Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Mr. Cicero

Chapter 20: Mr. Cicero

Quentin wasn’t happy. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?” he hissed.

Razia offered an apologetic smile. “I didn’t plan for this so much as I knew it was a possibility. This is Mr. Cicero’s part of town and he’s got eyes everywhere.”

“Once again,” said Quentin, “why the hell didn’t you warn me? Did you think I’d refuse?”

“Well, yeah.” Razia shrugged.

Quentin sighed. The two mercs stepped into the alley, putting off any reply Quentin might’ve had. They both drew metal blades from their belts. The woman’s knife was curved and wicked looking. It was then Quentin recognized her. So did Razia.

“Hey Janice,” Razia greeted. “Glad you found work with real professionals after that shit with Otho.”

The two of them looked at each other, then back at Razia. Janice’s smile was unpleasant. “Making a mighty big assumption, aren’t you? Otho wants you dead and is willing to pay for it.”

Quentin’s hand ventured to his belt. Before he could so much as blink, the male half of the pair came at him, sweeping his leg out from under him. Quentin landed on the ground hard with the man over him, knife at his throat. “I wouldn’t,” the man said quietly. Shock, then shame flooded him. In an instant he was at the man’s mercy.

“Hey, there’s no need for that, he had nothing to do with this,” Razia reached out for the mercenary’s shoulder, then thought better of it.

“Oh, we all know that’s not true. How’ve you been, pretty boy?” Janice loomed over Quentin, smiling with one side of her mouth. “Sorry about Bruno there, but we can’t have you starting trouble.” Quentin gave a minute shrug of his shoulders, eyes locked on the dagger at his throat. “Lucky for you, your assumption is correct. I’m with Cicero for a couple of months until we find a caravan out of this bitch of a city. He wants a word with you both.”

“Both?” Quentin asked.

Janice rolled her eyes. “Yeah. All this started when you got that whore riled up and all sensitive. This one’s on you too, pretty boy.” The woman seemed deeply amused with the turn of events, and had the look of a lazy predator. Quentin wasn’t sure if he liked her or disliked her.

“Wait, you were involved too,” said Quentin. “You were the one who even suggested setting a price for Samantha’s death, weren’t you?”

Janice laughed. “Oh, I was. Never thought he’d actually do it. What kind of self respecting boss listens to the hired muscle’s suggestions? As far as Mr. Cicero’s concerned, this is between the three of you. Hence, he wants to speak.”

“That’s reasonable,” said Quentin through gritted teeth. “Unless you plan on bringing him to us, I can’t very well speak to him like this. Mind getting off me? Thank you.” Bruno pulled the knife away and held out a hand. When Quentin reached for it, he walked away snickering.

“You try to run, we maim or kill you,” Janice said, motioning for Bruno to lead the way, Quentin and Razia to follow, with her bringing up the rear. They set out, Bruno whistling as they went, whistling louder the couple of times Quentin tried to speak to Razia.

So that meant a quiet walk to a dangerous man with increasing irritation at the situation. Quentin wasn’t upset about not seeing the play or having to run out. Already he found that amusing, a story to tell in the future. Razia had gotten him to leave the house and do something risky for nothing other than fun. And now she was dragging them into something even riskier with a man no one north of the river dared fuck with.

And he had to wait to chew her out about it. As they wound their way through a night filled with the middle class out for pleasure, Quentin settled for glaring daggers into her back, willing Razia to feel how annoyed he was. It must’ve worked because by the time they were nearly there, she’d looked over her shoulder with an expression that could’ve been an apology. Or maybe just unease at the murder on Quentin’s face.

Bruno led them to a large, wide, nondescript building. People flowed in and out of it freely, but from the outside it didn’t seem special or notable. As they got closer to the doors, sounds came through muffled. The sounds of a couple hundred people screaming and cheering, the sounds of trumpeters playing a short, attention grabbing burst of notes. Bruno pushed his way past a middle aged couple wearing a conspicuous amount of silks and jewelries and led them into a large house of vice.

Tables lined one wall, winding around pillars, occupied by group after group of people playing cards. Next to those were tables where dice were thrown or hidden underneath cups. The other side of the room opened up to a series of small pits, where angry dunewallas battled for the pleasure of the people above. There were many places like that throughout Orchrisus, but few who served this clientele.

The people they passed had money, if not class. Merchants, burglars, professional gamblers and private security played here, safe and secure in the knowledge that the watch wouldn’t dare come and interfere with one of Cicero’s operations. More than a few watchmen were there now, throwing dice. They hadn’t even bothered taking off the copper badges marking them as street patrollers. They continued on up the stairs, where things quieted down and Mediants took wagers of a less traditional nature between wealthy gentlemen.

