Chapter Two
The Red Scarf Saloon was active that night, celebrating their latest victory over Radley's Bunch. Malcolm raised his bottle high and then drank right from it with a booming guffaw. Radley always had the manners to use a glass, plus he never drank alcohol anyway. Malcolm had never understood that about him. What fun did he even have? Under all that leather and jewelry and behind the long hair and childish insults, Radley was just a namby-panby goody-two-shoes. He was too soft for this line of work.
Perhaps once upon a time they had been friends, but they weren't any longer. Radley had self-righteously objected to Malcolm's vicious and cruel ideas of forcing more work out of employees by torturing them into it, so of course he had to go. People lower than Malcolm were just worms to be used as he climbed his way to the top. He didn't need so-called friends who wouldn't support him. Radley probably wasn't really that moral anyway; he just didn't want to share the journey to the top with Malcolm. So they had gone their separate ways . . . only their shared interest in the dyne mine kept them in close proximity. Malcolm had learned to deal with it, but really, he wished Radley would just go away. He hated seeing him every night. Whether he wanted it or not, there was always a prick in his heart as he remembered what had once been. He didn't need that prick.
"What are you thinking, Boss?"
He started back to the present. Robbie, one of his top stooges, was curiously staring at him from across the counter.
Malcolm scowled, wiping the traveling whiskey from his chin with his sleeve before slamming the bottle down. "Nothing!" he spat. "You learn to mind your own dad-blamed business!"
Robbie flinched. "Sorry, Boss. . . ."
Malcolm turned away at the look in Robbie's eyes. He could see what the guy was thinking. Radley treated his men a whole lot better than Malcolm treated his. But Robbie would never switch sides. Oh no. He loved bullying people too much. Malcolm encouraged it, or sometimes turned a blind eye to it. Radley wouldn't tolerate it, aside from verbally bullying bullies.
Really, Malcolm might have the upper hand in the war, but Radley still had things Malcolm didn't. He was genuinely loved by his gang. Malcolm was a cash cow and he let his men hurt others. He wasn't even sure he was respected by his men. Malcolm was jealous.
But what he didn't have from his gang, he more than made up for with Barbara. She didn't reveal her allegiance publicly, but she always came to him in private. When he went back to the villa, she would be there. He had that to look forward to.
There was Lawton too. They had once been all each other had when they had grown up poor. Now they were both powerful self-made men in the mining industry. They had brought other towns to their knees and Crash Town would be no different. He didn't hear a lot from his brother anymore, but it was surely just because Lawton was so involved in his training. He would be back; he had promised he would be back, and he would come with the perfect strategy to rout Radley out. Malcolm just had to hold on until then, and as long as his Duelists were better, that was no problem.
What more could he really need or want?
"Well, what are you waiting for, Gentlemen?! We got ourselves another victory and another sucker for the mines! Drink up!" he yelled.
The Crew laughed amid a chorus of opening bottles. Some raucous women laughed too, sitting on their laps, the tables, or anywhere else they felt like sitting. A couple of them held out their glasses to be filled. The men poured them full to overflowing with gleeful cackles.
Yes, Malcolm's group had far more fun than Radley's, who liked video games and karaoke and other silly things they should have outgrown. The Crew lived like real men, conquering in bed as well as on the dueling field.
So . . . why was it that Malcolm still felt jealous?
He scowled and took another long swig from his bottle.
xxxx
Radley stood awkwardly on the porch of the diner, staring up into the sky as he shifted from one foot to the other. He had been hoping the Crimson Dragon would be right here, but all was silent. Apparently Radley had to figure out for himself how to call the great beast forth.
"Uh . . . hello? Crimson Dragon? Are you here?" He felt ridiculous, and it showed in his uneasy tone.
The night sky rippled like a blanket and the Crimson Dragon emerged. He hovered above Radley, twisting and moving through the sky as if he was swimming underwater. He still did not speak, instead regarding Radley expectantly.
Radley heaved a sigh at having to figure out how to start the discussion himself. ". . . Kalin Kessler showed up here," he said at last.
"Yes, I know," said the Crimson Dragon. "You wish to hire him on as your Duelist."
"I know he's been through rough times, but he's one of the best I've ever seen," Radley said. "We might have some hope of victory with him here." He hesitated. "Would he be acceptable to you for what you want too?"
