Blaise “the Bull” Kromner had been born into a childhood of poverty, and though he was now well fed and vain, his enemies would be unwise to forget that he had worked his way up through the Port Massy underworld with absolute ruthlessness and cunning, eliminating many rivals along the way. True to his moniker, Kromner was a beefy man with a heavily fleshed face and a reddish complexion. His features were crude, as if a sculptor had formed them in a hurry, pressing in two shallow thumb dents for eyes and attaching a rough lump of clay for a nose. In contrast to his natural ugliness, Kromner was impeccably dressed. His tailored pinstripe suit and vest fit his broad frame perfectly. The mustache over his broad lips was trimmed and his thick brown hair was neatly combed. He wore a gold watch with a crystal face and a red silk tie. The Bull controlled the gambling and prostitution south of the Camres and a substantial amount of the drug trade. Only the cartels from Tomascio in West Spenda that held sway on narcotics elsewhere in the country competed with him. Kromner was the most famous Crew Boss in the country and liked to be photographed by the newspapers when he appeared at expensive clubs, attended the theater, and dined at the finest restaurants. He was well insulated by layers in his organization, and although his word was law in the Southside Crew, he left much of the day-to-day operations to his trusted foremen.
Kromner was seated in the center chair at the table; to his leftmost side was a short, stocky man known as Joren Gasson. “Jo Boy” ran the Baker Street Crew that controlled the more affluent northeast of Port Massy, primarily Jons Island, and he was dominant in horse racing and bookkeeping. Gasson was a round-faced man with a shrewd, squinty expression, and he was known for being stingy and private, maintaining a low profile and rarely appearing in public. He had the most policemen, politicians, and judges on his payroll, and so all the other Crews frequently went to him and paid him for his influence in society. The use of Thorick Mansion was on account of his connections.
On the right side of the table was a matronly woman with a white scarf around her throat and a cap that sat atop very curly hair. Anga Slatter looked like someone’s rich but shrewish aunt, but she was the de facto acting Boss of the Wormingwood Crew ever since her husband, Rickart “Sharp Ricky” Slatter had been sent to jail on charges of money laundering. It was said that she acted in Ricky’s stead in all things and communicated his decisions after visiting and consulting with him in prison. The Wormingwood Crew controlled the northwest of the city and its inner suburbs. All the other Bosses in the country had lost respect for Sharp Ricky for being so stupid as to get caught on minor charges, and for having no better system of management than to let his wife run the business. Accordingly, they paid Anga Slatter little heed.
Each of the Bosses had brought one of their foremen with them. Kromner’s foreman, Willy “Skinny” Reams, sat on his Boss’s left-hand side. In contrast to Kromner, he was lean and bland looking, clean shaven, in a charcoal-gray suit, holding his brimmed felt hat in his hands.
Kromner watched with arrogant curiosity as the Kekonese men entered. When everyone was seated, he swept his hand around the table as if in general introduction to everyone assembled. Then he spoke to his fellow Bosses. “You all know of the trouble I’ve been having in Southtrap with the Kekonese.” Kromner was naturally a fast, animated speaker, and his voice was higher than one would’ve expected for so large a man. “Now I’m aware this doesn’t affect any of the rest of you directly, so you’re likely asking yourselves why Bully Blaise has put you to the trouble of coming all the way out to Jons Island on a whip crack, at Firstdawn over Harvest’Eves holidays no less.” He paused as if waiting for someone to validate this assertion by asking the question out loud. When no one did, Kromner lifted a finger anyway and said, “This little dispute is about more than a few broken skulls in K-Town. It’s about the jade business. There’s big money to be accounted here, and that’s a matter concerning all of us Bosses.” Kromner turned toward the Kekonese and took a second to study the four men before picking out Dauk Losun. “Mr. Dauk here is who the Kekonese think of as their own boss. He’s asked to meet with us to work out an agreement.”
All eyes turned toward the oldest Kekonese man, who sat with his elbows on the table, hands lightly clasped and his back stiff, clearly ill at ease at being the center of attention. Dauk cleared his throat and spoke in Espenian with a slight accent. “For many years, the Kekonese community has had an understanding with the Bosses. We each mind our own businesses. No matter how long we’ve been here or even if we were born in Port Massy, we Kekonese are still seen as unwelcome strangers in this country. We stick to our own affairs. We want to be good citizens, respected members of Espenian society. At the same time, we hold strongly to our traditions, and we ask only that they not be interfered with by outsiders. So we don’t seek to interfere in anything that you do, and in exchange, we handle our own matters. This has applied particularly in the areas of gambling, protection money, and of course, jade.”
Jo Gasson said, in a reedy voice, “That’s not the case anymore, is it? You’ve opened up your gambling halls to the regular people, who’re putting down money on cockfighting or dueling instead of racing or slots. That competes with Boss Kromner’s businesses directly.”
“It’s true, we’ve opened the grudge hall to outsiders on certain days of the week,” Dauk said. “But it’s by invitation only. It’s only natural that our children would make Espenian friends and marry into Espenian families, and it’s no longer fair to say those who aren’t a hundred percent Kekonese shouldn’t be allowed to be part of our community gatherings. On those days when we open up the hall, we have cockfighting and gambling only, no duels. The fee we charge goes toward maintaining our community center and helping those in our neighborhood who need help. We’re not making any effort to draw people away from your establishments.”
“That’s not the main issue here,” Kromner said with obvious impatience. “I’m a generous man, and I’m willing to let go of small money if all you kecks were up to was a little gambling. But your not-so-secret halls aren’t just cheap entertainment; they’re where you people go to show off your jade and practice your fancy moves. You’re running the only jade markets in town, and that’s not right. The jade business is too big for you to have to yourselves.”
A flush of anger came into Dauk’s face, but he spoke calmly. “Jade is our cultural heritage. Our families brought it with them to this country and we keep it within our community. We don’t sell it for profit. And now, with the government ban and negative public perception, we’ve all the more reason to keep our jade hidden, so as not to attract the attention of law enforcement. It’s bad publicity for the Kekonese community when someone is caught selling jade or a non-Kekonese person commits crimes using jade or comes down with the Itches. That’s why we train to use our green, and we police our own if there are any problems.”
“Oh, you make yourselves sound quite innocent,” said Anga Slatter, raising thin, well-plucked eyebrows. “As if you people haven’t attacked Blaise’s bookies, or murdered his coats.”
Kromner made a huffing noise of appreciative agreement, but Dauk said, “There’ve been offenses on both sides; I’m not saying otherwise. But the main issue is that the peaceful understanding we’ve had for many years has broken down. The police attention is bad for all of us, but there are fewer of us Kekonese and we’re not as powerful or influential as the Crews. We know we’re not in a position to go up against you. That’s why I’ve come here to petition you.”