Darren Shan: Procession of the dead

"What do you drink?" he asked, getting up. "Tea, coffee, wine?"

"A beer if it's going."

"Always!" He laughed and fetched a couple of bottles from the fridge. I gulped most of mine with one thirsty swig and sighed happily. It seemed an eternity since my last one. Theo went slower on his, making it last.

"How old are you, Capac?" he asked shortly after I'd started my second bottle. "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight?"

"Thereabouts."

"A good age. Not too old to teach, nor young enough to be a nuisance. One of the reasons I chose you. Not the only one-I wasn't about to pick my successor solely on account of his age!-but a factor.

"It's a hard business," he said seriously. "I don't know what your expectations are, but it's not glamorous. The higher you rise, the glossier it gets. But we're at the lower end. Most of our money comes from protection. We threaten people-small shop owners and businessmen-and collect cash in return for not busting up their premises. If they don't pay, we have to make an example of them. It's about violence. Whatever else we profess to be, at the core we're violent people.

"But although we're an illegal business, we are a business. We account to the taxman like everybody else, so we have to keep books they can find no fault with. Neglect the paperwork and they'll be on us like jackals.

"There are employees to take care of. We've got expenses, overheads and legal fronts to maintain. It's a hell of a lot harder than running a legitimate business. The bigger teams can afford sharp lawyers to handle that for them, but not us-we have to do it ourselves, be everything, hood, lawyer, businessman, clerk. The profits can be high but only if you run things right, if you don't screw up and leave yourself open to attacks from the law or your opponents. Or The Cardinal." He stopped, cocked a finger at me and said, "Never fuck with The Cardinal, Capac. Never. Don't muscle in on his territory, don't challenge even his lowest lackey. If one of his men asks to be cut in on a deal you spent months setting up and perfecting, you agree like a shot, even if it means taking a loss. The Cardinal runs everything and owns everybody. A lot of young men get a bit of power, some money and start thinking, 'That Cardinal ain't so tough-we can take him.'

"Those young men die. I'll say it again, so there's no confusion-don't fuck with The Cardinal. Steer clear of his crew as much as you can. If your paths cross, show them all due respect. Because if The Cardinal ever gets on your back, he'll ride you into an early grave. No surer thing."

"Have you had any dealings with him lately?" I asked.

He hesitated and glanced away. "No," he said. "We had a word a few months back through a third-hell, a fourth or a fifth-party. But no direct contact. I'm not big enough to be of interest to him."

He was lying. I didn't know why, but I made a note to pry a bit deeper later. I had a lot of respect for my Uncle Theo, and knew I was going to learn a lot from him, but I had my sights set on higher targets. I most certainly did intend to fuck with The Cardinal's boys if I ever got the chance, regardless of Theo's warning. The Cardinal was the only route to real power here. If you didn't take a risk and get involved with him, you'd be running penny-ante protection rackets forever. Theo swirled the beer in his bottle, staring into its golden depths, and promptly changed the subject.

"Capac Raimi," he said, drawing it out. "An odd name. I haven't come across anything quite like it before. A Raimi or two, but they normally have recognizable first names, Joseph or Joel. How'd you get a name like that?"

"My father." I frowned. "He was a Raimi and, well, I don't know where the Capac came from, but I guess it's some old name or they got it from a book. Didn't my mother tell you?"

He coughed uncomfortably and a shifty look flashed across his eyes again. "I didn't see much of your mother after she married," he said. "We fell out of touch. Families go that way sometimes. What was your father like?"

"He…" I tried to draw a mental picture of him. "A nice guy. He died when I was young, so I don't remember that much about him, but he was a good man."

"And your mother?" Theo asked, leaning forward, his eyes sharp and unblinking for once.

"She was… a mother." I laughed uneasily. "What's any mother like? She…" I stumbled to a halt. I felt uncomfortable, as if I had something rotten in my past that I wanted to keep quiet. "She was your sister," I said. "You know as much about her as I do."

"Of course," he said too quickly. "I just wanted to know if she'd changed since I last… since she…"

He grunted, downed the remainder of his beer, got another couple of bottles and asked no more questions about my family or my past.

I took to crime as if born for it. I was a natural, learning quickly, acting instinctively. I paid attention when Theo spoke and remembered everything he said. He taught me how to deal with employees, customers (we never spoke of victims, they were always clients or customers) and rival gangs. How to balance the books, use legitimate fronts to funnel our profits, and avoid trouble with the long and many arms of the law.

The city was a sprawling, multilayered monster, anarchic to the untrained eye, but orderly if you eased up close and studied it in detail. The money was centralized in the north where most of the wealthy lived, whether their funds had been generated legally or otherwise. No class prejudices there-if you were rich enough, you were welcome. The streets were spotless, the lamps always worked, cars obeyed the speed limits. No pushers, no pimps, no street hookers. Nobody ever bothered the good folk of the north at home. Even break-ins were rare-the consequences outweighed the rewards to be reaped. The blacks ruled the east and southeast. They weren't wholly segregated but were as near as could be. The city had an ugly history of racism. Huge riots back in the early 80s resulted in dozens of deaths and destruction of property on a scale usually reserved for earthquakes. Things had calmed down since and color was no longer the lethal issue it had once been-better schools, improved career opportunities and housing developments had taken the sting out of the race bee-but years of oppression and hate couldn't be washed away as easily as people wished. Some things were slow to change.

The center of the city was the business sector, the land of banks, office towers and overpriced restaurants. Huge buildings, most built during the last fifty years, functional and frosty.

The northeast, south, southwest and west were the suburbs. The wealthier commuters gravitated toward the southwest, the poorer to the eastern regions. The northwest had its share of migrant workers but was largely undeveloped territory, lots of open fields and parks. Several universities nestled out there, an amusement park, a couple of large sports stadiums.

Along the river stood the factories and warehouses, many old and run down. The city had been built back in the days when boats and power were synonymous. The older factories were being reclaimed and gentrified, but it was a slow process and it faltered with every dip in the economy.

The other divisions-the gang lines-were harder to define. The eastern areas were the domain of the black gangs, too many to count, most small and short-lived. A number of leaders had made efforts over the years to organize and unify the smaller gangs, but The Cardinal was quick to eliminate such threats. He preferred to keep the blacks fractured and in conflict with one another.

Elsewhere it was your usual mix. Strong and weak families, a few large clinical organizations, dozens of street gangs who'd self-destruct before they could amount to anything. Hundreds of drug barons and thousands of pushers. Gangsters built on a foundation of prostitution. Some who'd made their fortunes selling arms. The big thieves who dealt in diamonds and gold, and far more who thrived on protection and petty theft.