Episode Five

Cepu Boldan was, Mr Delpess considered, very conservative in certain respects. In particular, he liked a scene to look right. After each job, he and his gang, together with any associates contracted for the work, would meet in the back room of a warehouse. Mr Delpess owned the warehouse himself. To satisfy Boldan's sense of drama he always ensured that it was deserted the evening they gathered and all the windows of the room itself were boarded up. A single table stood in the centre of the room and two candles rested on that. Boldan himself always sat around the table together with those associates not permanently in his gang. Those who he did not trust, in other words. Behind them, a little too near for comfort, were members of Boldan's gang. Another pair waited either side of the room's single door.
For a long time almost all men in the room were statues. They waited mute, eyes transfixed on the one person granted movement. The gang's treasurer, a Kratzan called Menoney who was rumoured to have actually finished school. He too obeyed the conventions for the scene. First he took the great mass of coins from the sacks and bags and arranged them into little piles. Now he was placing the stacks one by one onto a pair of scales, their mass balanced by a weight of ten gold. One pile went on, a mark was made by Menoney's quill onto the balance sheet, off with it and on with another; a series of tiny chinks of metal which echoed through the silent chamber.
Only Menoney was moving yet the others were gradually transforming as they did. As the strokes of ink crawled down the paper, peace spread slowly through the room. The henchmen were becoming more relaxed. Mr Delpess felt his fear change into simple nervousness. He glanced at Boldan as often as he dared and watched amiability creep across even that visage. Boldan had begun to watch the tallying up armed with his usual scowl. When a particular number of strokes were recorded – the break-even point, Mr Delpess guessed – he let the crevices on his skin disappear. As they continued mounting up, he looked as if he might actually smile. And when Menoney finally ended his count, checked and double-checked his figures, Boldan did permit that rare movement to contort his face.
"Nine thousand, two hundred and fifty gold plus change," Boldan repeated. "Not bad, not bad. Thanks Menoney. Thanks everyone. A nice, straightforward job."
He paraded his smile around the room. Aside from Mr Delpess, he himself was the only man whose appearance did not match the scene. Even Menoney tended towards the burley, the unshaven, the lank-haired. Boldan, though, was a squat but tidy man in his early forties with a reassuring air. His clothes were unremarkable but well-cut and he appeared to visit both barber and bathhouse once a day. Cepu 'Blood-Eyes' Boldan looked like a mildly prosperous craftsmen and actually owned eyes which were a pleasant chestnut colour. The picture never reassured Mr Delpess. He had known Boldan for too long. He could remember when the man had been a straightforward thug, before he grabbed control of his gang and refined his image. And he knew Boldan got his nickname by bloodying other people's eyes, usually by inserting a dagger through them; and knew he still had this habit.
"Right," the gang leader continued. "Divvying up. First, Mr Delpess' five per cent as normal."
The man sat opposite Mr Delpess snorted. The landlord hadn't met him before the start of the job and would be happy never meeting him ever again. He was built too solidly, wore too few clothes and smelt a little too strongly. He was only ever referred to as Tatts, presumably because almost every inch of his putrid skin was covered with blue and green decorations. Mr Delpess would also be content if he never learnt the man's true identity.
"Don't see why," Tatts growled. "Fucker weren't even on the fucking job,"
"Mr Delpess gave the info which made the job so nice and straightforward," Boldan said calmly. "He supplied equipment and premises, including the room we're sat in now. He gets five per cent for that. He always does. It's the arrangement."
"Your arrangement. Take it out of your fucking cut, not mine."
"No. He gets five per cent of the total cut. Those are the rules. You were told the rules at the start, Tatts. You want to challenge them now?"
And it was understandable that Boldan was remaining so calm. The rules also said: Tatts was on his own. All the men who mattered in the room worked for Boldan. They mattered because they were now stood even closer behind Tatts, opening their cloaks, resting their hands on their swords and crossbows, awaiting the next instructions from their boss. Tatts only turned his head half an inch but must have seen enough.
"Guess it's OK," he said reluctantly.
"Good." Boldan smiled again. "I wouldn't like any of that 'thieves fall out' crap kicking in. Makes me tired that. Bad for business. So," he continued, slamming a bottle of wine onto the table, "Let's all have a drink. Celebrate together. Show that we're all still mates."
Tatts continued looking unhappy. No doubt he had heard the stories. Of Boldan's fondness for having a drink with his associates during the tallying up after a job. And of Boldan's habit of putting something into the wine of any associates he thought might become problematic. Mr Delpess had heard the tales too. He also knew they were true because once a man sitting right next to him had keeled over suddenly, purple face gasping for a breath which wouldn't come. Nonetheless, he drank from his own beaker without hesitation. Boldan was, amongst other things, frugal. He wouldn't waste poison. And if he decided to just cut Mr Delpess in half then there wouldn't be much he, Mr Delpess, could do to pause the event.