Bruno stopped at a door in the far corner, overlooking the gaming floor. He knocked three times and waited before opening the door and gesturing for Quentin and Razia to enter. “Keep it civil,” he said. “Or else I’ll have to come in there and straighten you out. We wouldn’t want that.”

“We’re not going to start anything,” Quentin said.

The office was more or less what Quentin expected. It reminded him of a classier, neater version of Amicus’ own at the Colosseum. It was filled with sculptures, paintings, and bottles of wines, trophies and keepsakes that painted a picture of the man it belonged to. Someone who was rich, had taste, and was comfortable, sitting above the chaos of money constantly changing hands below. It wasn’t as flashy as Amicus’ office, but it had more gravity.

Mr. Cicero himself was waiting behind a beautiful polished wooden desk that looked almost like marble. He was in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a sharp silver beard kept neatly trimmed. He wore silk robes of white with symmetrical black geometric designs. Mr. Cicero stood and a smile came to his face. Not a smug one, or a self congratulatory one like Quentin would almost expect. He looked genuinely pleased,

“Razia Rashid,” he greeted, nodding to Razia. “And Quentin Quintius. I must say, Quentin, I never expected to see you again. You were one of my most loyal dogs, once upon a time. Now look at you.”

Razia turned and gaped at Quentin. “Loyal dogs? You? Since when.”

Quentin’s face burned. He wanted to put his hood up, but this was not a man you showed weakness to. “Since sixteen years ago. When I was a teenager I used to fight in his underground rings. I’m surprised you remember me, sir.” Quentin inclined his head out of politeness and respect, and to maybe hide how tense he was.

Mr. Cicero let out a low chuckle that probably wasn’t actually menacing, but it made the hairs on Quentin’s neck stand on end. “How could I forget? I was less well known then and that damned Goldie bastard was trying to take me out before I could get too big.” His smile was amused, but Quentin finally realized what it was that was bothering him. Cicero’s eyes were focused perfectly on him and he didn’t seem to need to blink. “All it would take was you ratting me out. But you weren’t a rat, you were a dog. Dogs are loyal. And for that, I did my part in paying you back.”

“What do you mean?” Razia asked, looking between them with growing interest and even excitement. “Quentin, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“It’s in the past,” Quentin said. The pieces finally fit together. He’d always wondered. “You were the one who got me assigned to the Colosseum,” he said. “Three years as punishment for participating, and punishment for not talking and screwing you. But I got sent to someone who finds slavery contemptible.”

Mr. Cicero gave a single nod. “Salim, an old friend. I’m going to be honest, I didn’t track your progress much while you were there. As far as I was concerned, you did me a solid and I’d repaid the favor. Imagine my surprise when you changed jobs. You can’t resist a good fight, can you? From pit dog to top dog.”

Quentin grimaced. Now that he was there, he should’ve known the top broker of information knew all along. “I guess so,” he said, frowning. Quentin found he didn’t much like being compared to a dog. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. But you didn’t summon us here to talk about fights.”

Mr. Cicero spread his arms in acknowledgement. “You’re right. I’m afraid nostalgia’s something of a weakness of mine. Please, sit so we may discuss how badly Ms. Rashid has fucked up and how she intends on making it up to me.”

His tone never changed from that lazy, indulgent friendliness but all his intensity switched over to Razia. She looked uncomfortable, but not for long. She put on a smile and sat down in one of the two chairs. Quentin joined her, less on edge but still far from relaxed. You didn’t relax in a den of predators like this.

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“You say I fucked up, but I’m not sure I agree with that Mr. Cicero,” said Razia. She shifted in her chair until she was half lounging in it, looking cheeky and unconcerned. “The way I see it, I’ve done you a huge favor.”

That earned her a surprised bark of laughter. “How do you figure?” asked Mr. Cicero.

Razia’s eyes glittered. “I got rid of an unstable liability in your network, before he could do more even damage than he already did. I gave you an opportunity.” Mr. Cicero said nothing at first. He just stared that unblinking stare while looking vaguely amused. After a few seconds he motioned for her to continue but otherwise he was as still as a statue.

“Otho was stealing from you and from customers. He was skimming from you and was proud of it. Proud of getting one over on ‘Mr. Eyes and Ears’.”

“Yes,” Mr. Cicero said. “I know. Most of my men skim from me, thinking themselves to be clever. So long as they keep it a reasonable amount I look the other way. Happy employees are more complacent and easier to trap. If I wanted Otho gone, I could’ve removed him myself at any time. He would’ve discovered the information he thinks he has on me is planted, and he would disappear. Try again.”

