Last time with Rufi:

  Rufi staked out the docks and watched the suspicious creatures in Warehouse 8 hastily pack up and move their operation upriver. Determined to uncover more, he sneaks into Warehouse 8 and finds it abandoned, except for a monstrous, scorpion-like creature hidden in a crate. Rufi barely survived his battle with the beast and narrowly avoided becoming trapped in the blazing warehouse. Rufi escapes with more questions than answers.

  29

  Rufi sauntered back into the pool hall, flicking rain from his shoulders. The hall was Rufi’s place of business, his hangout, his dormitory, and his headquarters. He had taken it off some shlub who was deep in debt and couldn’t pay. Since then, it had become a notorious hangout for any young goon, criminal, thug, fraudster, stick up kid, fencer, and general Villains in the Southern Boroughs. It was a constant hive of illicit activity. Many young criminals would use it as neutral grounds to meet, discuss business, or make sales, as they were guaranteed protection under the strength of Rufi’s name: nobody came to the pool hall and started trouble unless they wanted to wind up missing an ear or an eye. Unlike older Kith, Rufi had always encouraged non-Goblins to do business at the pool hall as this allowed him to stay tapped in with everything happening in his area. Everything from selling stolen produce and pilfered meats, to fencing jewellery, to illegal betting, to hiring heavies, happened at the pool hall all day and all night long. You could even get a decent dinner on most days as well.

  Today however, the pool hall was unusually quiet. There were a couple of the usual louts posted up at the bar and a couple of younger, uninitiated Goblins in the booths, but the pool tables were empty. Rufi nodded to those that were there and made his way to the bar. He sat down, lit a smoke, while a glass of rum appeared at his elbow. He nodded at Mavis, the elderly barkeep who had come with the place, and looked around. The pool hall had been getting quieter and quieter. The streets weren’t happy with Rufi’s investigation. Most criminals had no idea what was going on, all they knew was that Rufi and his mob were going round robbing and killing drug dealers. That was enough to scare off most of the half hearted ones. Then there was that business with Cameron. Rufi had underestimated how much pull the young Human had amassed. He was well liked, and fucking him over like that had divided people. Then there were the others who were like rats that smell smoke, gone underground just in case. Rufi took a slug of his rum and sighed, either way it was bad for business all around.

  “Are the boys in the back?” Rufi asked Mavis who nodded in reply.

  Rufi stood, finished his drink, and walked to the back office. Inside he found Pug, Mikkel, and Pauli. On the table in front of them was another pile of Burn, wrapped up in that damn red string.

  “You got some more?” Rufi asked, walking behind the desk and throwing himself down into his chair.

  “This is two day’s worth,” Mikkel replied, rubbing his tired eyes.

  “That has to be the last of the bricks,” Pug said, he looked equally exhausted and had a fresh bruise coming up under his eye. “We hit up a couple more dealers today, and they’re selling scraps. Ain’t no one wholesaling Burn on this side of the river.”

  “And the other side?” Rufi asked.

  Pug looked at Mikkel who shrugged.

  “I dunno Ruf, but we ain’t walking across the bridge to go and ask the Landlord’s boys.”

  “Yeah fair enough,” Rufi said.

  “The OD’s have stopped,” Pauli said as he poured four cups of coffee.

  “Or the papers have stopped reporting on ‘em,” Mikkel said.

  “Same thing as far as we’re concerned,” Rufi said, accepting a coffee from Pauli and then dumping four heaped teaspoons of sugar in. “You sure no one’s moving anymore weight?”

  “They’re all crying about it,” Mikkel said, lighting a smoke and handing one to Pug. “Everybody’s starving right now. Between the Gnomes shutting things down and us doing what we’ve been doing, ain’t nobody making any gold right now.”

  “How long can that last?” Pauli said. “There’s way too much coin in it for operations to stay shut for long.”

  “They don’t have to stay shut,” Rufi said. “Just long enough to make sure this shit’s off the cobbles.”

  The door burst open and Chuch stalked into the office. He was wearing his grey suit again today and half of his jacket was stained with blood. Rufi sat up at the sight of the blood and then relaxed when he realised it wasn’t Chuch’s.

  “Been having fun?” Rufi asked him.

  Chuch muttered something and then took Pug’s coffee from him. He took a big gulp and stretched his neck. He clicked his fingers and Pug handed over his lit smoke with only a small downturn at the corners of his mouth.

  “It’s all gone,” he said finally.

  “The Bad Batch?” Rufi asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve been terrorising dealers from the RatHoles to the Foundries and everything in between. No cunts selling anything.”

  Rufi nodded and thought.

  “We sure no one’s stock piled anything?” Pauli asked. “Maybe just waiting for the heat to die down?”

  “Naa,” Chuch growled. “Half of ‘em are swearing off the Burn game with us breathing down their necks and the coppers all over it. It’s too much headache. They’re all moving on to other drugs.” Chuch took another gulp of coffee. “Plus I told 'em I’d come back and cut them from cock to throat if they sold any more of that red string Burn.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “We should have just done that in the first place,” Mikkel said with a grin. “Could have saved us a bunch of headache.”

  Rufi took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. He stared up the water stained ceiling.

  “I’m calling it,” Rufi said. “We’re done with this shit.”

  “You going to Uncle Sam?” Pauli asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell him it’s all off the streets.”

  “And what about who sold it?” Pauli said.

  Rufi shrugged.

  “Trails gone dead. No reason to point fingers if I can’t prove anything. Besides, none of the Kings held up their side of the deal, so why should we be running around doing their dirty work?”

  “Fuck them,” Chuch growled.

