Chapter Eight; How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed Part 2

The meeting with Jules left Niccolo feeling empty, as though he had had something valuable and had given it away without realizing its value. Jules' warning had somehow gotten to him.

Butch sighed, "What the fuck was that all about?"

Niccolo shrugged, "I don't know. But we've got a meeting with Charley and we need to get going so as the cops don't pick us up from the station.

Butch looked around, "And how are we going to do that?"

Niccolo sighed, and suddenly a thought came into his head. Maybe Jules Winnfield had been right? Maybe he was indeed defying fate and going against what was meant to be. To make sure, he opened the book The Prince back to "How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed". Perhaps he could find some hope in this book as he'd always had.

To his utter relief, Machiavelli had an answer to his question.

I say that we see that some princes flourish one day and come to grief the next, without appearing to have changed in character or any other way. This I believe arises, first, for the reasons discussed at length earlier on, namely, that those princes who are utterly dependent on fortune come to grief when their fortune changes.I also believe that the one who adapts his policy to the times prospers, and likewise that the one whose policy clashes with the demands of the times does not.

Niccolo sighed with relief; there was some hope for him after all. He continued reading the chapter up to the end where another passage stood out for him.

I hold strongly to this: that it is better to be impetuous than circumspect; because fortune is a woman and if she is to be submissive it is necessary to beat and coerce her. Experience shows that she is more often subdued by men who do this than by those who act coldly. Always, being a woman, she favours young men, because they are less circumspect and more ardent, and because they command her with greater audacity.

'Well, that's an odd comparison,' Niccolo thought.

Butch got up to see if the coast was clear, leaving Niccolo with Fabienne and the baby.

Niccolo looked at Fabienne, who had woken up again from her little nap. Normally he felt awkward in these situations; he wasn't a big people person and didn't start conversations. If one was started, he'd get involved if it suited him, but he rarely started his own conversations unless they were necessary.

But he suddenly felt compelled to start one with Fabienne, "So how the hell did you get in all this?"

Fabienne looked at him in polite confusion, "All of what?"

Niccolo jerked his head to where Butch had just left, "I mean how did you meet him and all that?"

Fabienne sighed contentedly, as though watching a memory movie in her head, "My father was a carpenter who moved to America for better business. I was nineteen, and I decided to go to college here for a better chance to succeed. My father made a lot of money and eventually built up a good business for my brothers to grow up in."

Niccolo smiled distractedly.

Fabienne spoke again, with more lust in her voice, "I met Butch at the boxing match. It was a pure accident, though. A chance in a lifetime. I'll never forget it. There were two boxers in the ring. One had an odd name like Bubba Stotts. It was funny, I laughed when they announced his name. But he was a very good boxer. He was about to win early, but then that he beat Bubba with a sudden punch from the left."

Niccolo stared at her, intrigued, "So what happened then?"

Fabienne continued, "Bubba tried to finish it, but then his opponent took over and evened the score. It was unbelievable. Nobody had seen it coming. The man was unbelievable."

Niccolo chuckled, "So Butch beat him?"

Fabienne looked confused, "Butch beat who?"

Niccolo paused, "Wasn't he the guy Bubba was fighting?"

Fabienne shook her head, "Oh no, that was a man named Ironman Isaac."

Niccolo did a double take, "What?"

Fabienne nodded, as though not noticing Niccolo's expression, "Butch was sitting next to me in the crowd. We started talking together and he walked me home from the match. Then we started dating. Our first date was when he fought Wildfoot Radley. Kind of an odd name for a boxer wouldn't you say?" She chuckled.

Ernie suddenly began calling for milk, and Niccolo gave Fabienne some privacy by going to find Butch.

He was standing out by the door, staring out the window, "I don't know what we're gonna do, man. You heard Winnfield, they're probably gonna have a bunch of cops waiting to arrest us. We ain't getting out of here free unless we shoot our way out."

Niccolo nodded, "I don't want another bloodbath on my hands. The first one was too fucking much for my tastes."

Butch grinned, "What happened at that robbery anyway? I heard about it, but I never found out the details."

Niccolo paused, knowing that it was not a good idea to reveal all that information to Butch.

Butch laughed, "Oh come on, it's not like the cops don't already know. That's the whole reason you're on the run, buddy!"

Niccolo nodded, "True."