Razia smoothly continued, “Not just money. He was double dipping on the information he passed along to you. Sometimes the information he gave you was worthless by the time you got it because he’d already acted on it, or told someone else so they could and owe him a favor. He was trying to get a bigger piece of the action from you. He was sloppy, and I caught him.”

“Then why did you not tell me earlier, so that I could handle it myself? I find it nearly impossible to give you the benefit of the doubt, given this all happened as you ruined the business and stole their top whore.”

Razia held her hands up. “Would you have believed me? I have nothing but respect for you, Mr. Cicero, really.” She bowed her head as if trying to prove it. “But other than the one ongoing deal we have going, which I am supremely grateful for, we haven’t talked much. If it came down to it, would you really believe me over Otho?”

“You mean,” Mr. Cicero said with a chuckle, “would I believe a whore with a forked tongue over the sleaziest worm in Orchrisus? I would’ve looked into it, at least. But believe either of you? Please.”

Quentin spoke up, then, “He was going to sell your top whore’s life to me and pocket the profits. He wouldn’t let me see her until I guaranteed to pay for her if I killed her with my ‘unnatural hungers’. He believed, was convinced, that I was going to kill her. And still sent her to me. And he acted like a little tyrant,” he added.

Mr. Cicero waved off the last bit with, “I don’t give a damn how someone runs their business so long as it runs.” His smile had vanished though, and he looked thoughtful. “His attempt at the sale, I know that much is true. Janice confirmed it, even as Otho conveniently avoided telling me about it. I will concede that his behavior has been reckless.”

“And he lost most of his guards when they found out he was screwing them over,” Razia pressed. “If all it took was me opening my big mouth to completely undo his business, his business wasn’t especially secure, was it? I’m telling you, he was a corrupt, volatile, dangerously inconsistent person to have working under you. I did you a favor by letting him topple from his own bad decisions.”

Mr. Cicero held his hand up and Razia fell quiet. He mulled it over, never taking his gaze off of her. His jaw worked silently, like he was chewing it over. After over a minute of quiet he sighed and reached into his desk. He pulled out a box of cigars. He offered the box wordlessly to Quentin and Razia. Quentin declined, but Razia pulled out a thin, short cigarillo. Mr. Cicero took a long, thick one and lit the tip on one of the candles on his desk. Razia did the same.

“The problem is,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke at the ceiling, “is that you and Otho aren’t so different from each other. You’re both reckless, duplicitous, and think you’re far more clever than you actually are. The latter two aren’t necessarily bad qualities to have. They’re predictable, and I like predictable. It’s the reckless part I have a problem with. It’s how godsdamned reckless the two of you are that has me conflicted.

“Everything you’ve said about Otho sounds true. I’ve known much of it myself, but perhaps I hadn’t paid enough attention to his overreaching. It could be you really have done me a favor, shaking him loose early instead of having his house of cards collapse at the worst time. I’m beginning to think that was for the best. I could replace him with someone better. Let’s go with that, then. You’ve been reckless but Otho is an adult and he was slipping. I see no reason to retract my protection from you.”

Razia’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Cicero. I always appreciated how reasonable you are.”

That was a mistake. Quentin knew as soon as the words left her lips that she should’ve just thanked him and kept her mouth shut. She’d already won, more or less, being smug in front of a predator was the number one way to get them to strike. Sure enough, the smile on Cicero’s face returned, only harsher this time.

“I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Rashid. Because the fact of the matter is you cost me not one but two cash cows. With the Silk Lounge compromised and Samantha Barker hiding, that’s two sets of income no longer flowing directly my way. I’m sure Ms. Barker will show her face before long and resume paying her debt, but every day the Silk Lounge is without customers is a day I lose profits.

“Had you come to me that very night, we could’ve worked something out. But if you want my forgiveness and my continued protection, you will damages. I’m thinking forty aquilos. Ten for every day you avoided clearing this up with me.”

Other than the far away roar of the house beneath them, it was silent in the office. Razia’s eyes bugged out from the amount, and Quentin couldn’t blame her. “Forty Aquilos…” she whispered, straightening up in her chair. The restraint in her next words was obvious. “That’s a fair, reasonable decision. It might take me some time to pay it off.”

Mr. Cicero puffed on his cigar pleasantly. “Of course. Interest is 10% a month, which I’m sure you’ll still find reasonable.”

