Chapter 1

We rushed to the Bank with the island crew hot on our heels. They were screaming depredatory imprecations of hostile intent.

“Gonna kick your ass!”

“Fuck your momma!”

“Tear your head off and shit down your throat!”

And a lot more of similar vein ... they being 14 sword swinging fighters and we being two, I was pretty sure they had a decent chance of success.

We slammed the bank door and headed straight to the vault. I tried to slam the vault door shut but a couple of them succeeded in jamming my attempts by the time honored salesman’s foot in the door trick. I speared both of them but managed to allow another sword swinging hand to replace the first deaders. I cut the hand off but there was another. Took a couple of heads ... managed to get myself cut a few times ... nothing serious ... before I took out the last of them.

I shouted over the quiet, “That looks like all of them. Let’s get out of here!” I turned... “David?”

Nobody.

The banker shouted, “Clean up your mess, woman!”

“Is it safe to come out?”

“There’s a few wigglers but nothing serious.”

The vault door swings inward ... that saved me.

Giving the banker and teller the evil eye, I dispatched the groaners with David’s lesson ringing in my head.

“Never leave a live enemy behind you ... the bastards tend to recover.”

Lesson two...”To the victor, go the spoils.”

And another, “Every thing has value ... even shitty leather.”

Fourteen leather purses with varying contents, fourteen swords, almost thirty daggers or knives, a couple crossbows and numerous bolts, leather britches, a poorly made mail shirt or two and some fourteen pairs of well made boots.

Thinking about it ... by right of conquest, I had won a sailboat, a rowboat, an Island, a cave full of loot and several homes ... hmmm. I had to possess it but by custom and tradition it was mine. All I had to do was keep it. That might be more difficult than the winning.

Counting the contents of money belts, purses and several pockets ... hey ... blood washes off ... I had the value of a conch, 6 shells, 14 quads, and 40 pinches. A fortune.

The now naked crew was of no further use to me ... I pushed and pulled the bodies out the door and into the filth of the street. The dogs were already circling.

I asked the teller, “Do you have accounts with any of these men?”

His eyes shifted to the manager. That shift told me what I needed to know. My sword loosened in its scabbard seemingly of it’s own volition.

A well thrown dagger in the Banker’s door jam stopped a swift escape. A second in my hand stopped the idea of leaving entirely.

“Umh ... they all do.”

“How about Ivan of Fair Island?”

The banker’s head sagged, “Yes.”

“You ... teller ... fetch the books.”

“You can read?” said the banker.

“Be quick about it,” I said, “I do numbers too.”

The manager groaned.

The books were a revelation.

The Pirates of Fair Island read the first line.

The rest read like a spreadsheet.

Name: Ivan The boss.

Then a multitude of entries ... the ships, the captives, the loot, what it brought, Bank share.

There were fifteen active headings and a bunch of names with a red line through them and the reason: Died, killed, wounded, disabled. Final disposition, percent split ... on and on and on...

The bank knew about the pirates! Shit ... the banker got a piece of the action.

The Banker gulped, he’d seen that look before. “Business! It’s just business. Profit, profit.” He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He was worried ... too worried.

“Show me the real accounts, the books in the backroom safe.” I said, drawing a dagger. The sudden smell of urine and the involuntary smell of human digestion flavored gas let me know I was right.

I heard a sudden scrape behind me and thrust. The teller, wicked looking stiletto clattering on the floor, expired on the spot.

Jerking my dagger from the tellers chest I shouted at the Banker, “The REAL books, man! Now!”

The banker hesitated ... I stuck the still dripping dagger in front of his face ... now the stench was more than gas.

“Embarrassing, ain’t it,” I wasn’t asking ... I was telling.

The books were fetched ... naturally I went along. It took me two minutes with the real books to discover ... Shit fuzzy! The Bank was the fence ... half the price the loot fetched went to the bank! The banker was ripping off the pirates. The vault in the office couldn’t hold it all.

I escorted him back to the lobby

“What would your mother say?” I asked.

“Business, James. It’s just business.” The banker sniveled.

“So ... your name is James. Tell me, James, are you local?” Then he gulped a lot ... hemmed and hawed even more and even blushed.

“That’s a no,” I said. “So James ... are you from Cassandra?”

James went from beet red to blanched white. If I thought he was sweating before ... now he was sweating fear sweat. That told me that this banker had never had been visited by an Earth Hero.

“How long have you been the Banker?”

It was like pulling teeth but he finally fessed up. “Seventeen years.”

“Seventeen years?” I was shocked. “How long before you retire?”

“Three.”

“What? Did you get time off for good behavior?”

I know it was an involuntary reaction but he said, “Five years.” And I could tell right away he meant it and didn’t mean to say.

“What did you do?”

“AARRGGHH, you bitch! Gambling and a scheme to defraud the Lottery. It almost worked.”

“Whose idea was it?”

“Mother’s.” That confession was very grudgingly dredged.