Savage (16 page)

“What business have you with Mr. Black?”

“I’ve a few questions for him. Would you go get him please?”

“Ya, sure bub. Right away.” The bartender turned and walked back down the bar to where he’d been previously standing. He started talking to the same customer as before, an attractive woman with a heavy layer of makeup. Bazur expected that without the makeup and the dark lights of bar she wasn’t as attractive as she wanted to be. Wrinkles around her eyes and saggy flesh on her upper arms indicated her age was much higher than one might guess at first glance. The bartender seemed not to notice as his glance seemed directed towards her chest. Bazur waited another few minutes, watching to see if the bartender signaled anyone or spoke to anyone other than the woman and the occasional other customer who bothered him for a beer. When it became obvious that the bartender was not cooperating, Bazur waved him back.

The bartender reluctantly left the woman and made his way back to Bazur. “You ready for a drink yet?”

“No, I’m still waiting to see Mr. Black.”

“Mr. Black is a busy man. I’m sure he’ll be along any minute now.”

Tired of the bartender’s games, Bazur reached across the bar and grabbed the bartender by the back of his head. He slammed the man’s face into the highly polished oak bar top. Squeezing the man’s head like an overripe pimple, Bazur leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I would like to speak to Mr. Black. Do you think you might be able to pull yourself away from your female friend for a minute or two and go find him?”

The bartender groaned. “Yes! Anything you want, just let go of my head.”

Bazur let go of the bartender’s head. “Hurry up.”

The bartender stood up, his face was red where it had been pressed up against the bar. He sullenly stared at Bazur and then walked out from behind the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

The bartender scurried off. Bazur watched as the bartender went up to a big burly looking fellow and started pointing back at him. Bazur sighed. Things would’ve been so much simpler if he’d simply done as he asked. On the bright side, it had been forever since he’d been in a good bar fight. He doubted any of Rory Black’s thugs would put up as good a fight as the twin brothers he fought in Pera.

Four thugs surrounded Bazur. The thug the bartender had gone crying to was standing at Bazur’s side. A big man with solid chin and nose that had been broken more than once.

“It’s time for you to leave,” said broken nose.

Bazur turned on his stool so that he was looking at the four men. His eyes scanned the room for more threats, but no one seemed to want to participate. In fact, the once crowded space along the bar was now empty and the majority of the bar patrons had moved away from Bazur. It seemed they were used to seeing Broken Nose escort people out and didn’t want to get in his way. “If you just get Rory Black, there is no need for this to get violent.”

“Look mister, I don’t know you and Sam doesn’t know you. Nobody we don’t know gets an appointment with Mr. Black without us knowing him.”

“Sam?” asked Bazur.

“The bartender you smashed in the face,” said Broken Nose.

“Ah, poor Sam. Really, I did him a favor though. His face was a little lopsided. I only hope I hit it hard enough to do some good. It would be terrible to go through life that ugly. Well, I don’t have to tell you what that is like, do I?”

Broken Nose smiled, his grin was marred by several missing teeth. “I guess you don’t want to leave.”

“Nope.”

Broken Nose reached out and tried to grab Bazur by the shoulder. Sitting on the stool, Bazur’s shoulder was at Broken Nose’s hip height and should’ve been a quick easy grab. Once Broken Nose had his hand on Bazur’s shoulder, he would yank back, pulling Bazur into the middle of his three fellow thugs. There they could apply the boots to his body until he was sufficiently softened up enough to be tossed out without putting up a fight. The problem was when Broken Nose went to grab Bazur’s shirt collar, he got nothing.

Bazur twisted on his seat as Broken Nose tried to grab him. He turned and dropped his shoulder. Broken Nose’s hand slid on by, smacking into the bar counter. Bazur kicked Broken Nose on the side of his knee. As Broken Nose’s knee buckled under him, Bazur came up off of the stool with a vicious uppercut that met Broken Nose’s chin on its way down. The hard hit staggered Broken Nose. Bazur followed up the uppercut with an overhand left to his nose. A cracking noise filled the bar as Broken Nose’s nose was once again dislocated from its intended position on his face. As Broken Nose crumbled to the ground, thugs two and three grabbed Bazur by the arms, intending to hold him back while thug four beat him.

