Chapter 15: One Step Closer

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is that it’s been a godsdamned week, and we don’t have shit to show for it,'' Gregor complained. He speared his fork into his bowl of noodles. He twisted them around and slurped them sullenly. “All I’m sayin’ is that we should know when to quit and do somethin’ else.”

It wasn’t the first time Gregor made the argument, and Philus suspected it wouldn’t be the last. Not if things continued the same way. It was hard enough sometimes to keep his boys in line. That they were right made them absolutely insufferable. He couldn’t even enjoy his damned meal in peace without one of them giving him guff.

Philus looked up from his own bowl of noodles, eyes watering from the heat. He, Gregor, and Markus sat at the wooden counter of a little Mooran noodle shack a mile away from their street. The food was tasty, spicy enough to make anyone cry, and cheap enough for them to afford, even when they hadn’t been making many shards lately. He pointed his own fork at the larger man, scowling.

“Not this shit again. A week isn’t much time. Think of the payday we’ve got waiting for us. That should be enough even for a big lump like you to be patient.” Philus stabbed a hunk of walla and chomped it.

“Think of the payday,” Markus mimicked. He pushed his own mostly empty bowl away in disgust. “We supposed to feed ourselves on dreams, Philus? I’m gettin’ real sick of noodles every night.”

The owner of the shack, an old, wrinkled Mooran woman named Taki, turned around to glare at Markus. “You done with your noodles then?” she asked, reaching for the bowl.

Markus grabbed onto it. “I didn’t say that. Mind your business,” he growled. Taki clucked and returned to her stove.

Some kind of argument like this was happening every night, and it was getting worse. Philus and his boys had trekked up and down the North side in search of the whore and had only turned up whispers. One man had her for a couple of nights last month. Another swore he saw her in a bar on North River Row just last week. The only place that had seen her as recently as last week had been that shitty pub that threw him out after Markus groped the owner’s daughter.

Still, they were getting close. Philus could feel it. They were running out of places to look, which meant Razia Rashid was running out of places to hide. What other explanation could there be?

“We’re getting by. Let’s be real here, Markus. You could do with skipping a meal or two, and we wouldn’t be having this kind of issue if Gregor didn’t eat us out of house and home.”

Gregor lowered the empty bowl of noodles from his lips and scowled. “Hey! I get hungry. You want some muscle, you gotta be willing to feed me! Maybe if we were spending less time lookin’ around and asking questions and more time shaking people down...At this rate, we’re never going to be able to go to the South Side again. Not without getting shanked.”

Markus snorted. “What the hell do you have going on in the South Side? All you do is eat, drink, fight, and fuck. You can do all of that here.”

“Yeah, but you can’t get to the port too easy without going through the south side.” Gregor shrugged.

“The port? The port?” Markus looked at Philus in disbelief. Philus shrugged. There was no telling where Gregor got half the shit that passed his lips.

“Yeah. I was thinking that maybe I could see about signing on to a crew. I got family back in Finsk I haven’t seen in a while. My sister was preggers last I saw her, yeah? Her kid’s gotta be at least four now.” He shrugged again, keeping his head down. “Farming’s none too interesting, but it’s steady, yeah?”

A chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze settled. Other than the bubble of the next batch of noodles being cooked and the one other patron slurping their food, it was silent. All the color drained out of Markus’ face. He looked at Philus and winced. Philus glared at the hulk of a thug. His last thread of patience snapped.

“Why Gregor,” he said, “you’re not thinking of leaving us, are you? Not over a week of footwork. Not when we’re so close.” Philus bared his teeth in a feral mockery of a smile.

“Are we though?” Gregor raised his eyes up. “Feels like we’re just running around like idiots.”

Philus shoved his bowl away. He turned around. “With you, that’s always true. What about our plans, Gregor? We’ve won the last five scraps. 44th street is ours, and we might get 45th soon. Money and respect’s about to start pouring in. You wanna walk away from that?”

“Phil,” Markus began.

Philus slammed his fist on the counter. Markus, the only other customer, and two empty bowls jumped.

“No, we’re on our way! After we do this job, we’re gonna live like kings for the next two months! We’ll be able to do whatever we want, get whatever we want, and grow.” Philus stood and jabbed a finger into Gregor’s chest. “You’re not running away from this! We’re going to find that whore, bring her to that giant fat fuck, and we’re going to bathe in shards as he guts her!”

Neither Gregor nor Markus said a word, though they shared a look Philus didn’t miss. He knew what it meant. His boys were thinking of bailing on him. This was all about to fall apart, if he didn’t do something. All he had to do was hold them together a little longer, and riches and glory were theirs.

The other customer threw a half qala piece into the big glass jar behind the counter and slinked away. Taki turned around. “You three need to leave,” she said, wrinkled face made even wrinklier by her scowl. “Pay your tab, and get out of here. I’ll not have you scaring my customers away!”

