“You know how the Don's interests stand here on Deva. He takes a … personal interest in the well-bein' of the businesspeople here. For this service he expects a small weekly kickba — I mean, honorarium. That's just for goodwill. It ain't supposed to put no one out of business, and it ain't supposed to make anyone hurt. That comes if somethin' goes wrong. In exchange, we are, like, on call in case there's trouble. No one leans on one of our clients without us comin' in and makin' 'em stop.”
“I understand all that, but where does the problem arise?”
Guido's face darkened. “There's someone else hornin' in on our deal here, you should excuse the expression. The deveel's in the details. The Don suspects dese same individuals have been runnin' small loans for the little guy. Now, you know how it's hard for anyone to operate in the Bazaar. Once in a while you need a little extra cash. Normally they go to one of the usual establishments, or they come to us. Everything's fine if you pay back on time. Anyone who tries to skip out gets leaned on. Now between the loans and the protection… I mean, insurance payments, all the action is with dis new group, and we're not gettin' our cut. The way they do it is not so different on the way youse guys were helpin' run the Don's operation, but when defaulters get the treatment from these new people, they ain't the same anymore. Geddit?”
“I believe so,” I said. “Would you mind elucidating further?”
“I don't do no elucidatin',” Guido said, “but I'll tell ya some more. This action has been cuttin' into the profits the Mob has come to expect. I've tried talkin' to 'em myself, but they're not answerin'. And they're not trottin' back into the fold, like the Don wants. He sent me here, but I'm out of my depth. I need an enforcer to bring 'em all back into line.”
“Why ask us?” I inquired. “Why not someone like Aahz?”
“Well,” Guido admitted, “he ain't felt what you would call motivated lately, since the Boss left”
“He's the logical person, being, well… formidable.”
“Yeah,” Guido said, glumly. “I got him to go and lean on one of the, uh, clients, but they was too scared to comply.”
“They wouldn't comply? With a Pervert?” Tananda asked, astonished.
“Pervect” I quelled my little sister with a look. Aahz was an old friend, and shouldn't be referred to by a derogatory title, especially one he personally eschewed. “What could possibly cause such a breakdown in authority?”
“More to the point,” Tananda asked, interrupting me, “who is it? A rival gang?”
“I dunno,” Guido said. “The, er, clients can't talk about it. We used … a lil magikal persuasion, but I gotta tell ya, the results was not what you would call pretty. A guy explodes rather than give with the information like we asked him. And I know me and Nunzio didn't use nothin' that would have caused that kind of effect. It was self-inflicted.” Guido toyed uneasily with his empty mug. “I'm askin', like, as a pal, to see if youse can't get these accounts back into the tidy line like Don Bruce prefers to see.”
Thoughtfully, I ordered another round of milkshakes. The bartender, usually a loquacious soul, delivered our beverages, then departed hastily. I am accustomed to the looks of strangers, the horrified expressions when they gaze at me, a full-grown, and, if I may say it (as it is my stock-in-trade), a ferocious-looking Troll, but this Deveel was an old acquaintance of ours. Nor did any of the males in the immediate environ deliver the generally lascivious, speculative leers I have observed when they behold my sister the Trollop.
I might add that many have made the foolish assumption that because of my size and demeanor that I am the more formidable opponent of the two. It is not the case. Tananda is the fiercer sibling. I am proud of my little sister. For anyone who believes that I am at all jealous of her prowess, I remind them of my above-mentioned characteristics and invite them to take up the matter with me, personally, some time when I feel like enjoying a spot of freelance exercise or, as our friend Aahz calls it, a free sample reminder. No one has ever asked for two.
Guido was clearly hoping it would take only a visit from one or both of us to redirect the flow of funds toward Don Bruce's coffers from whatever inappropriate stream into which it was currently running. We were willing to give it a go, for old time's sake.
“Whoever it is must be packing some serious magikal hardware,” Little Sister mused. “Guido, do you have a list of the merchants who are, uh, not complying?”
The enforcer pulled a hand-stitched leather document case from the inside breast pocket of his immaculately pressed suit. He extracted therefrom a small scroll and gave it to Tananda. She held it up to the light, frowned, then pointed a long-nailed finger at it. There was a POP! and a puff of green smoke.
“Not my color,” Tananda said, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell. “Don Bruce isn't taking chances on anyone reading this, is he?”
“That is the middle crux of the issue,” Guido agreed.
“What was sealing the scroll?” I asked curiously. Magik is not an entirely closed book to me, but I may say that my expertise runs in the direction of physical exertion, not elder lore.
“Nasty Assassin's trick, Big Brother. You really wouldn't want to know the details. You'd call the results insalubrious or some other two-gold-piece word.”
As I said, I am proud of my little sister. To detect and disarm such a trap in two economical motions is the hall-mark of the consummate professional, sometimes defined as one that is still alive after more than one mission.
Tananda unrolled the document and spread it out. “Hmm. Cartablanca, the manuscript merchant, Vineezer the herbalist, Bochro, who deals in exotic toys — plenty of mixed technology in that shop …”
“What about Scotios?” I inquired.
Guido shook his head. “He's behavin' himself.”
There were several more names on the list Tananda and I read it several more times. She met my eyes with a puzzled glance. “What do all these people have in common?”
“I couldn't say,” I admitted. “They're all Deveels, but that is the only trait I can detect.”
“Most of 'em work alone.” Guido said. “That'd make them vulnerable to a shakedown … I mean, an insurance proposal. That is why the Don takes so much interest in protectin' them.”
“Not Melicronda,” I pointed out. The wine merchant was in a tent not far from M.Y.T.H. Inc.'s own. “She employs three of her sons full time.”
“What about the quality of their merchandise?” Tananda suggested. “All of them sell fragile or ephemeral goods.”
Guido shifted in his seat, suddenly sweeping a glance at the other patrons of the inn. Inadvertantly, all of them retreated a half-step. “So does Palaka the rug dealer, but she's not on the list And some of these are what you might call service providers. Though not the kind of service providers Don Bruce likes to keep under his protection.” “I see,” I said.
“It's no good,” Tananda said, rolling up the scroll and rebespelling it before tucking it into her cleavage. “Weil have to visit each of them and find out for ourselves.”
“No comment,” said Vineezer, edging past me with a bubbling retort in his hands. The old Deveel put it onto a stone slab and reached for a big open jar and a minute spoon. The small shop smelled very pleasant with its heady aromas of drying herbs hanging in bunches all around the ceiling. A bit too heady, I thought, as I fought to contain a titanic sneeze. “Atishoo!”
Plant matter went flying in every direction. The old Deveel was rendered momentarily green with powdered snakewort. A wreath of laurel hung drunkenly from one of his horns.
“I am so sorry,” I said, attempting to brush him off. “Quite by accident, I assure you.”