The Military Adviser

By Daniel Lawlis

Kingpin Righty Rick knows he can expect a backlash after freeing Pitkins, a former Nikorian general, from the clutches of Rucifus—the ruthless, multibillionaire de facto ruler of Sodorf City, formerly his top customer. But when she sends a hundred armed men to commence a bloody rampage in his city while shouting his name, drawing an immediate response from the National Drug Police and other authorities, he realizes this is a war to the death.

Pitkins shows his gratitude by proffering his services—which include elite sword skills, military strategy, and lethal craftsmanship—to the embattled Righty, who promptly makes use of the former general’s skills, as he commences a death struggle with his former customer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Lawlis
• Release date: Sep 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370007417

Book preview

Chapter 1

BAM!

The second Righty’s right eye opened a centimeter, a merciless sliver of late-morning light came in like a missile, zapping him out of the deep sleep that had afforded him temporary oblivion from his . . . problems.

But it wasn’t just the unrelenting force of the beam of light scalding his eyeball that irritated him. Far worse was the inner illumination, resulting in a rapid recollection of what first seemed like a pile, then a mound, and then a mountain of unconfrontable problems that made him want to turn his bed into a fortress, turn his sheets into a shield, and fall into a sleep from which he never would awake.

Yet, with the enthusiasm of a prisoner rising from his cell bunk to go face the gallows, he creakily sat and then stood, numerous popping sounds resounding from tightened joints and ligaments that protested the decision. Then, with the growing resolve of a fugitive deciding to turn and face his pursuing bloodhounds, he put on his shirt, tucked his feet into a pair of boots, and began walking down the stairs.

As he began to hear female voices, one of which was Janie’s, he realized he had a lot to be thankful for. Unpleasant though it may be to have a ruthless, multibillionaire murderess go from faithful customer to bitter enemy in the blink of an eye, it somehow seemed a less daunting menace than being peppered by Janie with questions for which he had yet to invent plausible explanations.

The sound of laughter relieved his beleaguered spirits still more, and for a moment he swore he knew exactly how a condemned man must feel upon hearing the hangman declare the gallows to be broken.

When he passed the kitchen table and saw Janie and Donive barely glance up at him while they continued sharing words in Sodorfian and Seleganian with the glee of two spinsters at a tea party, he declared himself the luckiest man alive. But not being one to push his luck, he gave a quick lift with his hat, fired off a quick Good morning, and continued quickly on out the door, hoping against hope he would find Pitkins outside.

Righty decided he needed at least an hour stroll around the ranch to clear his head anyway, but by the expiration of the hour, he hadn’t seen a hint of Pitkins.

Teeth grinding, he walked back towards the house, every muscle as tense as a piece of flint. When he walked back inside, he heard no sounds from the kitchen, and when he found his own bedroom unoccupied, he quickly headed towards the room where he had deposited Donive last night.

Chapter 2

As he passed back by the kitchen, he saw a maid collecting and cleaning the various dishes left by Janie and Donive, and he continued onwards towards Donive’s room. Soft conversation replaced the jovial laughter he had heard a short while ago, and as he entered the room he felt the glare of Pitkins, Donive, and Janie fall upon him.

I suppose there’s a conversation pending, much as I’d like to think there isn’t, Righty began. Janie’s and Donive’s eyes bore into him, answering in the affirmative, and if it weren’t for the black-and-blue decoration all over Pitkins’ face, he would have sworn he had seen the hint of a good-natured smirk. Even little Heather’s eyes stared up at him curiously.

Righty was about to launch into a half-baked preface about envy, which would then meander slowly and awkwardly into an explanation as to how he had earned such a bitter enemy while plying an honest trade as a simple hardware store owner.

I’ve been doing a lot of interpreting today, Pitkins said. Righty was confused for a moment, then realized Donive must not be fluent in Seleganian. Righty had studied a little Sodorfian over the previous months but was far from fluent.

Well, take a brief break from interpreting, friend, Righty began, in Sodorfian, surprising Pitkins significantly and Janie all the more so. Turning to Donive, he said very slowly, Please, you may try your language on my ear. I will do my best to understand.

Donive smiled then said, "Pitkins has told us mostly everything. He refused to sell swords to someone he had a bad gut feeling about, and it just so happened that someone was the most powerful criminal in the entire city. And as for the quick transportation back and forth from Sodorf to here, well, I guess I’m a tattletale. Janie sure wasn’t aware you had a means of travel that made riding a horse seem like crawling on one’s hands and knees.

