“The only thing he was more proud of were his grandchildren, I think.” Anden had never ceased to find interactions with his old boyfriend to be tinged with a certain nostalgia and awkwardness, but enough time had passed for both of them that their conversations were amicable. Cory was married now, with a cherubic two-year-old son and a baby daughter on the way. He’d put on some weight but was still in good shape from cycling on the weekends, and he cheerfully admitted to have grown his short beard so as to appear more intimidating when arguing in front of a judge. His wife was a second-generation Keko-Espenian social worker, six years younger than him. They’d met during one of his court cases. They seemed happy together.
Cory’s sisters were there as well, of course. Although he hadn’t forgotten how coldly she’d rebuffed his family’s offer of friendship in the past, Anden greeted Kelly Dauk politely and introduced her to Hilo, who made no issue of her prior rudeness and said amiably, “Ms. Dauk, your mother tells me you recently started a new job.” Cory’s eldest sister had been plucked from the Industry Department to chair the federal Anti-Corruption Panel, whose purpose was to investigate and root out political graft and ties to organized crime.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss my work, Mr. Kaul,” the woman replied. “Not even with my family and friends, much less to a Kekonese clan boss.” She made a brisk social circuit around the gathering, then left the reception shortly thereafter.
Hilo did not seem offended, but Cory was apologetic for his sister’s behavior. “Kelly works for the government, after all,” he reminded them with a sigh. “She doesn’t want to be seen associating with Green Bones.”
There were, indeed, many Green Bones in attendance. The room was becoming so crowded that Anden could barely move. It seemed as if half the Kekonese population of the city was here. He recognized Tod and Sammy and several others, but there were many younger people from Southtrap that he didn’t know, and some who’d come from other parts of the country.
An hour into the event, a silver limousine pulled up in front of the building. Jon Remi stepped out with three of his men, all of them wearing light-colored sport jackets, polished shoes, and big sunglasses like typical southern gangsters. Their entrance caused heads to turn. Anden felt a surge of distaste rise sour in the back of his throat. Remi’s flippant crudeness, which Anden remembered all too well from that evening in the Blue Olive, seemed even more pronounced now that he dripped with wealth. His hair was slicked back from his tanned face, accentuating his strong brow and dark lips, parted with curious scorn.
The Crew Bosses and Tomascian drug lords in Resville called Jon Remi “the Bad Keck,” a title he’d embraced. After using No Peak jade and money to run the Mountain out of the city, Remi had built his own small empire. He’d taken over his uncle’s gym years ago and become a key figure in the gambling that accompanied that city’s unsanctioned jadesports industry. In addition to dealing in shine and women, he’d expanded into other businesses normally controlled by the Crews, including loansharking and extortion. His men were notoriously vicious; Remi awarded them jade for carrying out assassinations against his rivals.
The opinion in Port Massy was that the Bad Keck was a volatile troublemaker and not a proper Green Bone at all. Even without his sense of Perception, Anden could feel the palpable unease ripple through the room as conversations died and people backed out of the path of the Resville men.
Remi strode up to Hilo, slowing and taking off his sunglasses as he neared. “So old man Dauk’s finally left us for Heaven,” he said in Espenian, “but the famous Kaul Hiloshudon has come to earth to visit us instead.” Remi stopped, studying Hilo the way a dog watches a stranger approaching its door—tense, ready to bark. The Pillar returned the younger man’s gaze with steady, motionless expectation.
Several seconds passed before Remi brought his clasped hands to his forehead and dipped into a shallow salute. “How does the saying in the old country go?” In accented Kekonese, “May the gods shine favor on you, Kaul-jen.”
Anden went to the Pillar’s side. “Hilo-jen, this is Remi Jonjunin, our friend from Resville. Forgive his poor Kekonese and awkward manners. I’m sure he’s only nervous and means no disrespect.”
The Bad Keck began to turn toward Anden, his expression darkening with insult. Anden hoped savagely that the man would do something stupid. He’d like to see Hilo put the gangster in his place, or better yet, break his jaw. But Hilo settled a hand on the man’s shoulder as if they were old friends. “Remi-jen, I feel as if I know you already, having heard so much of your reputation. Go offer your condolences to the wife and children of Dauk Losun—let the gods recognize him—and we’ll talk about business tomorrow, when it’s more appropriate to do so.”