9. RAVEN

9

RAVEN

What do you know about weapons? Or heavy artillery? A class-four firearms license? AI-powered surveillance?

After the Change, it was close to impossible to get heavy weapons. Legally, that is. But the black market was booming. The price was steep, but if you had the connections, you were invaluable.

Archer Crone might be the king of Zion. But I'm the crown. Kings change. The crown stays.

Don't get me wrong. No one is irreplaceable. Zion would carry on if something were to happen to me. But many of my connections won't be valid once I'm gone, and that would screw up this little paradise so fast that Butcher would have no problem getting his claws into it.

I'm patting myself on the shoulder, of course. But you see, money is nothing. Unlike the poor, rich people understand it. They are businessmen. Archer's assets are not money but his brain and the late secretary's reputation and power.

Mine? Connections. War is business. And the Change made it into a money-making monster.

Remember, when people are dying, someone out there is getting richer.

The speedboat ride from Ayana pier to Port Mrei's port entrance is gloomy this time. So is the weather. So are my thoughts about this Butcher business.

"It smells like food," says Skiba, my right-hand man.

I can smell it too. It's not the first time. The boat is equipped with mounts for AK-47s as well as bulletproof vests that we are about to put on. This trip is taking danger up a notch after what happened to Archer and Katura. But the salty ocean scent is laced with the smell of fried oil. Seriously?

I throw a glance around, making sure none of my men on the boat are stuffing their faces with food while we are going to Port Mrei to meet Butcher, with a very high chance of being dusted.

There was always that chance. Butcher and I were always silent enemies. Even more so now.

I light a cigarette and stare at the approaching port and the guards' towers. The sky is gray. The sea is nervous. My heart starts beating faster. Thunder rumbles in the distance. A hurricane is coming in several weeks

We approach the shore, and port security gives us the green flag through radio dispatch.

Mac's words always remind me of one truth, "Just because you came from the gutters doesn't mean you have to be a rodent."

Yep, that's a choice. And Port Mrei somehow ended up having too many rodents and snakes, Butcher's gang, while the rest of the town suffered at their hands.

"The vest, boss," Skiba says, handing me one.

We approach the port where rows of cargo, boats, loading docks, and warehouses are surrounded by a tall chain fence. I see the guns sticking out of the towers on both sides of the port. These days, the port takes extra precautions.

The meetup place is not the usual Coco Jumbo tavern, which is far too deep into the town. Instead, as we disembark, I text Butcher the new location. It's a restaurant two blocks from the port gates, right on Main Street, with tables outside, visible from the two towers that mark the fence between the port and the rest of the town.

Today, in addition to my usual two guards, Skiba and James, several others took their positions at the towers.

"Forty-one ready," a voice on James's radio says.

"Forty-two ready," says another.

"Forty-three ready."

James brings the radio to his lips. "We are walking. Stay put."

The guards open the port gates onto Main Street, and I glance at James and Skiba, who set their hands on the guns on their duty belts.

This is a first, stepping into Port Mrei wearing bulletproof vests, considering they are no good if someone shoots you in the head. Then again, with Butcher, you never know how the meeting might escalate.

Port Mrei used to be a pretty, tropical tourist town with many local traditions, foods, and an annual Solstice festival that drew huge crowds of tourists from the mainland. Only two years since the Change, and the town is a perfect example of narcokleptocracy, simmering in violence and poverty. Butcher and his gang bathe in luxury while the rest of the population scrambles to make a living. If it weren't for Ayana, which offers hundreds of jobs, they would've been screwed two years ago. But these days, you don't need dead bodies washing ashore at the resort from that part of the island to know this the town is on a fast road to hell.

It's hot and muggy, and the heavy bulletproof vest makes it ten times worse, weighing down on my shoulders like this entire Butcher business.

Steadily, without talking, we walk straight up the road toward the restaurant in the distance.

"Two o'clock. Men with guns on the second floor," James murmurs.

"Eleven o'clock. Gun barrels between the boarded-up windows," Skiba says.

"They have people all over," James hisses through his teeth. "We need reinforcement."

Slowly, I pull out the phone and text Butcher.

Me: I have men with grenades watching. Tell your hounds to cool it.

"Fuck me," James murmurs, scanning the nearby buildings as we pass two blocks and halt at the restaurant.

Skiba spits on the ground. "Fuck us all. Is that how it's going to be from now on?"

Yep.

Butcher is not interested in getting rid of me just yet. He is looking for ways to infiltrate Ayana to ensure he can cease the power if I'm gone rather than being completely shut away from it.