As for me, you don’t owe any explanations. Pitkins got himself into this . . . by doing the right thing, Donive said, casting a proud but tearful eye towards her husband. We’re just ashamed to have gotten a nice family involved with something like this. We’ll figure out something soon; we won’t become a bother—

This is your house, Righty said with a newfound confidence, which suffered a quick setback following a slightly suspicious glint in Janie’s eyes. Speaking first in Sodorfian, then in Seleganian, he began, "You may stay as long as you like. As for my transportation, he has a name. Harold. I found him in the woods years ago when he was no bigger than a goose. His left wing had been mauled, and he couldn’t fly.

"A coyote was trying to turn him into his lunch, but he refused to go down easy. I had never seen such heart in an animal. He snapped, he hissed, he clawed. I had a large stone in my hand, and I was about to even the fight out a little bit, but somehow I just couldn’t. I felt that tough son of a gun could take that coyote, and I felt it had to find that out.

"Just when I thought I had made a grave mistake, I prepared to throw the stone, but then Harold gave a nasty swipe with his broken wing and stuck the bone right into the coyote’s throat. It was right then and there that I decided that if a half-crippled chick could fight off a full-grown coyote, then the least I could do was find the guts to quit drinking away my sorrows every night at the tavern.

I took that chick and made a nest for it in the shed and brought him food until he got better. And I’ve never taken one sip of alcohol since that day, Righty added, looking soberly at Janie, who had several tears flowing down her cheek.

"I had no idea at the time that Harold was a pholung, but by the time he started to make a fully grown eagle look like a newly hatched chick I figured it out, and he only kept growing from there.

"I’ve hidden that from you, Janie. I’ve hidden Harold from everyone. He’s the secret to my success. He’s the reason I can commute to Sivingdel in the morning to work at my hardware store, go to Sodorf City for sword lessons in the afternoon, and be home in time for dinner. I’ve always feared that if anyone else knew of Harold’s existence people would come looking for him.

Pholungs are so rare nowadays they’re sometimes thought to be birds of legend. My love, Righty said, looking at Janie sincerely, I didn’t want to burden you with such a secret. It weighs heavily upon one’s heart to possess something of such great strength, such beauty, such utility, and to be unable to tell anyone. I didn’t want that for you. But I promise you one thing, Harold has watched over you and the little one many times, and believe me when I say he would give his life for us.

I want to see him! Janie said suddenly with a tone that seemed like that of a child refusing to be the one left out.

If it were up to me, there’d be no problem. The thing is Harold is about as social as a rattlesnake in the winter. If I misjudge him and take you to see him when he’s not feeling up for it, that just might be the last you or I or anyone else sees of him. I suggest we give him a little time. He’s awfully spooked by all the recent hullabaloo. But let me wait until things have settled down a little, and we’ll give it a shot. Fair enough?

Janie turned away icily, though Righty couldn’t tell if it was of the playful sort or the sort that could freeze a marriage bed during sultry weather. You’ll know soon enough, he told himself.

He turned to leave, when he noticed Pitkins begin to sit up with a grimace.

Honey, what are—

Mr. Simmers and I have a conversation pending, Pitkins said with a resolve no one dared question. His face still looked like it had been borrowed by the local boxing gym and stuffed inside the heavy bag for a couple days, but there was a vicious termination visible nonetheless. He grasped a large cane Janie had provided him and began hobbling towards Righty in such a fashion he could have been mistaken for a wizened old man at a distance.

Can you show me your ranch? Pitkins asked.

Absolutely, Righty said, resisting the desire to haul him over his shoulder and carry him out of the house at a full sprint to get away from the estrogen-saturated room from which uncomfortable questions could materialize at any moment.

Chapter 3

I want to talk about the arrangement I hinted it at last night, Pitkins said once they were a safe distance from the house, from which they continued walking, neither being inclined to underestimate the power of the female ear.

It’s simple. I offer you my military services in your organization for four years as repayment for not only rescuing Donive but for saving my life as well. Thereafter, I offer an extension of four years, but for this I am going to ask for a very unique form of payment.

Do tell . . . .

You will help me find, capture, and kill the men who slaughtered my ex-wife and children. And in doing so, you will spare no expense either in money or manpower.

It sounds too good to be true. You were a general once, right?

Supreme general—general of the Nikorians, Sogolia’s elite force.

But it seems you would have connections there that would be far better suited for such a task. Why give me the honor of helping you?

Because they know only conventional warfare. The men who killed my family are a different breed of enemy. To carry out such a task, I need a man with your unique set of talents and, if I may be frank, lack of scruples.

And as for my sword and martial arts training?

You will be given daily lessons, if you desire.

Pitkins, if I hesitate to extend my hand and shake on this bargain of a lifetime, it’s only because I don’t want you to agree to this unless you understand fully what you’re getting yourself into. I wish my line of work always consisted of playing the hero and rescuing friends from trouble, but that’s not the case. There are times where I have to kill men in my organization, or outside my organization, that I deem a threat.

