The Infiltrators by Daniel Lawlis Page A

knowing
other men’s feet could not even touch where he currently tread,
nature having provided him with both an excellent platform for his
practice and a view whose beauty defied description.
     
    The cool wind soothed the heat on his
back and chest from the stinging sun, as did the sweat which, by
now, three hours into his practice, was cascading down his
body.
     
    Just as evening began to throw the
first hints of it arrival, Harold returned, sitting before him, his
beak ominously red from his recent dinner.
     
    “What’s next?” he asked.
     
    “Hopefully, we’ll go say hello to
Tats.”
     
    Harold was silent.
     
    They waited about twenty minutes, and
then the konulans arrived.
     
    “We found him!!” one of them said, in a
welcome eagerness that offset Harold’s overly gloomy disposition
today.
     
    Righty went and mounted Harold without
saying a word, sensing correctly that it was lack of action that
had his avian friend somber, and he sensed his mood improving as
his wings beat violently through the air.
     

Chapter 16
     
    Since this wasn’t a planned meeting,
Righty’s arrival required a little discretion.
     
    After the konulans assured him a grove
of trees in a yard near Tats’ house was unwatched, he was set down
there and then walked quickly to the street, hoping he didn’t hear
shouts of “THIEF!” or “CALL THE POLICE!!”
     
    This was a day he was hoping to wrap up
soon, ended by some long, warm cuddling with Janie and maybe even a
little lovemaking to boot.
     
    Calm reigned as he reached the street
and then approached Tats’ house.
     
    He viewed with a mixture of approval
and fury the sight of several large guards mulling around the
perimeter of Tats’ house. He would have probably cursed Tats for
not having them, yet at this particular moment he wasn’t in the
mood for obstacles or introductions.
     
    He walked up confidently to the house,
and, as he expected, the large cavemen quickly eyed and then
approached him with keen interest.
     
    “What do you want?!” one asked gruffly,
looking at the only slightly smaller Mr. Simmers, but whose body
packed three times the strength.
     
    “I’m here for Tats,” Righty said
calmly.
     
    “He expectin’ you?” the man asked
suspiciously.
     
    “No.”
     
    “Then why you think he wanna see
you?”
     
    “Bosses don’t have to make dates with
their employees, friend,” Righty said with a hardness in his eyes
that softened the man like butter exposed to fire.
     
    “Let me check for you, sir,” he said
softly, his friends looking at him with hard eyes and then back at
Righty cautiously, sensing there was something special about their
guest.
     
    Tats soon appeared at the doorway and
quickly beckoned Righty forward.
     
    “Mr.—” Tats began, censoring the word
“Brass” awkwardly upon realizing he might not want his identity
known.
     
    Tats’ thugs seemed intrigued about the
missing word and as though they were attempting to guess it
themselves.
     
    “What he asks for he gets, you hear?”
Tats said sharply.
     
    “Yes, sir,” they quickly
replied.
     
    Righty felt worried his day might not
be as close to ending as he had hoped when he noticed to his
surprise Tats was walking rather quickly towards his basement and
urging him along all the while.
     
    Once they reached the basement, Tats
sent four more bodyguards packing, all of whom seemed as interested
as their counterparts above regarding the identity of their
unexpected guest.
     
    Tats handed Righty an ice-cold lemonade
while he took a shot of brandy for himself.
     
    “What’s up, Tats? Police heat back? I
went to town earlier today, and everything seemed back to
normal.”
     
    “On the police side, yes.”
     
    “On the police side?” Righty inquired with a
curiosity now far greater than that of the hulking bodyguards whose
footsteps had now faded away.
     
    “We’ve got problems, Mr. Brass. Maybe
not as bad as I’m thinkin’, but bad enough I was