So he told the part of the story that Butch didn't know about. He talked about how he met up with Mr. White- his name had been Larry-, and a wounded Mr. Orange. Then Mr. Blonde came and brought the hostage. Nice Guy Eddie showed up to get the loot, and when they returned, they found Mr. Blonde dead by Mr. Orange's hand. Eddie shot the cop, was ready to torture Orange, but Joe suddenly appeared and prepared to shoot Orange. Mr. White tried to defend Orange, and Eddie tried to defend his dad. Niccolo, Mr. Pink, had been the only one to walk out of that warehouse alive.

Butch was riveted by the story. At the end of it, he spoke up, "Weren't there six robbers though? What happened to the other two?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Mr. White told me that Mr. Brown got shot outside the store by some nigger cop. As for Mr. Blue, we never found out how he died. Joe just came in and told us."

Butch was suddenly skeptical, "Wait, you just took Joe's word for it?"

Niccolo looked at Butch in irritation, "Yeah I fucking did. Why not?"

Butch spoke up, "Because the cops never caught him or found his body."

Niccolo paused, the beginnings of a shock building up in him, "Wait... no, no. Joe told us he was dead. He said Mr. Blue was as dead as Dillinger."

Butch paused, and laughed, "Well isn't that obvious! Mr. Blue escaped!"

Niccolo frowned, "What?"

"Do you know who Dillinger was? John Dillinger? He was one of the most notorious criminals to ever have the honour of calling himself American," Butch replied, "He was eventually killed supposedly because a woman in red would identify him to the cops."

"So?" Niccolo asked.

"It wasn't Dillinger!" Butch exclaimed, "I could show you a shitload of proof that John Dillinger wasn't killed outside the theater. He escaped somehow and was never seen again."

Niccolo began to shudder. He had never thought Mr. Blue could have died easily, but he had accepted that a seventy-something guy couldn't escape the robbery as quick as he could have. He looked out of the window as he thought of Mr. Blue and how he had been the only other real professional in the group. Mr. White was way to fucking emotional. Mr. Blonde had been psychotic, and Mr. Brown had been a fucking bluffer. As for Mr. Orange...

Mr. Orange, Mr. Blonde's killer and the guy who had betrayed them all to the cops. Why, if only he had survived. He would have gone to find him and make him pay for that year in prison and all the shit he had had to take. Just thinking of the rat made Niccolo's teeth grind.

Oh well. Orange was dead, according to the noises he had heard. Everyone involved in that was dead. Except him and Mr. Blue; wherever Mr. Blue was.

Butch looked at Niccolo, "How did you know Joe?"

Niccolo sighed, not liking how he was telling Butch all this about his past. He wondered if he ought to lie about some stuff.

Butch noticed his look, "How come you're so secretive about this anyway?"

Niccolo paused, "You never know when information can get you killed."

Butch smiled, "I know what that's like, but I'm pretty sure you can trust me."

Niccolo shook his head, "No I can't. Suppose a man puts a gun to your little boy's head and asks where I am. What are you gonna do?"

Butch paused in revulsion, perhaps thinking of the idea Niccolo had just proposed. Then he nodded in agreement, "See your point there. But who'd want to find you so badly?"

Niccolo grinned, "The cops, and you can't trust them for a fucking inch. Then there's all those other of people me and Charley fucked over when we started selling drugs. There's a bunch of people to be honest with you."

Butch nodded, and sighed, "Well I know what it's like to be on the run." He sat down next to Niccolo, "So what's the plan?"

Niccolo sighed, "Well, hopefully Charley finds a way to get us outta this fucking mess. But I'll be damned that I don't know what to do here."

Suddenly a man stepped through the door. His hair was blond, almost white, but the beard fuzzle on his cheeks was darker. He was built heavily, though he looked pretty thin for his size. He held a gun in his hand, pointed directly at Niccolo.

"You!" Niccolo almost screamed. No fucking way! No fucking way! Niccolo wanted to cry; he never dreamed he would ever see Gaear Grimsrud again. "You're supposed to be in fucking prison! What are you doing here?!"

Gaear looked at him with that blank expression on his face, and spoke in a calm voice, "I've been looking for you."

Author's Note: For anyone who's seen "Fargo", you know the irony of putting Gaear Grimsrud in the same train as Mr. Pink.