"There you go, sir." Boldan slid a very full bag of gold across the table towards him. "Thanks again for your help."
"And thank you, Mr Boldan." The landlord clutched the bag, feeling the hard, jagged coins. He reminded himself that this was worth the terrors, the dangers, the revulsion.
"Do Tatts' next, Menoney. He looks like he's eager for it. How's the reco going for the next job?" Boldan asked Mr Delpess.
"Proceeding very well, Mr Boldan. I'll have my recommendation and a nice full file to you by the end of the week, just as you asked."
"Which one is it likely to be?"
"Down to a short list of two now, the wagon train and the jewellers. And I imagine it will be the jewellers because while the security looks tighter there, I know of our fondness for targets which stay in one place."
"So let's hit the fucking jewellers," Tatts snapped. "Let's hit it tomorrow. Why all this pissing about?"
"That would be preparation and reconnaissance," Boldan replied, his tone growing dangerously courteous again. "All that 'pissing about.' That's what made this last job so easy."
"Dunno what were so fucking easy about it."
"Yeah?" Boldan looked around. "Lads? You said there weren't any problems."
"Floor got a bit slippy," a man standing directly behind Tatts smirked, "When Tatts here crapped himself."
Tatts spun round and leapt up with remarkable speed to confront the man. Not fast enough, however. And the hands which had rested casually on hilts and bows were now gripping them, pulling them free of belts. Tatts froze. Mr Delpess did as well. He was not really worried, though, not even for Tatts' safety. Because Boldan was still controlling the scene; and Boldan bellowed instantly,
"For fucks sake, you lot. What did I say one bloody minute ago about thieves bloody falling out? Quit it. You want to carry on like this, piss off and join the bloody apes over in Southmarket. Tatts, sit down. And Rollo," he snapped at the man who had allegedly slipped on faeces, "Wipe that off and shut it. You're not funny."
Tatts subsided. Rollo muttered a "Sorry, boss," but continued to smirk, knowing he had not really been chastised. Boldan pretended they were a professional unit but they were still only really a street gang writ large. Quick to squabble amongst themselves but always closing ranks against outsiders. Thinking how Boldan had taken his side against Tatts, Mr Delpess supposed that he was more or less considered one of them now. The notion left an ambiguous taste.
"And here's your cut, Tatts. Nice doing business with you. Let's stay in touch."
"Yeah. Right." Still apparently no happier, Tatts grabbed the money bag, made another abrupt rise and strode away. Mr Delpess watched the man guarding the door glance at his leader. Then he turned back to Boldan who, after a moment, nodded. Mr Delpess released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Yes, the nod proclaimed, Tatts is allowed to leave the room alive. The door was held open for him with mock-courtesy and slammed shut.
"So you'll get us the file by the end of the week, Mr Delpess," Boldan said.
Realising that he was being dismissed too, the landlord began a more circumspect departure. "Of course, Mr Boldan, of course. No hitches whatsoever anticipated, oh no."
"You had any other problems? No more fucking chancers knocking on your door asking for protection money?"
"Oh no. Your visit to those two scamps the other week has spread the word that I've all the protection I could ever need."
"Should fucking well think so. Little shitehawks. There's rules in Jakks Way, isn't that right."
"And where would any of us be without rules, Mr Boldan?"
"How's things in general? You taken on any interesting new tenants lately."
Mr Delpess sighed inwardly. He wouldn't have mentioned them otherwise, he told his conscience. Or: he probably wouldn't have. Boldan had asked him, however. If he stayed silent now, if Boldan found out anyway – which he almost certainly would – then he would be committing a deception. There were many actions which one didn't attempt around Boldan and one was to try and lie to him.
"One very interesting couple, yes, just took up a lease at No 5 Jakks Way. They call themselves Radav and Yaxi Tanson." And Mr Delpess imparted the very few things which he knew about them, and the rather larger number he had guessed. Boldan sat back frowning.
"The names ring a bell somewhere. Anyone know anything?" he asked the room in general. Silence answered him. "No fucking surprises there. They asked about the scene here?"
"Showed a remarkable lack of curiosity about their new home, Mr Boldan."
"Well, that doesn't mean anything. Could be that they already know. They're definitely players, you'd say."
"I imagine they have played with the highest stakes available, Mr Boldan."
"OK," Boldan nodded. "Get back to your homework now. And when you've finished that, I might want a new file. One on these new tenants of yours."