IRONHEART: The Primal Deception

Chapter 15

"Reputation is the most potent tool a mobster can utilize. Cultivate the right impression, and nobody gets in your way." – 'Red' Ragen, Infamous Victorian Mob Boss

Jack was laid up in his bunk for two weeks.

Fortunately, the bullet passed through the muscle in his thigh and out the other side. A clean exit wound was easy enough to deal with: no digging around in his insides to find the elusive instigator of all the damage. Jack shuddered when he thought about the first time he'd been shot. That bullet had hit a rib, shattering part of the bone into miniscule splinters and the round into multiple shrapnel shreds. He still carried a metal sliver they were unable to reach somewhere in his chest. This wound was nothing compared to that initial experience.

He'd pulled through from that bullet four years ago, to the amazement of Fist's crew. That was when they began calling him invincible, jokingly at first. Then as the years wore on and he suffered more wounds – gunshot and knife mostly – the sarcasm had shifted into awe, culminating with the Primal...

Jack grunted and sat up in his bunk, leaning against the headboard. Was he invincible? No. He'd seen the edge of death too many times to believe it. Street crews were a suspicious lot, and if there was anything they liked doing more than drinking, gambling, and whoring, it was concocting bullshit superstitions.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving his leg with a grimace. It was healing nicely, and the only risk now was infection. Fist had poured whiskey into the wound to keep it clean, but Jack was still extra cautious. The last thing he needed was gangrene to deprive him of a leg.

Jack was just lighting a cigar when Fist stepped into the dormitory, followed by Dasher. He hadn't been alone up to that point, by any means. The bunkroom was never empty. But the crew seemed almost unwilling to disturb him. They stayed crowded up in the common area or whispered in hushed voices at the other end of the room. He swore he'd even seen them throwing furtive looks his way.

Fist stopped at the foot of the bed, and Dasher sat on the bunk opposite. The boy was grinning happily, as usual. "How's it coming along?" Fist asked. He wouldn't meet Jack's eyes.

"Decent," Jack replied, shifting his leg again. "I'll be up and around in a day or two, though I won't be moving well for a while."

"You take your time. It's not like we're going out anytime soon."

Jack nodded sourly, giving the boss a significant look. The burly man cut his eyes away as if he hadn't noticed. "How are the rest of the boys taking the confinement?"

"As well as can be expected," Fist admitted. "Everyone's on edge, expecting Brutality to hammer down the door at any moment; that's not helping anyone's mood. But they are all scared shitless, so it's no trouble convincing them to keep their heads down."

"I haven't seen many of them down here except to sleep. Where's Black Jim and Gurney?"

Fist shifted uneasily. "I think you've gone and blown your stupidity act. They don't believe it anymore, not after all the stuff you were screaming at Harry."

He grunted irritably. He had been afraid of that.

"And, well..."

Jack gave Fist a suspicious look when he didn't continue. "Well, what?"

"They all think you're a Primal in disguise!" Dasher burst out, snorting with laughter. The lad disregarded the glares Fist was throwing at him.

"What?"

Fist picked up where Dasher left off, though he still gave the boy an irritated look that indicated he'd wanted to keep that information unsaid. "It's just another rumor about how you should be dead by now, with all the stuff that's happened to you. You know how superstitious they are. Gurney got this idea in his head and opened his fool mouth. Now they all think you're half Primal or something."

"Gurney says that you're too tough to be human, but too wingless to be a Primal, which means the only explanation is that you're both." Dasher chimed in excitedly. Jack groaned. The idiot boy believed it. He could see it in his eyes.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Jack said bluntly. He sucked greedily on his cigar, trying to release some of the knotted tension in his muscles. This news wasn't helping.

Dasher ignored him. "Goldilocks says – well, whispers anyway, his voice isn't coming back so good after you crushed his windpipe – he says that you're too dangerous to be a normal man. Black Jim agreed, and said that no mere Myrmidon could survive everything you have."

"Since when did Jim start using the term 'Myrmidon'?" Jack grumbled. "Did he join the bloody Illuminati or something?"

Dasher was finding all this highly amusing. "He knows that's what Primals call humans, and he thinks you're a Primal now, remember? Or at least half Primal." He grinned, shrugging. "Probably thinks he's being respectful."

Jack rubbed his temples in disbelief.

"Dasher, I need to speak with Jack. Alone." The boy gave Fist a curious look, but complied with the command. He shut the door as he left.

Jack watched the boss carefully. Fist stared back for a long moment.

"We're in a bit of a corner, Jack," the boss finally said. "I've seen the signs before. The coppers are in The Narrows in force, and even a few rocketeers and Primals are swooping through the area. They're looking for something."

"It doesn't take more than one guess to figure out what."

Fist nodded. He continued reluctantly. "Chaos is already putting the Celestial Steel to use. His people are ambushing coppers and Primal enforcers in the streets. Two low-level Primals have been killed. It's a bloody warzone out there."

Jack shook his head. "Much more of that and Tyranny will start sending in the troops." He glared at Fist. "This is your fault."

"This is Harry's fault, if the fool–"

"We both knew something like this could happen," Jack cut him off. "When you play with fire or Celestial Steel there's a good chance you'll get burned. Was it worth it, Fist? Was the money worth it?"

The boss didn't answer for a long time. His eyes were piercing daggers. Finally, he spoke. "This will all blow over eventually. We'll be sitting on a fortune when that day comes. We can go where we want. Anywhere we want. The West, maybe. Somewhere far away from Tyranny and Order, away from all steamblown Primals–"

"If that day comes, Fist," Jack interrupted quietly. "Not when. If." He laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "And you'd never leave Victorian, even if you could. These streets are all you know. They're all you've ever known. Just like me."

Jack kept his eyes closed, and Fist was silent. He wondered if he'd finally gone too far, if the boss would kill him and be done, but when he opened his eyes, Fist was gone.