The dragon was silent for a long moment. "Kalin Kessler wishes to pay for his crimes. He doesn't understand what is required, but the fact that he has that desire shows that something has changed in him from what he was."
"That's good, right?" Radley said.
"That is very good," the Crimson Dragon agreed. "It's the first step in the right direction."
"So . . . what do I do next?" Radley wondered.
"Talk to him. Bring him to me."
"Oh great. How do I do that?" Radley snorted. "'Oh hey, you know that dragon who hired all the Signers and was kinda your archenemy? He wants to talk to you about being a messenger for God!'"
"Something like that," the Crimson Dragon said, unaffected by Radley's sarcasm.
Radley had to groan. "You're serious?"
"It gets across the right intent and the basic idea."
"He is either going to think I'm loco or he'll think I'm insulting him because of his past," Radley said. "I want to win this guy over, not start out with him hating me!"
"You will figure out what needs to be said." The Crimson Dragon vanished, again leaving Radley standing there staring into the night sky.
His shoulders slumped. "How am I supposed to do this?" he whispered. "I'm not religious and I haven't been for years. How can I believably pitch any of this without being a hypocrite?" He rubbed the back of his neck, overwhelmed.
Finally he took a deep breath and started down the stairs. He wouldn't get anywhere if he didn't find Kalin and at least attempt this discussion. He was used to coming up with things to say on the fly. Hopefully that would work this time.
Kalin wasn't hard to find, at least. He was sitting on the steps of the boarding house, Mrs. Rickshaw's Calico cat Quilla in his arms. Quilla was purring, seeming delighted with the arrangement.
Radley smiled in a bit of surprise. "You like kitties?"
Kalin grunted. "The cat's a fool. He wanted me to hold him."
"She," Radley corrected as he started up the stairs. "All Calico cats are female, for some reason."
Kalin gave him a blank stare. "Then how are there more of them?"
Radley laughed. "I've always wondered that myself, honestly. And Quilla doesn't curl up with just anyone. She's bestowed on you a high honor."
"She doesn't realize I'm not worth it," Kalin said flatly.
"Animals are good judges of character. She knows what she's doing." Radley leaned against the railing at the top of the stairs and folded his arms.
Quilla's purring literally sounded like one of the Bunch's Harley motorcycles. Kalin just stared at her. "How does a small animal make a sound like that?!"
"Out of complete contentment and joy," Radley said. "Did you know purring even has healing abilities?"
Kalin grunted. "It wouldn't be able to heal me. Are you a walking encyclopedia of random cat facts?"
". . . No, I was trying to use that to break the ice," Radley sighed.
"I work for you now. That doesn't mean I'm going to be your drinking buddy or any other kind of buddy." Kalin's look was a bottomless pit. "I'm not interested in being your friend."
Radley shrugged. "Well, we've just met. There's time to change your mind. I'm not a bad guy. The more we work together, the more I hope to show you that."
Kalin stood with Quilla. "I'll duel for you. That's all."
Radley inwardly groaned in frustration. This was not going well.
". . . Do you believe in God, Kalin?" he asked.
"He never believed in me," Kalin retorted.
"Maybe He did," Radley said. "Maybe that's why you were brought back after being a Dark Signer."
Kalin snorted. "That sounds like blaspheme. Watch out, you'll probably be struck down by lightning for saying that."
"You said you wanted to pay for your sins," Radley said. "There's more than one way to do that, you know."
"What are you getting at?" Kalin retorted. "Are you trying to say that you think beating Malcolm is some kind of divine calling?"
"If he's really torturing his miners, don't you think it would be?" Radley returned.
"Maybe. But it's not like God's actually appointed you to fix this mess. Trying to say He has will just make you look crazy. Or arrogant at the very least."
Well, that certainly made this situation even more awkward. But Radley finally heaved a sigh and plunged forward. "I know. But that doesn't make it any less true."
Kalin froze at that. "You're serious," he said in disbelief.
Radley nodded. "I am. I was contacted by the Crimson Dragon and told that he was coming to me on God's behalf because God wanted me to fix this mess. I know how it sounds. Believe me, I know! I haven't even got the courage to tell the Bunch about it. But I was also instructed to find somebody who could help me prove to Malcolm that God wants him to stop this insanity. You're the first real hope we've had in ages, so I asked the dragon if you would be an acceptable choice. He said Yes. He wants to talk to you."