We stop by the restaurant tables with no intention to sit down or make this conversation longer than needed.

And here, rounding the corner is Butcher in his signature cowboy hat, button-up shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. His dark mustache partially hides his smile. His thumbs under his beer belly are tucked under the jeweled belt. Leisurely, he walks up toward us and stops several feet away. There are two armed men on each side of him, and another handful are lined up behind him.

Slowly, he removes his sunglasses and mockingly studies me up and down.

"My-my. A bulletproof vest?" He feigns surprise, looking between his guards who chuckle, amused. "Am I under arrest?" They chuckle louder. "And grenades? My men simply make sure no one around here hurts you. I am invested in our friendship, but the negative sentiments against Ayana in Port Mrei lately are growing. Surely, you understand."

He makes a sad face that I want to punch.

Friendship, my ass. It turns my insides seeing him blame the rest of the town and the Ashlands, whereas everyone knows that nothing in this town happens without his approval.

If Butcher wanted to kill me, he would've done it a long time ago, Zion security or not. A bullet in the head is fast. It took me a while to figure out why Butcher didn't.

You see, while we made deals with contractors and protected the world's most promising drug conjured in the Center's lab, Butcher had his own game going on. After the Change, Butcher was patient, waiting for Ayana and Gen-Alpha to be in their prime. The Savages were his army meat. Everyone else was just collateral. His eyes were on the weapons trade. And the real deal was back east, Russia and the Middle East.

Tsariuk wanted his daughter. Butcher wanted to be a king. Milena or not, Butcher wanted to get ahold of Ayana and make sure that Russia had deep interest in Zion besides a mafia princess, being so close to the mainland and all, and then become the most convenient buffer territory between the East and the US.

Butcher's ambitions are larger than being the mayor of Port Mrei. Screw wealth. He wants power. And I suspect that he is somehow involved with Tsariuk.

"How are you, Mis-ter Le-vi?" Butcher asks with seemingly warm concern.

That's his charm. He looks approachable, like a super-host. Unless you know that he once drilled a hole in a guy's skull because the guy got drunk and interrupted his dinner.

"As good as can be, considering the circumstances."

"What are the circumstances?" Butcher feigns concern. His voice is always even and business-like, lacking any variation in pitch. He is calm as a python.

He is a hard man to talk to, mainly because he is slippery like an eel. And lethal.

"Occasional attacks by mysterious individuals," I say.

"That's unfortunate." Butcher shakes his head with a frown. But his smile doesn't quite go away. That's his signature smile—more like a permanent scowl. "I would like to apologize for what happened to our Chancellor and his lady."

I don't respond. He is scum, but smart. There's nothing worse than a smart, morally twisted man in power. That's why Archer lets me deal with Butcher. Archer isn't used to scum.

"Perhaps you can tell me to what I owe the pleasure of seeing you today?" he asks. "It's been a while. You seem to have lost interest in us."

Far from it. There's nothing I can say that he doesn't know. But I need to get him talking.

"We have an issue with your people sabotaging our security system."

"I can't control everyone in this town."

"You can't. I can see that."

His eyes give a dangerous sparkle—he didn't like that comment.

"Our concerns are not so much about what they do," I lie, "but the fact that if it starts jeopardizing our people, we'll have to cut Port Mrei's access to the shipments that arrive at the port."

Butcher nods, not breaking his eye contact with me. "Do you remember our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Aleksei Tsariuk? He made some inquiries here some time ago."

Oh, that is clever. Tsariuk is not an acquaintance, and this is the first time Butcher has alluded to being in contact with him.

"He purchased the island next door," Butcher says.

This is news that definitely complicates things, considering that island is only forty or so miles from here.

"That island has nothing to do with Zion," I say. "Nor can they legally request access to our port."

"They can't. Not yet." Butcher nods with a little smirk. "But they are getting connections to the mainland."

I know where this is going.

"I am very content with our Zion setup, Raven," he says. "But if the ruling party were to change on this island, Ayana specifically, and the port, of course, Tsariuk would surely make a deal with someone willing to be more cooperative. And by then, he would have all the necessary connections on the mainland to keep Zion operating as it always has."

I don't respond, only feel the heaviness of the gun tucked under my belt. I would love to shoot this guy in the face.

"Everything stays the same right now , of course," Butcher says with a hint of danger in his voice.

Finally, for the first time, he cleverly expresses something that I've known for the longest time.

He repeats it, slowly, tasting every word, "I am merely talking about a scenario if something were to happen to the men in charge of Ayana."

Finally, he indirectly made a threat on my life.