The Black Omega files: The Camorra of HIP106296
08 Jan 2017Ouberos
In the depths of Pausch Enterprise, was a bar called Reflexx. It typical of the dives in the warehouse district. The same type of bar could be found across the entire span of human space. When it was busy it was a place to enter cautiously. When it was quiet it was usually quiet for a reason and it was best to avoid it altogether. Skoome “Three fingers” polished the bar slowly and kept a cautious eye on his only customer. Three Fingers was a big man, obviously a fighter. Scars, tattoos, one ear missing. Make no mistake, Three Fingers had come up the hard way but the thin, old man at his bar was a viper. A scorpion. A Gangster from birth. A Made man, and he was not good company.
For a few seconds the lonely drinker was illuminated by the lightning quick flash of the pink neon in the Reflexx sign through the window. Then it was gone and he was shrouded in the half darkness once again. He finished his glass of Black Opel Nera and Three Fingers immediately gave him another measure. The thin man nodded in acknowledgement and contemplated the rare spirit from old Earth for a while.
“Hey Skoome, something just occurred to me,” he said quietly.
“What's that Mr Zagra?” He replied politely while putting the cork back in the bottle neck. He put it carefully back on the shelf reserved for Mr Zagra. Next to the heavy crystal bottle of Brandy from Lave.
“If I cut another finger off your hand, my liquor would go further wouldn't it?” He asked while holding two Fingers up to the deep measure.
“If you were Skoome “Two Fingers” we could make better profits. What do you think? You want to help the family out?” He asked and smiled at his own joke. Only Skoome couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.
Before he had time to figure out the best way to answer, three of the local Under Bosses came in for their meeting. Mr Zagra forgot about Skoome and greeted the newcomers with hugs and kisses. There was no warmth in their greeting, only duty and tension. The Under Bosses touched their cheeks to his in a formalized show of affection that was to love what a knife was to a heart.
Three Fingers served them all drinks and went back to cleaning the bar. He kept his eyes to himself but his one ear stayed sharp. Their mood was dark and people were soon enough going to pay the price for that.
One way or another.
“There's enough explosive in that Hauler to blow the whole station. I'll be damned if I let them use it for another day. Not while I draw breath,” many years ago a knife to the throat had made sure Mr Zagra could no longer speak above a whisper but the anger in his voice carried his words across the room.
Diesel “Pimp Daddy” spoke up and questioned if it was the right thing to do. Three Fingers had known Pimp Daddy was stupid, but seriously, on a scale of one to ten that was exponential.
There was silence for about three heartbeats. About the time it takes for a man to slip open a hidden cuff knife. About the time it takes him to slip it open and let the rage into his blood. Then the silence ended and Pimp Daddy was opened up right there at the bar and Mr Zagra was on top of him slicing his neck and chest into ribbons while the others took a step back to avoid the pneumatic sprays of claret as Pimp Daddy paid a heavy price for having a loose tongue.
Three Fingers kept his eyes on the ground as best he could while the wet meaty punches rained down. He even tried not to hear the choking and gargling as Pimp Daddy ran out of breathing options. When it was over though, when Zagra was standing over the meat sack and eyeballing everyone with pure hatred he couldn't help himself but look nervously at the clock on the far wall.
Three Fingers had come up through the system of gangs and gained respect, he'd been tested by it and survived it, but Zagra, well Mr Zagra was the system and he hadn't got to be the boss of Bosses by missing the little things.
“You got someplace to be Three Fingers?” He asked and looked at the clock himself. The other wise guys found their weapons and enough of their loyalty to point them at the bar man. Three Fingers was in a tight spot to be sure.
“Or are you expecting someone?” He whispered quietly. “You been talking have you Fingers? You been talking to them? Telling them about this place?”
As he spoke he walked around the bar. Three Fingers knew enough about fights to know he could beat Zagra but he couldn't beat the guns. He’d never been one for running anyway and here was as good as anywhere else. Zagra stopped a few feet from him and Three Fingers didn't take his eyes of the knife that dripped so much blood you would think it had an open throat of its own.
Zagra reached out with his other hand and took down the tall bottle of black Opel Nera. He pulled the cork with his teeth and took a mouthful.
“You need to understand something about me Fingers, you need to understand that in this family I am the Boss. I am the knife in the dark, I am the Shark in the lagoon, I decide who lives and for how long,” he took another mouthful and then took a step forward. Three Fingers could see he had blood on his lips, blood on his face and in his hair. Zagra raised the knife so he got a real good look at it.
“You need to know that in this system I am the Alpha and,”
“Omega?” said a voice from the doorway and the Under bosses died in hail of automatic fire.
“Nah, you ain't Omega, you're too stupid to join our crew. Don't you know the wars over? You lost,” said the woman in the doorway with the automatic pistol. She wore light combat armour and shocking pink hair that matched the neon sign in the window perfectly. She walked into the bar and shot the Boss of bosses right between his angry little eyes.
Some time later Three Fingers poured Kara a drink from what was left in the black Opel Nera.
“And I get to run this bar as before but just swap the Comorra for you?” He asked. Kara made a face and pushed the Nera away.
“No, not me. I'm just a Consultant. Well a Pirate actually but someone will be appointed by tomorrow. And yes, same deal as before. From time to time we will likely use the bar for moving product but you'll see a cut,” she told him and leaned over the bar to choose another bottle.
“And retaliation? The Camorra come from the ground here. They will come looking,” he crossed his arms as he spoke and gestured toward the dead with a stiff nod.
Kara took a swig from the elaborate bottle of Lavian and then gave him her best dead eyed smile. The kind that only the means death.
“Oh we’re counting on it Fingers, we’re counting on that,”