Kalin stepped back. "I fought against the Crimson Dragon and all he stood for!" he cried.
"But as a Dark Signer, you weren't in your right mind, were you?" Radley pressed.
"It was because of my dark feelings that the darkness could get hold of me at all," Kalin said. "To use me for something like this would make a mockery of the Crimson Dragon, the Signers, and God all at once!"
Quilla looked up at him and meowed.
"Even though the Crimson Dragon is okay with it?!" Radley exclaimed.
"I only have your word for it that he is!" Kalin snapped. "I can't believe a story like this. You're either insane or disrespectful. Or both!" He turned to storm back inside.
"Kalin!" Not ready to give up despite his worst fears coming to pass, Radley walked over to the tortured man and stood just to the side of the door so as not to block it. "I really want you as my Duelist. Would I risk losing you by telling you crazy stuff that would upset you if it isn't true?"
"If you're insane, you might think it would be added motivation for me with my goals of paying for my crimes," Kalin snapped.
"Do you think I'm crazy then?" Radley asked.
"If you're not, you should be," Kalin retorted. "I'll duel for you, but I don't want to hear any more about your bizarre fantasies! If you want to play God's messenger, you'll do it without me." With that, he stormed inside with Quilla and practically slammed the door.
Radley flinched. "You see?!" he burst out, looking up at the sky. "I told you that would happen! Kalin is not in any condition for something like this! And I need to have him as my Duelist. I can't risk him bailing on me because he ends up so upset from what you want!" He turned away, gripping the white wooden pillar holding up the porch. "I can't. . . ." He had worked too hard to keep hold of the town all these years. Now he finally had a chance to overthrow Malcolm for good, without any more people being sent to Malcolm's part of the mine, but this off-the-wall mission from a God he hadn't even worshipped in years was threatening to ruin it.
The skies were silent now. In utter discouragement, Radley trudged down the stairs and towards his house.
". . . Please, God," he whispered. "If You really don't hate me, I need Kalin to help me. If You want Malcolm stopped, I really think we can do it together without any Plagues being called down. I don't want the town ravaged like that. I don't even want Malcolm hurt like that. I can't forget that he was my friend. Will You please give us a chance to try it my way? Please . . ."
For a long moment there continued to be no response. But then at last, the Crimson Dragon's voice boomed out.
"You will have the chance you seek. Use it well."
Radley let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you," he rasped. "Thank you. . . ."
He opened the door to his house and went inside. Hopefully Kalin would still be willing to work for him after their altercation. Maybe come morning he would be gone.
But . . . since he was being given the chance he wanted, surely that meant Kalin would stay . . . didn't it? He needed Kalin for this to work.
He shut the door, slumping against it as he stared off at the opposite wall. Being a leader was so hard. He had to make so many decisions every day, always trying to make the right ones to help the people and the town. And since he wasn't God and didn't know all, he sometimes made the wrong ones.
He hoped he wasn't making the wrong one now.
xxxx
The Red Scarf Saloon was finally closing for the night. There wasn't an official closing time, per se, but when practically everyone was drunk and lying around in booths and over tables with goofy, intoxicated smiles, it was pretty much time to close up. Malcolm left them all as they were, locked the door, and headed to the villa the Crew called home.
It was a cruel irony in a way, him claiming the villa. It might more rightfully have belonged to Radley, considering his Spanish heritage. Radley had looked at it with reverence and longing when they had first arrived in town. It was old enough that it had likely been built and settled by Spanish monks centuries ago. But when Malcolm had become disgusted by Radley's morals, he had deliberately taken the villa from him. He had seen the hurt and betrayal in Radley's eyes and he had relished it . . . in spite of the prick in his heart. He had mocked Radley many a time to his face, proclaiming his ownership of the villa with glee.
Malcolm certainly didn't appreciate the historic structure the way Radley did, and the Crew was even less respectful. It was just a place to crash and to bring their women. As long as it wasn't falling apart, the age meant very little to any of them. Radley would have taken care of it properly, but Malcolm had no intention of ever letting him have it. Someday all of Crash Town would be his and Radley would be routed out altogether. It was a pleasant thought, no matter how his mind insisted otherwise.
