengeful one when he wanted to be, and he wasn’t happy of late. As long as he didn’t blame him for any of the mistakes. But Venner wouldn’t dare open the envelope to check. Plutos would know.
Still as he left the room, his job done, he had to feel a little good about things. He had done what he’d been told. He’d done it perfectly. Plutos had to be pleased about that. Didn’t he?
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Chapter Twenty.
Polemos smashed Rufus a good one, the round house connecting nicely with his jaw and sending him flying across the sand to land in a heap. It wasn’t the first time. But he wasn’t bothered by that as much as the fact that it didn’t really hurt. Not much more than an ordinary bump anyway. That bothered him. He was being hit so hard and so often that he should be lying in an emergency room. But for some reason it didn’t seem to hurt him as much any more. And it wasn’t just a lack of pain either. He wasn’t being injured.
But that wasn’t what bothered Polemos.
“Better, but still you let your guard down. Remember. Block and punch, block and punch.” The big man came over and offered him a hand up, and as usual Rufus took it. He wasn’t really upset by being hit by him. At first it had scared him. He’d thought he was going to die. But as the days had gone by, long days of training until his arms felt like limp spaghetti and his breath was coming in gasps, and the sweat was pouring down over more sweat, soaking his clothes and the sand, and he reached complete exhaustion, it had simply become a part of his routine. If you wanted to learn how to fight, you had to learn to take a hit. That at least he was learning.
Polemos was right about that much.
“I know, I know.” And he did. Polemos had told him that again and again, and most times he remembered it. Just not all the time. Not that it would have helped. Polemos knew a million tricks and tactics, and what he was teaching Rufus were just the most basic of them. The most brutal basics.
Rufus didn’t fully understand how he was doing as much as he was doing. It seemed to him that day after day as he was punched, smashed, beaten and then forced to run marathons, swim lakes and climb like a monkey before more drills, that human beings weren’t supposed to be able to do these things. Especially not him. He was weak and quiet, with a slight build and no muscles to speak of. He’d never run a marathon in his life. But he was doing it. Every day.
As Polemos pushed him, urging him on, sometimes swatting him with a training stick when he was too slow or looked like giving up, he somehow kept finding that he could do it. All the things he had never been able to do. And so he could run a marathon, when he’d never run more than a few steps before. He could climb the huge wooden climbing frames and swing like Tarzan from the ropes. He could swim for miles in the small lake without either drowning or resorting to doggy paddle. And he could lift the huge sandbags that had to weigh as much as he did and carry them from one pile to the other. And he could also take a punch that should surely have killed him.
“Polemos, how is this possible?” He’d asked him before of course, many times. And he’d probably ask him again, many more times. And Polemos would tell him nothing. Nothing about where Di was. Nothing about where he was either. Nothing about how he was doing what he was doing. Or why he had to. The man loved to talk, often and loudly, but not it seemed, about anything that mattered.
Rufus still didn’t understand how he even got to the training arena each day. Polemos just picked him up his battered, very battered topless Landrover, and they drove down a few streets, took a couple of corners, and suddenly they were somewhere very different to the rest of town. A massive hall surrounded by a large tract of land for running, hunting and being hunted, playing with weapons like knives and spears, and on a really bad day, climbing through obstacle courses. He hated that. But he didn’t understand how this huge almost wilderness, not to mention the olive grove and the small lake, could be only a few streets away from the house, or that he couldn’t drive there himself. Each time he tried he simply got lost. Magic maybe?
He also didn’t really understand why he was being trained, save that someone called Moirae had asked Polemos to train him, and Polemos had told him in turn that if he wanted to see Di again he would have to do it. That and he seemed to have acquired a lot of enemies of late, and some training in fighting might help. Running fast might help more. Of course a gun might have helped most of all, but the big man just poured scorn on the idea and in any case Rufus had no idea where he could buy one. They simply weren’t available legally and he had no idea where a black market dealer might be. His family were the criminals, not him.
“What?” The big man smiled at him. He was a naturally happy man as Rufus had slowly learned. Happiest most of all when he was he was fighting. Then he was ecstatic. The big man lived for combat in all its myriad forms. “Take some water.” He pushed him over towards the table where the bucket was waiting for him as always. There were no taps with running hot and cold water here. Only a well outside which he had to pump every day.
“I mean how can I keep taking these punches? That last one should have broken my jaw.” It still hurt a bit, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly.
“Why? Did you want it to break your jaw?” Polemos seemed genuinely confused. But then he often didn’t seem to understand Rufus’ point of view. Some days it seemed, he didn’t really understand what it was to be a normal human being. He certainly didn’t understand what it was to know fear or weakness. Such things were completely alien to him.
“No, of course not.” Rufus grabbed the sponge and washed his face and arms down, before filling a rough clay mug with more of the cool water and gulping it down. “But it’s not normal. People don’t get hit like that and just walk away. They get taken away to hospital.”
“You don’t look hurt to me.”
“That’s the point. I’m not. It’s not normal.”
“It’s normal for you.” For once though, instead of pushing back into the middle of the arena and beginning his training again, the big man simply stood there and stared thoughtfully at him. It was a while before he spoke, but that was a good thing as Rufus was still cooling down. He might be able to take a punch and run a marathon, but he still got hot and tired. Besides, the fact that he was thinking meant he might actually be about to get an answer. Rufus waited patiently for him to say something, just in case.
“There are things I can’t tell you. Things that I’m not permitted to. But there are some things you need to know, and I don’t quite know which this falls into.”
“You are a warrior. You have the skills and instincts of our calling. But you have fear, and that fear is what holds you back. It has done so all your life. You have the heart to fight. You have the head to learn how to fight. You are gaining the strength in your body and the practice is teaching your body the moves. But always the fear is there, lurking within you.”
“There can be no fear. You are a fighter. For a fighter there is only the fight. You face your opponent, you attack him with everything you have, nothing held back, and you win or you lose. There is no fear.” He believed what he was saying. Rufus could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. And maybe he had a point. But he hadn’t walked in his shoes and Rufus felt the need to defend himself.
“I was raised in a house of violence. I was beaten often and hard. I was broken many times. -.”
“Stop!” Polemos held up his hand as though he was stopping traffic, his voice like thunder echoing around the great hall. “You are not a child, and those are only excuses. Children make excuses. Fighters make no excuses. You fight, you win or you lose. No excuses.” It was funny how certain he could be as he said it. A man who had never known fear in his life. And it was terrible how right Rufus knew he was. And how little it mattered. He was still afraid. He always would be. His fear had been well earned. But Polemos would never be able to hear that. It was time to change the subject. Again.