The thugs were big men, but they were soft. Bellies full of beer and bar pretzels and long days of doing nothing had the men weak for their considerable size. Bazur let his body go limp and let the two thugs hold him up. He kicked his legs out and caught the fourth thug square in the teeth with both his heels. Struggling to keep their balance with Bazur’s dead weight between them, thugs two and three tumbled into the bar stools and released Bazur. Falling to his knees, Bazur turned and threw a short jab to thug number two’s groin.

As thug number two dropped to the ground in agony, Bazur stood up. Thug three delivered a hard right to Bazur’s head. Shaking off the blow, Bazur grabbed thug three by the shoulders and lifted him into the air. He then slammed the man down onto the bar floor. The thug’s head bounced off the floor and his eyes rolled up into his head as he lost consciousness.

Done with the thugs, Bazur took his seat at the bar. Looked around and found Sam the bartender nervously watching from across the room. “Sam, why don’t you go get Black before I get angry.”

Sam lowered his head, turned and went to the office door at the back of the bar. He knocked at the door.

“Enter.”

Sam stuck his head in the door. “Sir, I apologize for bothering you, but there is a problem out here. Someone strange was asking for you so I told him to piss off. But he didn’t take it well and got a bit rough. I had Brent and the boys deal with it, but that didn’t go well… He’s still out here asking for you.”

Rory Black looked up from his ledger. “What does this stranger look like?”

“Big fellow, gots some orc blood this one does.”

Rory chuckled softly. “A savage looking fellow you might say?”

Sam rubbed his sore face. “Yes, sir, that is how I’d describe him. A savage half-blood.”

“That will be all, Sam. Please go give our guest a glass of honey mead, the good stuff from Irri. Tell him it’s on the house.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it, before you annoy him further. You are lucky he was being kind.” Rory stood up. “On second thought, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off. I’ll deliver the drink myself. I can’t afford to anger our new friend. He has a reputation for destroying places like this for fun.” Rory strode out of the office and made his way behind the bar. He reached beneath the counter to where the good stuff was hidden. He pulled out a bottle of orc honey mead and poured two glasses of the golden liquor. Taking the glasses, he walked over to the now empty area where Bazur sat waiting. Rory slid the glass in front of Bazur. “I get this mead from a tiny little village in the north corner of Irri. I can never secure more than a couple bottles at a time, but it is worth it.”

Bazur took the glass and lifted it to inspect the color. He then gave the drink a sniff before taking a small sip. “Arkrul. The village is Arkrul. They only sell this mead in small doses because it is brewed after the first frost of the year. They add frost bitten yappa berries to the honey mead. It gives it that extra bite and a hint of berry aftertaste. My father would take bottles of it when he visited Amradin.”

“Arkrul, yes that does sound familiar. You know your mead, Bazur Zargha.”

Bazur took another sip of the Arkrul honey mead before putting his glass down and examining the man across the bar. Rory Black was a diminutive man with almost feminine facial features and long curly black hair that settled over the shoulders of his black and gold velvet tunic. While the man’s grooming and wardrobe were that of a dandy, his posture was that of one with a military background. Rory Black might choose to look like a self-obsessed noble but his eyes were those of a man who’d been through the trenches. There was more to Rory Black than his looks. “Rory Black. You are a difficult man to talk to. I had to be extra persuasive to get them to let me speak to you.”

Rory leaned over the bar and examined the pile of bodies at Bazur’s feet. “Yes, I can see that. This time of day I am usually doing the books. Accounting gives me a headache so I insist on not being disturbed until the damn things are done. But I can see you have a talent for being persuasive. I appreciate you not roughing up Sam too much. Bouncers can take a beating; it is their job. But good bartenders are hard to find. Especially ones that I can trust to keep my wife entertained while I do the books.”