Barbara was silhouetted against the villa when Malcolm arrived. She smiled, peeling herself away from the wall as she moved to greet him. "You're late, Sweet."
He smiled, drawing her close in his arms. "It was a big night for the boys."
"Isn't every night a big night for them?" Barbara purred, tracing his lips with a perfectly manicured fingernail.
Malcolm was pretty sure he was smiling stupidly. "Yeah, pretty much."
She smirked. "Let's go inside."
He led her to the old double-doors and opened one for her to go in ahead of him. As he followed, he pulled it shut after them, its age-old creaking echoing up and down the halls.
He wanted to announce their involvement from the rooftops, but Barbara always insisted it had to be secret. She was supposed to be neutral in the conflict, and it would actually help him more if she continued to appear so, or so she said. He hadn't really seen any particular benefit in it, but Barbara had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. Whatever she wanted, he would do.
"So, what's new around town?" he asked for small talk as they headed up the well-worn grand hall to his office.
"Not much," she replied. "Radley's having a party at his diner, as always."
Malcolm grunted. "What does he even find to party about?"
"I can't imagine," Barbara said. "I'd say maybe he found some new Duelists out of the batch that came in today, but he parties whether he finds any or not."
"He's a fool," Malcolm proclaimed.
"He's an idealist," Barbara said. She took him by the hand and led him into the darkened office.
Malcolm agreeably went in, but hesitated. "You don't . . . ever find him interesting, do you?"
She gave him a dark smirk. "He's a good-looking man. I can't deny that. But it's you I have a future with." She tousled his already-wild hair.
Malcolm wanted to feel satisfied, but something was still nagging at him. His jealousy of Radley was always there, always eating at him. He should feel proud he was on top, and yet there was no denying that Radley had something Malcolm didn't, that he couldn't even understand.
"What if it was Radley who had the brightest future?" he asked.
She just smiled in the dark. "It's still you I'm in love with, not Radley. He's too soft. It's your iron fist that will win us Crash Town."
That was enough to placate Malcolm, at least for now. He finally smiled back and drew her close. "You're right. Eventually I'm gonna beat him down completely and toss him out on his ear. And it'll feel good."
"Are you sure?" Barbara asked. "He was your friend, you know."
"Was being the key word here," Malcolm said. "We're not friends anymore."
"If you're sure." Barbara leaned in for a kiss.
Malcolm wholeheartedly returned it. "I'm sure."
xxxx
For Radley the night was miserable and largely restless, filled with tossing, turning, and nightmares. First it was Malcolm taking over the town and sending most of the townspeople into slave labor in the mines, even the children. Then it was the Plagues raining down on the town to stop him, leveling everything and killing all of his men as well as him.
Radley woke up gasping and breathing heavily, staring at the darkened room. But it was all thankfully a dream, for now, and he groaned, slumping forward and letting his hair fall in front of his face. "What am I gonna do?" he mumbled. Either or both of those nightmares could be reality eventually. He had to make sure that didn't happen.
The room felt lonely and empty as he sat there, bemoaning the problems and how to handle them. Malcolm and the Crew, no doubt, were feeling very merry tonight with women, as every night. Even the Bunch paired off platonically at their homes and none of those friends were alone.
Only Radley had no one.
He had certainly been propositioned more than once as a cure for his loneliness. Women and men both found him highly attractive and appealing. But he had never liked the idea of one-night stands, of doing something foolish or lonely one reckless night and losing something he could never get back. If he was ever going to lose his virginity, it would have to mean something. And unless he married a romantic interest, he just wasn't going to do it. Archaic or not, it was what he wanted for his own body.
Really, what he wanted most was companionship. It should be simple enough, and yet it wasn't. He would stay happy and smiling for the Bunch, letting them be happy like they needed to be even while he was aching tremendously inside. He needed a confidante, one whose childhood and innocence he wasn't trying to preserve. He wanted someone to talk to, to understand him, someone whom he could understand too. It didn't have to be a romantic connection, just one born of shared desires and dreams and love.
None of that seemed likely to happen. He had once thought he and Malcolm would grow close enough that Malcolm could be that for him, but then Malcolm had turned around and become most of the problem. If it wasn't for everything Malcolm was doing, Radley wouldn't even long as desperately for company to commiserate with.