Razia put the cigarillo down. Quentin wanted to comfort her, but he was so out of his element the best thing he could do was just be there and keep his mouth shut. This wasn’t his world. “I can’t help but notice,” said Razia, “that the amount I owe is the same that Samantha’s father owes.”

“Yes, I thought it was appropriate, considering.” Another puff.

Razia took a deep breath. “If it’s at all possible, I would like to take on Samantha’s debt as well. She’s too innocent for this shit, and I can pay it all off. Can I buy her debt?”

Mr. Cicero considered it. “I’d be more than happy to sell her debt off, if I thought someone could pay me. But that’s the problem, Razia. It would just be doubling your debt to let her off the hook and frankly?” He eyed Razia up and down. “I’m pretty sure you’d leave town rather than pay that much. And if I agreed and you did that, I’d have to have her throat slit in response.”

It was all said so casually, as if Mr. Cicero was discussing breakfast. Beside him, Razia flinched, unable to hide it or too out of energy to even try. It was easy to be mad at her for springing more dangerous shit on him. Hell, Quentin wasn’t happy with her and still intended on chewing her out over it as soon as they were out of there. But...he hated how defeated she sounded.

“I’ll buy their debts.” Quentin was surprised to find that he was the one who spoke and even more surprised to find that he meant it. “Both of them. Along with a twenty percent bonus, as a thanks for being so understanding.”

Razia’s head shot around to face him, jaw dropped. Mr. Cicero looked surprised for all of two seconds before becoming thoughtful instead. He nodded, jerking his cigar in Quentin’s direction. “You see, Ms. Rashid? For as much as you wish you had power and influence, your companion understands something you don’t. Respect.

“With proper respect, you get it back and gain power. As for you, Quintius...Why? You know she’ll run out on you or backstab you the moment she can, right? The moment you show weakness.”

Quentin shook his head. “If they’re going to be in debt I’d rather it be for someone who wants nothing from them. They’ll pay me back eventually. Or maybe they won’t. Either way, you get an appropriate apology for the damages you’ve suffered and my friends don’t have to worry about you leveraging that debt against them.”

Saying the word friends felt unfamiliar, but not wrong. With Razia and Samantha (maybe), Quentin had doubled the amount of friends he had. Not that he really knew how to be someone’s friend. Bailing them out of trouble seemed like a good start. Quentin took Razia’s discarded Cigarillo and lit it. He stared Mr. Cicero down and took a defiant puff. He ruined the image by coughing afterward.

“For fifty aquilos a pop, you could get four slaves’ contracts for at least five years,” said Mr. Cicero. “That’d be a better investment by far.”

“So take the shards and buy yourself some slaves.” Quentin wondered where he found the courage, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Mr. Cicero put out his cigar, chuckling. “I might just. Then I believe we’re agreed.”

Quentin and Razia stood, the dismissal in Mr. Cicero’s voice obvious. “I can get the money to you tomorrow.”

Mr. Cicero waved him off, meeting Quentin’s gaze once more. “Don’t bother. We use the same bank. I’ll have it transferred.”

Neither of them spoke as they left Mr. Cicero’s house of gambling. That suited Quentin just fine. He needed time to process everything that happened and what he committed to, and Razia probably needed the same. She was uncharacteristically quiet and lifeless as they walked home. Quentin found himself looking down on her to see if she was okay more than once.

They made it back onto the Boulevard and neared home when Quentin broke the silence. “Springing that on me was shitty.”

Razia nodded slowly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I knew it could. That wasn’t great of me. I just wanted to get that talk with him out of the way like I promised I would. And hey. Mr. Cicero’s protection won’t end, so I’m safe from Piro and Otho. That just leaves those three jackasses. I think we made progress tonight.”

Quentin snorted. “Yeah. You and Samantha are now both 50 aquilos in debt to me. One step forward, three steps back. Progress.”

Razia stopped, forcing Quentin to turn. “Thank you, for that,” she said quietly. “I’m going to pay you back. I swear it.”

He just shrugged. “Honestly not sure if I believe you. Doesn’t matter either way. It’s done, and you’ve got one less seedy bastard out to get you.”

“Stop acting like dropping 100 aquilos is nothing to you!” Razia closed the distance and shoved at him. “I’ve only ever once held that much money. Gods…”

“It’s not nothing,” he admitted, “but I have it, it’s just sitting there, and you were in need. You’re not mad at me for helping you, are you?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Embarrassed you needed to. And frustrated that my main way of working on debts like that is a no-go with you. But mark my words, Samantha and I will get you your shards, even if it takes us all year. Tomorrow,” she said, nodding. “Tomorrow night, Samantha and I are going to blow you away!”`