Beautiful Scamp

Prólogos

His whining voice on the other end of the phone is starting to irritate me now as he drones on. I can’t do this. It’s impossible to do that. “There are three holding out,” he says, “I cannot predict which way they will vote.”

Flipping open the wooden case on my desk, I remove a cigar, making him wait as I clip the end, lean back in my chair, take a long sniff of the woody, earthy scent.

Right now is my time, not his. And I have problems enough of my own to deal with. Samos, my daughter, is nowhere to be found, though most outside the closest family don’t know it. With any luck I will have her before it becomes general knowledge. She is good at disappearing, and perhaps that’s my own fault. After all, if I’d brought her and her sister up myself instead of leaving their mother to do the job—and do it poorly—I could have kept my eyes on them more closely. Not that it helped with Amara. Perhaps girls are just simply impossible. My sons, Roman and Ody, have never been such hotheads. Roman, my eldest, might have been rebellious once upon a time, but he now knows where his loyalties lie, and Ody would follow me into hell if I asked. And of course there’s Camilo, who has been like a son to me since his own parents treated him so poorly. Yes, perhaps boys understand loyalty instinctively. My father certainly would have said it was so.

“M—Mr. Volos?” he asks, hesitantly, like some sort of mouse.

“Hector,” I reply, taking a long puff of smoke from the cigar. “When your gambling debts were mounting, did I say to you that there are investors holding out? That I couldn’t predict what would happen? When there were photographs of your cock being sucked by three scandalously young ladies, did I tell you I couldn’t make them disappear?”

“No, but—”

“It would be a shame if those photographs were sent to your wife and children.”

“Mr. Volos. Apollo. Please, I—”

“Apollo, please,” I mock, imitating his annoying voice. “Please, please. You sound like a little girl, whining because she wants a doll. You are a man, Hector, act like one. I have paid you, have I not?”

“Yes, it’s not the money…”

“Good, then it’s settled. The vote will go my way.”

“But I can’t make them vote the way we want.”

“Yes you can. I have faith in you. If you need to borrow Camilo, I will lend him to you.”

“What? No, these are legislators, we can’t go threatening—”

“Can’t, can’t, can’t. Is that the only word you know?”

“I—I’m sure I can persuade them myself, Mr. Volos. No need for anyone else to get involved.”

I smile. “Good. I will speak to you tomorrow after the vote.”

He starts to say something, but I cut the call and place the phone on my desk, then click the button on my remote, the first notes of Beethoven’s ninth symphony coming loud over the speaker system.

And immediately I begin to relax. Now is my time, and I will enjoy it regardless of my troubles.

Chapter 1 – Valiant

2 Weeks Later

We were friends once.

It seems like a lifetime ago that I knew him, and in some ways it was. I wonder if he even still remembers that friendship, or if it would mean anything to him if I was caught here. Probably not. Both our lives are different now, but he’s the son of the most dangerous man in the city and I’m still a nobody, a street thug who was raised above his station far too fast for his own good.

At least in their eyes.

The plush, air-conditioned blackjack room, with a faint scent of jasmine in the air and thick, wine-colored carpet, might fool a lot of the people here, but I know the truth. I know the rot at the core of this establishment. I watch my old friend head for the doors that will take him through to the back room, where his father conducts his own business.

And where I would be taken to have my fingers broken if they knew I was here.

Roman Schalk was a decent man when I knew him. Someone who never wanted anything to do with his father’s empire. He never even took the family name, preferring to keep his mother’s German maiden name instead: Schalk. Meaning rogue or scoundrel.

But nobody denies Roman’s father forever. Eventually the house always wins.

And so Roman grew into his name, keeping only a veneer of civility for the gathered masses.

“Sir?” the croupier is speaking to me, I know it, but I’m not interested in the game. I’m here to find out what’s going on, why they’re suddenly booming when my own casino is struggling to turn much of a profit. It seems like every piece of legislation is designed to help them and hinder me, or else they know what’s coming before it happens.