Philus turned on her. “Fuck you, fuck your noodles, fuck my idiot friends, fuck everything!” He snatched the jar of shards and took off. Markus and Gregor exchanged a baffled look and took off after him, and for the first time in days things were almost back to normal.

They knew these streets as well as anybody. Twisting and turning their way through every side street and back alley was second nature. There was no way old Taki or her son were after them, but that didn’t matter. For as long as they were running, it was just Philus and his boys, making money the fun and fast way.

He finally stopped when he ran out of breath. Markus and Gregor caught up with him soon after, panting and leaning against a nearby building. Philus let out a wild, whooping laugh.

“What the shit was that, Phil?” Gregor wheezed.

“We’re never going to be able to eat there again,” Markus added. That just made Philus laugh harder. His boys looked at him as if he was going mad.

“I thought you were sick of noodles, brother!” Philus guffawed. He turned the jar upside down. An entire day’s worth of Taki’s earnings clattered to the dirt. “You ladies were complaining about a lack of funds? Grab a handful. This should last us for a few days!”

It was worth it to see their eyes get large with greed. They dropped to their knees and scooped up the qala and half qala pieces and tucked them away into their pockets. The final pile was smaller, but that was fine. A leader provided for his men. Philus took his share with a wide, manic grin. “Are we good now?”

“Well,” Markus hedged. “This’ll feed us, but what if she calls the watch on us? This was still a bad idea. You don’t shit where you eat.”

As one, they looked around the alleyway. Other than a young boy bouncing a ball against a house, they were alone. There was no one to call them thieves or drag them to one of the five watchtowers, never to be seen again. They shared a short, self deprecating laugh.

“You still don’t get it,” said Philus. “Give it another week or two, and that wrinkly bitch will be begging to serve us food.”

Gregor let out a frustrated, strangled snarl. “How? You keep going on about this, but we got nothing!”

Philus held up a finger. “Not true. I got a lead. A good lead this time, brothers. This one’s going to work out for us. I guarantee it. IF IT DOESN’T,” he added before either Markus or Gregor could protest, “then we’ll call it all off. We’ll go back to mugging people and getting into pointless fights with the boys on 45th.”

Once more, Markus and Gregor shared a look. Philus’ heart was all the way up in his throat as they silently conferred. It threatened to leap straight out when Markus finally sighed and shrugged. “One more time. But if this one doesn’t pan out, we’re done and you’re paying for everything for a week.”

Philus could live with that.

Despite what they may have thought of the search, Philus wasn’t running around without a clue. Going around, asking after one specific person would’ve been stupid. After a couple nights sticking to their usual hangouts and waiting to see if anything happened, they branched out. Philus used his head, like any savvy gang leader would do.

There were only three places north of the river where whores regularly gathered together, and while Markus and Gregor bitched and fought with him every step of the way, Philus had managed to rule two of them out already. The girls under Aziz were all slaves, and there was no way that brutal bastard would’ve let any of them go without a fight. The same could be said of Raquel. Her girls worked under her willingly, but they were a tight knit bunch that were just as much thieves as they were whores. That left only one place.

The Silk Lounge was known more for its privacy and parties than the women themselves, but they still had at least two dozen girls working there. The way Philus heard it, the girls rented nooks and rooms the same as any party would, and made a living with the relative safety in numbers it provided. If that slippery bitch was working anywhere, it would be there. There was, of course, another reason for going.

“No way,” Gregor breathed as they stopped in front of the building. The big Finskovite wasn’t known for being reverent, but this came close.

“Here?” Markus looked just as impressed as Gregor.

“Here,” Philus confirmed. He threw his arms around their shoulders. “Last I heard, she was a regular,” he lied. It was probably true. It had to be true. “And haven’t you always wanted to be inside? Have a meeting?”

Markus’ sharp intake of breath told him he had won him over. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But this isn’t the same, is it? We haven’t made it yet. Ain’t nobody inviting us in for business tonight.” He brushed Philus’ arm off.

Philus refused to be discouraged. “True,” he said, “but there will be. By this time next month, we’ll be known. And it all starts right here. Tonight.”

Neither of his friends looked like they believed him, but it was hard not to find his words attractive. Mugging people late at night or occasionally getting a handful of shards in exchange for beating the piss out of a debtor didn’t get a gang noticed. Cashing out an expensive bounty…Philus looked between them, forcing confidence into his grin. He willed them to just go with it, to take this last chance.

“Eh, whatever,” said Markus, sighing. “If nothing else, we’ll get to see what it’s like inside, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Gregor clasped their shoulders hard enough to rock them.

The place was nearly silent, and in a place like that it was enough to make the hairs on the back of Philus’ neck stand on end. It wasn’t an empty kind of quiet. It was hushed, suspicious. This was the kind of quiet that came right before he and the boys jumped someone. Unconsciously, they stopped dead in the doorway.

