streets of an area where you didn’t even pick a pocket without permission and a cut to the organization. The Yak.
Humanity’s diaspora into space had brought about a terrible fusion of some of the various aspects of organised crime. These hybrids, particularly the Corsican-Japanese-Russian blend, had grown explosively. The last hundred years or so, as the Empire became more stable, and gradually more corrupt, had been particularly good to them.
Of course various families contested for turf. Only Teovan could have found the one fence that was secretly working for another family in Caranzia-Heiki territory. The man was thus prepared to buy Sam’s wares, which no loyal Caranzia-Heiki would have. Somehow, Sam’s instincts had drawn him to visit the fence on the day that the Sakhalin-Carrisi family planned to move on their rivals. The moment he walked into the pawn-broker’s shop he knew something was wrong. It had taken him seconds to spot the two hidden men with automatic rifles. Behind him Salvatore Caranzio-Heiki walked in. He had only one bodyguard with him. This was the heart of his own turf, and he was secure in it. Sam took one brief look at the beefy head of the Caranzio-Heiki Family and knew what was coming. His instincts told him where the choice between life and death lay.
A wealthy businessman had, some ten years ago, disposed of his partner and his unfaithful wife one dark night. He’d used an antique .22 target pistol, and a cunningly made silencer. Afterwards he’d put the weapon, and several boxes of ammunition, into a plastic bag, driven thirty miles and tossed the bag into a passing dumpster. Sam Teovan had unearthed it. After that his gang had always been able to feast on roast rat when nothing else offered. Sam didn’t miss. Stationary targets, like the two waiting men, were just about too easy.
Afterwards, the meaty Caranzia-Heiki had slipped his own weapon back into his shoulder holster. His bodyguard had absorbed the whippet blast that the fence had directed at him. He looked at the sprawled bodies of the ambush team, and at the scrawny, stunted man with the .22 still in his hand. “Roll up their left sleeves, boy,” he said to Sam, his gravel-crusher voice unperturbed.
Sam Teovan did, exposing intricate tattoos.
“Ah. Carrisi. The bastards will pay a deep price for this shit. Now, let’s see your arm, boy.”
Sam pulled up the ragged sleeve. A few scars showed, but no blue and red tattoo. Sal Caranzia-Heiki frowned. “You not with the Families, boy?”
Sam shook his head warily. “No, San.”
Salvatore took a look at the two hit-men, each with a neat hole exactly mid-forehead. He took a ring off his pinky finger. “You are now. You know where the Salomar Hotel is?”
Sam nodded. Drunks from the place were soft targets.
“You go to the desk. You give Gio this ring. You tell him Sal says to give you a room, food, an’ get you some decent clothes. And have a bath. You smell like you haven’t had one for months.” Actually, Sam couldn’t remember ever having had one.
Sam looked briefly at the heavy ornate gold ring the man pressed into his hand. Briefly he thought of what it would fetch, and then knew with absolute certainty that selling this particular item would be terminal.
Sam Teovan’s upward progress within the family was meteoritic. He was a major factor in the rise of the Caranzia-Heiki family to supremacy on Phillipia, and to enormous power elsewhere. He was also a major factor in the demise of the Sakhalin-Carrisi family. Sam’s operations never went wrong. Salvatore always said he was fanatically loyal to the Caranzia-Heiki because they had taken him in, given him the family he needed. But it must be remembered that Sam Teovan knew instinctively which were bad options. Perhaps the alternative to loyalty to Sal was worse.
He sat in on the big meeting and was part of the plan. At least he didn’t say anything against it. But when he left his mouth was dry and his
Humanity’s diaspora into space had brought about a terrible fusion of some of the various aspects of organised crime. These hybrids, particularly the Corsican-Japanese-Russian blend, had grown explosively. The last hundred years or so, as the Empire became more stable, and gradually more corrupt, had been particularly good to them.
Of course various families contested for turf. Only Teovan could have found the one fence that was secretly working for another family in Caranzia-Heiki territory. The man was thus prepared to buy Sam’s wares, which no loyal Caranzia-Heiki would have. Somehow, Sam’s instincts had drawn him to visit the fence on the day that the Sakhalin-Carrisi family planned to move on their rivals. The moment he walked into the pawn-broker’s shop he knew something was wrong. It had taken him seconds to spot the two hidden men with automatic rifles. Behind him Salvatore Caranzio-Heiki walked in. He had only one bodyguard with him. This was the heart of his own turf, and he was secure in it. Sam took one brief look at the beefy head of the Caranzio-Heiki Family and knew what was coming. His instincts told him where the choice between life and death lay.
A wealthy businessman had, some ten years ago, disposed of his partner and his unfaithful wife one dark night. He’d used an antique .22 target pistol, and a cunningly made silencer. Afterwards he’d put the weapon, and several boxes of ammunition, into a plastic bag, driven thirty miles and tossed the bag into a passing dumpster. Sam Teovan had unearthed it. After that his gang had always been able to feast on roast rat when nothing else offered. Sam didn’t miss. Stationary targets, like the two waiting men, were just about too easy.
Afterwards, the meaty Caranzia-Heiki had slipped his own weapon back into his shoulder holster. His bodyguard had absorbed the whippet blast that the fence had directed at him. He looked at the sprawled bodies of the ambush team, and at the scrawny, stunted man with the .22 still in his hand. “Roll up their left sleeves, boy,” he said to Sam, his gravel-crusher voice unperturbed.
Sam Teovan did, exposing intricate tattoos.
“Ah. Carrisi. The bastards will pay a deep price for this shit. Now, let’s see your arm, boy.”
Sam pulled up the ragged sleeve. A few scars showed, but no blue and red tattoo. Sal Caranzia-Heiki frowned. “You not with the Families, boy?”
Sam shook his head warily. “No, San.”
Salvatore took a look at the two hit-men, each with a neat hole exactly mid-forehead. He took a ring off his pinky finger. “You are now. You know where the Salomar Hotel is?”
Sam nodded. Drunks from the place were soft targets.
“You go to the desk. You give Gio this ring. You tell him Sal says to give you a room, food, an’ get you some decent clothes. And have a bath. You smell like you haven’t had one for months.” Actually, Sam couldn’t remember ever having had one.
Sam looked briefly at the heavy ornate gold ring the man pressed into his hand. Briefly he thought of what it would fetch, and then knew with absolute certainty that selling this particular item would be terminal.
Sam Teovan’s upward progress within the family was meteoritic. He was a major factor in the rise of the Caranzia-Heiki family to supremacy on Phillipia, and to enormous power elsewhere. He was also a major factor in the demise of the Sakhalin-Carrisi family. Sam’s operations never went wrong. Salvatore always said he was fanatically loyal to the Caranzia-Heiki because they had taken him in, given him the family he needed. But it must be remembered that Sam Teovan knew instinctively which were bad options. Perhaps the alternative to loyalty to Sal was worse.
He sat in on the big meeting and was part of the plan. At least he didn’t say anything against it. But when he left his mouth was dry and his
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