Little different from the military discipline under which I lived for decades.

There have been times I have had to kill police.

You are talking to a man who has the blood of law enforcement on his hands.

You did that because they stood in your way when you tried to rescue Donive . . . or so I assume . . . ?

Yes, and most, maybe all, of them were corrupt and in cahoots with Rucifus, but some may have just been trying to do their job by stopping me, not knowing all the circumstances that led to my rampage.

I’ve killed police just to keep their mouths shut.

Corrupt?

Mostly, Righty said, not planning to reveal his bombing of the police station.

Look, Mr. Simmers, if you want to moralize, here’s a moral—think carefully before making an oath to the gods. I made a sacred vow to avenge the death of my wife and children, I abandoned that promise, and I have been plagued by misfortune ever since. I’m not offering to become involved with this for life, but I see this as the only realistic means of fulfilling my oath.

Righty cringed, recalling the oath he had made, when his pregnant wife’s life was on the line, to help the poor if she and their baby survived.

If I accept your offer, Pitkins, there are some guidelines that have to be clarified. Your role would be that of military strategist and trainer. And that includes security as well—of a defensive nature mostly, but offensive if I see fit. If I tell you to kill someone, you kill them. You won’t answer to anyone but me, but you will answer to me. If anyone sees you undermine my authority it will put my life, and thereby the life of my family, in danger.

You’re talking to a military man. Chain of command is as natural to me as breathing. But just remember—the first four years I am repaying you. If I renew my contract, it will only be under the condition that you immediately devote every resource—including yourself—to hunting, capturing, and killing the murderers of my family.

And if I were to fulfill that condition at some point during your first four years . . . ?

Then, you would get another four years.

It doesn’t seem you’re going to let me talk you out of this, Pitkins, Righty said extending his hand. As soon as their hands clasped, Righty squeezed hard. "There’s no walking away from this contract, and no spilling of secrets—to anybody."

Pitkins squeezed back just as hard, keeping eye contact.

You will be paid a million falons per month, and that’s an order. You may have entered into this contract because of the reasons you said, but I’ll be damned if you aren’t paid top falon.

Chain of command, Pitkins said calmly, indifferent to the kingly sum, except for the fact it could provide him with valuable resources with which to flee, should his new boss ever kick the bucket.

In the distance, Righty saw a konulan do five quick acrobatic circles in the air back to back.

Righty’s stomach turned. That was a maneuver he had recently instructed the konulans to do if there was trouble and he couldn’t be approached directly. It had been agreed that one loop meant trouble and two meant severe trouble.

Your first assignment is to get better, Pitkins. Rest up. There’s going to be plenty of action soon.

Something wrong? Pitkins asked, quickly unsheathing his sword, but grimacing in the process.

Go back to the house. You’ll have more than your fill of action soon enough.

Pitkins began to walk back to the house.

Oh . . . one more thing?

Yeah?

"When we’re anywhere near any of my men, my first name is ‘Mr.,’ and my last name is ‘Brass.’ You’re virtually the only one alive who knows both my alias and real name. I’ve had to do certain things to keep it that way. There’s nothing I value more than guarding my real identity. I’ll make sure to tell you before introducing you to anyone whether they know me by that alias, or a different one, or by my real name."

Pitkins gulped. He realized Righty had gained tremendous power. Otherwise, he would have never had the wherewithal to rescue both him and his wife within a matter of days. He knew he was entering into an alliance with a major player.

All the better for when it comes time for my vengeance.

You’ve got it, Mr. Brass.

Righty whistled softly but assertively, and within less than a minute Harold came in flying low. He looked uneasily at Pitkins, and Righty hopped on his back. Harold took off so quickly Righty would have fallen off if not for his viselike grip on Harold’s back strap.

Chapter 4

Zelven was in great spirits. He had personally been disappointed no fewer than twelve times following various individuals from Rob’s house, hoping to be led to bigger fish. He planned to leapfrog over Rob. There were times when violence enraged an enemy and made him foolish. That had been working well so far.

A point could be reached where too much violence spooked an enemy and caused him to triple all security and go into besieged mode. But he had skipped direct violence with Rob, and he figured that with whoever this was above him, a show of force was in order, lest he think his underlings had been exaggerating the true danger of their mysterious foe.

He had a gut feeling they were getting close to Mr. Brass, and with any luck, the next fish they captured would give some valuable hints as to the elusive boss’s location . . . after being properly persuaded.

But the men he had followed had been making deliveries to people lower down the totem pole, which was evidenced by their going to smaller