How ironic.
He pushed himself up with a sigh. It was late and he wanted to sleep, but he was wide-awake. Somehow he pictured that Kalin was likely the sort who didn't sleep well any night. Since it didn't look like he would achieve sleep again for a while, at least, he finally set out for a short walk to the boarding house.
He was rarely ever out this late at night. Malcolm's Crew took over the town at night, with drinking and carousing and roughhousing and other, worse things. Radley and the Bunch had stopped them on a couple of occasions from assaulting some poor townsperson out too late. Now he was the one taking the risk, and he didn't imagine he would be exempt from their vile, twisted behavior if he were caught. But he was clever and crafty and he wouldn't be expected, which gave him the upper hand. He slipped through the shadows, not encountering anyone until he arrived back at the boarding house.
As he had half-expected, Kalin was sitting on the front steps again, this time without Quilla. He stared off at the mountain in the distance, fingering the harmonica hanging around his neck. If he was considering playing it, he didn't, which was just as well since it would likely wake up everyone on the block. But Radley smiled and came closer and decided to use the harmonica as another possible icebreaker.
"You play that?" he asked.
Kalin jumped. "Are you going to follow me everywhere?" His tone was complete ice, no cracks whatsoever. Before, he had been aloof and off-putting, but not like this.
Radley sighed. "No. I couldn't sleep very well, so . . . I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. What I said earlier was true, but I didn't want to get into it with you. I knew it would upset you."
"And God made you tell it?" Kalin jeered.
"I felt like I had to say something because of what the Crimson Dragon told me, yeah," Radley said. "Honestly, I don't want that. I want to try to save the town without resorting to the plan the Crimson Dragon gave me, which is basically sending down all the Plagues of Egypt on the town . . . or at least on Malcolm's part of it. I asked if I could try my way first, and the Crimson Dragon said Yes."
"So it's just the duels then?" Kalin looked unaffected by everything else Radley had said.
"Yeah," Radley said. "But we have to make this work, Kalin. We have to duel all of Malcolm's men to the ground until there's no one left he can send out. Then he'll have to surrender to me. No one will get hurt and there won't be any Plagues. But I don't know how much time we've got to do it my way before God gets impatient."
Kalin's look was still bottomless. "I'll duel until I lose."
Radley sighed in some relief. "Thank you."
"It's not for you. It's for myself." Kalin was toying with the harmonica again.
Radley quirked an eyebrow. "But if you want to pay for your sins, isn't genuinely helping others the best way to do that?"
Kalin didn't answer.
Finally Radley just stepped back in resignation. "Okay, Kalin. I'm going home to try to get back to sleep. Don't forget to come to the diner for your motorcycle before the sunset duel."
That brought a vague sort of nod. "Fine."
Radley felt a little better as he headed home. Kalin obviously didn't like him, but he was still willing to help. That was the most important thing, so they still had a chance.
Still . . . Radley couldn't deny that he felt a twinge of pain at Kalin's coldness. Sure, he had dealt with some of the Bunch acting out with him when they had first met, and it had taken some time for some of the tough guys to warm up to him, but . . . this felt different somehow. The Bunch had just been kids hurt so much through their lives that they had been afraid of opening up to someone again.
Kalin, however . . . what Radley felt from him was ice-cold distaste, maybe even hate. Maybe it was because Kalin still had preconceived notions of what Radley was doing and that he wasn't really better than Malcolm. And no doubt Radley had made everything worse by trying to recruit Kalin for the Crimson Dragon. Whatever he did now would probably always be colored by Kalin's feelings due to those two factors.
Again he walked up his porch steps and wearily unlocked his front door. Basically he was stuck with two choices: send the Plagues down on Malcolm without Kalin's help, or try to duel his way to ultimate victory with a Duelist who hated him.
Neither choice was terribly appealing. But he had already made his decision and his path was set. He had to hope that Kalin could duel without his revulsion at Radley getting in the way. And even if it was hopeless, Radley would keep trying to reach out to him.
That was just who he was, for better or for worse.
Probably worse in this case. He was just setting himself up to be hurt over and over.
He shut the door and headed for the bathroom to wash up for the next attempt at bed.
