“You shattup, y’feckin’ twat!” the bellowing shout was accompanied by a hard blow at Bastian’s head. There were, in fact, three men in the doorway. But not for long. The large, thuggish men broke through the doorway and stormed into the dingy little room. Each was hulky, armed, and angry-looking and they set in on Van Toews, punching and kicking. One had a straight wooden club.
“Ye feckin’ liar!” the first man was cursing as the other two struck out unrelentingly at Van Toews. “Ye thought you could get yer junk fer free, heh? Tol’ Branwich not t’worry, heh? Yeh’d keep an eye out fer’im in exchange fer the Ash, heh? Yeh feckin’ lyin’ motherfucker!”
While the men set in on the detective, Zahi lost no time. With some effort, she grabbed the Red Jackal badge left discarded on the table next to her. It was made of smooth metal. Except for an edge on the inside of the jackal’s ear which was serrated, sharp, designed for exactly this situation. Working quickly, she maneuvered the small serrated blade over the rope binding her wrist. In a minute, it was through, and she hastily undid the rest of the bindings. The four men, in the mean time, were thoroughly occupied. As of yet, none of them recognized her presence.
But Zahi recognized them. At least the one who’d done the talking so far. He was the muscle for one of the mid-level drug lords in Arca and she’d had handful of dealings with him, and his boss, in the past.
“Yeh tell Branwich yeh’d keep the bloody guards off his back, heh? But where were yeh when they raided shop this mornin’, heh?! Now Branwich’s hauled off t’jail an’ you gotta pay for it!” He aimed a sharp kick at Bastian. “Thought yeh could get yer junk fer free, heh!? Fecker!”
Moving slowly, Zahi slid off the table, much to the protest of her body. Her wounded leg hadn’t enough time yet to absorb the healing potions applied to it before Van Toews carted her away, and it nearly gave way underneath her. She stooped quietly to pick up the knife that had been sent sliding across the floor, then pulling herself upright, took a step forward to make herself visible to the melee going on in the room, careful to keep her weight on her good leg.
“Hey! Pull off your fucking goons, Dripnose!” Zahi barked in a loud, authoritative voice that belied the woozy pain coursing through her boy. “He’s on our payroll now, so keep your grubby hands off him!”
The men paused, startled to see the sudden arrival of another in the room. The two silent men might not recognize who it was, but Dripnose cleary did. Zahi was gambling here, that the rumor mill wasn’t turning fast enough for a lackey like him to already get word of her disappearance or death or whatever they’d be saying about it. But she was also gambling on the junkie detective.
“...Akello?”
“You tell Branwich to find himself a fucking new crooked cop. This one’s mine. If he has a problem with that, he can take it up with me personally when he drags himself out of whatever cell they’ve thrown him in.”
Dripnose motioned for his men to back off a little. He didn’t like Zahi, but he wasn’t stupid. Their operation wasn’t a quarter the size of the Soot Wolves, and if what she said was true… “Heh! Good luck wit’ this’un! Yeh’d be doin’ yerself a favor lettin’ us do’im in.” While he still sounded angry, he was obviously cowed by the Red Jackal. “An’ he still owes-”
Zahi cut him off. “You can take up his debt with the Wolves directly. But keep your twats off him unless you want a pack of Blood Wolves on your trail. That goes double for Branwich.” Dripnose grumbled, sneering, but unable to keep eye contact with the Red Jackal. Zahi needed this to end quickly. She wouldn’t be able to hold up masking her pain for long. “Now get the fuck out of here. And if you’re sick of working for a fuckup like Branwich, have a word with Agenskap when you collect the good detective’s debt.”