So the overdone woman was his wife? Bazur held back a chuckle as he reassessed his opinion of the bartender, Sam.

“I can see what you are thinking. Let me guess. Sam was ignoring you and focusing on Lydia. You assumed he was flirting with an older woman, hoping for a big tip or a little something more.” Rory didn’t wait for Bazur to comment. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. It is what any man would think. The good looking young bartender flirting with the old hag. It is a bar cliché as old as man.”

“I wouldn’t say old hag. In the right lighting, she still passes for a younger woman, but she should go a little lighter on the makeup. It doesn’t flatter her.”

Rory sighed. “I try telling her that, but she is convinced it hides her wrinkles. The idea of aging gracefully is one she hasn’t quite grasped yet. She is fighting age tooth and nail. She insists we make a trip to Amradin this summer. Apparently, there is a mage there who makes wrinkles disappear.”

“Impressive. Can he do anything for saggy tits?”

Rory slapped the bar. “I like that. I will have to remember that one. Now as much as I enjoy discussing fine honey mead and my wife’s inability to age gracefully, how about you tell me what you are doing here?”

“I understand you are a man who can facilitate things. If someone wanted to hire a mercenary of considerable talent, they might talk to you.”

“You looking for work? I have some clients that would like a big strapping fellow like yourself,” said Rory.

“No, I’m tracking down a mercenary and I’m told he might be one of yours.”

“Brent and the boys handle debt collection and provide security once in a while. For specific jobs, I hire out. So it is possible that I have an association with the man you are looking for. But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You can beat me up like you did Brent and the others, but I am not a talker.”

Something in the way he said it made Bazur think that someone had once tried to make Rory talk. That Rory was still around signified his mental toughness. Perhaps a subtler approach would be necessary. Bazur reached into his pocket and put his brooch on the bar counter.

Rory picked up the brooch. “A dangerous business being an investigator for Prince Astor. The last few didn’t last long. Three of them came here asking questions, but they were all stumbling around in the dark. They didn’t know what or who they were looking for. All they did was draw attention to themselves. I trust you actually have a name.”

“General Jasper Vargas.”

“You know, many people in this city are concerned about Prince Astor one day becoming the king. They see all the changes he has implemented and they fear what he will do next. Me, I think change is long overdue. For far too long, Draisha has been controlled by a few rich families that control everything. Between them and the religious fanatics it is hard for an honest man to make a living. Thankfully, I gave up being honest a long time ago. I look forward to the prince becoming king one day. I want him to survive long enough to make some changes… General Vargas is not someone to take lightly. I contracted him to do a couple jobs when he was first removed from the military. His reputation for being ruthless and blood thirsty is well deserved. I quit using him for that reason. He was creating more problems than he solved. Too much collateral damage. When you hire a mercenary, you want precision. Hit the target like a dagger to the heart and move on. Vargas was like swinging a hammer in a crowd. He doesn’t stop swinging until the victim is hit, no matter how many people he has to go through to do it. Not good for me when I get angry clients coming back for refunds. I haven’t used him in years now.”

For a man who just claimed to have given up being honest, Rory sounded just like someone telling the truth. But was he telling a convenient half-truth to throw Bazur off the scent, or was he being forthright? If he was being honest, then there wasn’t much more Bazur could gain by questioning the man, and if he was lying, anything Bazur gained by continuing the conversation would likely be tainted information. Perhaps a few pointed questions would be wise. “If you were looking for Vargas where would you look? And what does the man look like?”

“Vargas is average height, but he looks taller because of his long neck and his long arms. Short dirty blonde hair and a small scar over his left eyebrow. Deep set eyes and a flat broad nose. Not an overly big man, he is average at best, but he is quick, very quick. He was the best swordsman in the royal guards, equally good with his left and right hands. As for where to find him… I wouldn’t worry about that. Now that you are going around asking about him, I suspect he will find you. The first three investigators didn’t have anything about him and they disappeared. I’d wager he’s not happy about you throwing his name about.”