The Silk Lounge was a fucking mess. There was no other way to put it. Paper shredded paper lanterns littered the floor, with only a few still hanging to cast their light. The walls were scorched in places, with knives embedded in others. Blood stained the entryway before the front desk, which sported a long chunk hacked out of the wood. Whatever had happened there, this place couldn’t call itself neutral territory any more.

“What the fuck,” Markus whispered. Philus didn’t have any answers. He had the same dumbstruck look on his face as Markus, while Gregor screwed up his eyes and frowned.

“This is it? This place is a shithole,” Gregor declared.

Philus and Markus shushed him, smacking him around his shoulders and head. It was too late. Footsteps sounded around the corner, getting closer. “Hey, knock it off!” Gregor said, smacking their hands away. “It is! You made this place out to be so great but it looks like Gustavi’s after three am.”

A short fat man in girly robes turned the corner, face screwed up in disgust. One arm was in a sling, and one eye was blackened and puffy. “Does no one still work here?” he shouted. He shook his head as a lone merc came from the other door, one hand on a club at his belt. “Remove this trash at once,” Otho said.

Philus jumped and got his arm around Gregor’s head and pulled him down. Markus grabbed one arm with both of his and fought to keep him from getting out of the headlock. Gregor settled down after a few seconds. Philus looked up to see incredulous looks on the merc and Otho’s face. That was his opportunity.

“Please forgive my friend’s runaway mouth,” said Philus. “He’s an idiot. We’ve always...We’re fans, yeah? We’ve always wanted to come here and drink with the big dogs. Maybe pick up a job or two. We didn’t expect this place to...What happened here?”

Otho took a long, deep, overly patient breath and let it out in a huff. “Razia Rashid happened.”

All at once the boys broke apart and looked at each other, eyes wide with excitement. “YES!” They cried out as one, half hugging and half slapping each other.

“Simmons, you get a castura if you make it hurt when you eject them,” said Otho. The merc grabbed his club and looped the leather around his wrist.

“Wait wait wait,” Philus held his hands up. “No, sorry, wait! We’re hunting her!”

Simmons looked to Otho for confirmation. After a few seconds Otho waved him off. “Hunting her? As in you intend to find her and do unpleasant things to her?”

“Find her, yeah,” said Markus. “But it’s an interested third party who’ll be doing dark and nasty things to her. He sounded pretty eager. Hungry even. Yeah I’d say he’s hungry for it.”

Otho rubbed at his temples. “And who might this third party be? How many people has this cunt royally pissed off?”

“Chr--” Gregor started, but Philus put his hand over his mouth. “An anonymous third party with a hunger for blood. That’s all anyone needs to know.” He gave his best disarming smile. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough for what? What do you want from me?”

“Any information you have on Razia and how we might find her.” Philus clasped his boys on the shoulders. This was it. After a week of busting their asses and searching high and low, they’d get what they need and collect.

Otho smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Do you plan on sharing that bounty with me?” he asked pleasantly.

“Hadn’t planned on it,” said Markus.

The smile disappeared. “Then why should I tell you anything? Sooner or later that bitch will piss off the wrong person and they’ll deal with her. If you want information, you’ll pay for it.”

Philus held up a hand to his boys. He had a feeling he knew how this was going to turn out and he didn’t like it. He got out his share of the noodle stand tip jar and set it down on the table. Otho looked at it and scoffed. Sighing, Philus nudged Gregor.

“Oh you gotta be kidding me,” Gregor groaned. But he too pulled out his purse and dumped a small pile of half qala pieces on the desk. Otho coughed. They looked to Markus.

Markus held up a finger. “Give us some information. If we’re happy with it, you get the rest.”

Otho sniffed. He made his way around the desk and scooped the shards into the top drawer. “She was here just two days ago. She went upstairs. A few minutes later she came down with half of my whores and started screaming at me. They refused to go up, so the bitch started lying and turned my men against me. She escaped and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Two days?” Gregor snorted derisively.

“No,” said Philus, “that’s fresh. That’s good. Do you have any idea where she might’ve gone after that?”

Otho gave a one armed shrug. “If I knew that I would’ve sent someone after her myself. She left with a big group of whores, maybe twelve of them. Maybe they went to Raquel and begged for sanctuary. She could’ve skipped town for all I know. That’s all I got. Now, the rest?”

Markus shook his head. “Not yet.” His eyes narrowed as an idea formed. “One more question. What was she screaming about?”

Color flooded Otho’s cheeks. “It was something stupid. She was upset I was willing to risk a friend of hers by renting her out to her moonkissed friend.”

“Moonkissed?”

“Yes. That’s when it all started.” Otho’s voice got low, almost a growl. “It all started with that moonkissed bastard, Quentin Quintius!”