  “It’s time for us to get back to business,” Rufi said. “We’ve wasted far too much time on this. Tribute’s nearly due and I ain’t gonna be late in paying. You boys rest tonight and then I want you back out on the cobbles tomorrow. Any late payers get chased down. I want all the young boys back out there putting in their work. Chuch, we’re gonna be light this month so ask around your circle, see if there’s any greens coming in we can snatch.”

  Chuch nodded.

  “Finally!” Mikkle said, jumping up and stretching. “I haven’t made a coin in days! Fuck resting. C’mon Pug, we got work to do.”

  “Good. Paul your with me. Let’s go to the Hall.”

  “Want me to come?” Chuch asked.

  “Naa, you take it easy shoya, you’re still healing remember.” Rufi patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the office with Pauli behind him.

  *

  Sam’Sun Chaw’Drak was a creature of habit. He had been alive for over a hundred years and he had found a routine that suited him. He rarely left the Town Hall, especially after dark, and could be found most nights in his study, reading or sculpting. Every evening he would have dinner at a different family's home, as was fitting for the Ustra’a, but come nightfall he would be back in the Town Hall. He would speak with other Kith, he would play board games, he would see to the fires, and eventually he would retire to his study. For one of the most powerful creatures in the entire Free Forests, Uncle Sam led a simple life.

  That was where Rufi found him now, locked away in his study, carefully sculpting a figurine from white stone. Goblins believed deeply in skilled crafts. They believed every true Goblin should find a craft and dedicate themselves to becoming masters of it. Whether this was with a blade, woodwork, sculpting, building, metalwork, writing, or even reciting history, a Goblin’s true worth was the expertise they could provide to their clan and pass onto future generations. Uncle Sam was a master sculptor and historian. He created endlessly detailed statues and figurines of famous Goblins from the Kith’s long and illustrious histories. He had created hundreds, maybe even thousands, of these figures, always out of white stone. His immensely powerful hands were nimble and delicate tools when he was sculpting. He eschewed the use of actual tools and would use his claws and tusks to create his masterpieces. When Rufi arrived at his study, he found his uncle hunched over his sitting desk on the floor with a magnifying glass, carefully carving details with his thumb claw into a figurine the size of a Human’s palm.

  “Gratzi Ganya, uncle,” Rufi said, greeting his uncle in the Kith tongue.

  “Gani Gratz, nephew,” Sam’Sun said without looking up.

  Rufi went to the firepit in the centre of the room, stoked the embers and then poured two cups of steaming tea. He sat patiently, not touching his tea, while his uncle finished. After a few minutes, he heard Uncle Sam rise and begin cleaning his hands. He then walked over to the pit and stepped down into the circle and sat at its head. Rufi offered him the tea and Sam’Sun thanked him. They sipped their tea in silence.

  “Speak nephew,” Sam’Sun said after a few minutes of silence.

  “We’ve taken it all off the street,” Rufi said.

  “All the Burn in the city?” Sam’Sun asked sceptically.

  “No. It wasn’t all the Burn, it was a tainted batch. We’ve located all of it and the OD’s have stopped. The papers have moved on.”

  Sam’Sun made a thoughtful rumbling noise in his throat.

  “The police haven’t. They are still investigating.”

  “They won’t find anymore of it.”

  “You are sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “And your investigation?”

  “Dead end,” Rufi said, sipping his tea quickly so he had an excuse to look anywhere but at his uncle. “I could point fingers but I have no evidence.”

  “And who would you point that finger at?” Sam’Sun asked.

  “Probably the Gnomes. But it still makes no sense for Yano to sell a bad product. It took a Gnome warlock less than a minute to tell me this batch was tainted. I can’t see him not being able to spot that if we did.”

  Sam’Sun nodded and made another rumbling noise deep in his chest.

  “Hmmm.”

  “I’m sorry uncle, the trails gone cold. Whoever it was, they’ve covered their tracks and they’ve left the city. I could keep digging, but the other Kings aren’t playing ball. They kept selling Burn even though they said they would shut down operations.”

  “This is unsurprising,” Sam’Sun said.

  “You knew they wouldn’t?”

  Sam’Sun placed down his tea and crossed his legs, absentmindedly kneading his ankle.

  “Do you know why I do not allow our people to sell drugs?”

  “Because it’s poison?”

  “So is alcohol. Tobacco. Women. Gambling. All of these vices destroy and ruin but they are controllable. Nephew, if you ever sit in my seat, you will understand that power is control. If you cannot control it, you must destroy it. Drugs are like wildfire. They rip through a whole community. They turn people into empty shells, but even worse, they raise up those who should not be risen. They put gold in the pockets of creatures we do not trust and should not work with. It creates addiction for both the user and the seller. They become addicted to the fast coin. You have children who have never paid their dues making more gold in a week than loyal soldiers do in a month. It creates rifts and envy. Then they sit in a cell looking at 20% and they cannot do the time. So they talk because they know no better. Then, everything comes tumbling down. These drugs poison everyone and everything they touch.”

  Rufi nodded. Uncle Sam wasn’t wrong. He was rarely wrong. And it made Rufi’s guts twist that he was the one who sold the Bad Batch in the first place. Sam’Sun sipped his tea and nodded.

  “I accept you have done what you could. It is better we do not place blame on anyone if we cannot prove it. And perhaps, it is better that we do not know. A war can be avoided with ignorance. I will go to the Kings and tell them it is over. With no more deaths, the newspapers will move on, and the police will surely follow. This matter is ended.”

  Rufi nodded and closed his eyes. It was over then.

  He’d actually gotten away with it.