Free City of the Snakes by Darren Shan Page A

here anymore.”
    “Capac asked him to step into Gico Carl’s shoes. Frank agreed, on a temporary basis. Now he wishes he’d kept the hell out, but he’s stuck with it.”
    “How’s he getting on with Tasso?” There was never any love lost between them.
    “Surprisingly well,” Jerry says. “There’s no time for friction. You’d swear they were long-lost brothers if you didn’t know better.”
    The private elevator to the fifteenth floor is protected by a dozen armed Troops. They part as Jerry approaches, but their gazes linger suspiciously on me and I hear the creaking of fingers as I pass, tightening on triggers. If I were a man who worried about dying, I’d be very nervous right now.
    I recognize the elevator operator—Mike Kones, a friend of Jerry’s. The three of us shared many shifts in the old days. Working an elevator’s not my idea of a satisfying job, but Mike was never the most mobile of men and this is a prestigious position. He looks content. We nod to each other but don’t say anything.
    Frank’s waiting for us at the top. It’s been six years since our paths crossed. He’s put on a lot of weight—too many corporate lunches—and his hairline’s receding, but he looks happier and calmer than when he was head of the Troops.
    “Al,” he greets me with a genuine smile and a firm handshake. “Great to see you. How’ve you been?”
    “Not bad. You?”
    He pats his bulging stomach and grins. “Getting by.” He faces Jerry and his smile thins. “Trouble.”
    “Pena?” Jerry guesses and Frank nods. “Ron Pena,” Jerry explains for my benefit. “Manufactures designer drugs. Fancies himself as a successor if Capac doesn’t return.”
    “He’s making his move,” Frank says darkly. “Ridiculing Ford, saying he’s too old, demanding he step aside. Most of the people who matter are in there—Pena summoned them. If they side with Pena, Ford’s through.”
    Jerry’s face darkens. “If Pena takes over, we’re fucked. He’d try and do deals with Davern and his like. Screw everything up.”
    “I told Ford that,” Frank grumbles. “I said we should deny his request for an audience. He wouldn’t listen. Told me to admit him. I don’t think he realizes the threat Pena poses. He doesn’t understand that things have changed. The gangs aren’t automatically obedient any longer.”
    Jerry chews his lip and glances at me. “Think we should wait out here until it’s over?” he asks Frank.
    “No. Ford said you were to enter as soon as you arrived. If we don’t obey his orders, we can’t expect anyone else to.”
    BASE—The Cardinal’s office—is jammed with Raimi’s disgruntled generals. Men in suits mingle with hoods in jeans and slashed shirts, but nobody looks out of place. The Cardinal’s empire embraces both the legitimate and illegal, and these people are accustomed to the curious mix.
    All eyes are focused on the pair at the center of the room. Ford Tassosits in The Cardinal’s vacated chair, stony face impassive, right arm slung lifelessly across his waist. Ron Pena circles him like a lawyer, gesturing expansively, a picture of youthful arrogance and strength, berating the old man.
    “We know how important you were to Dorak and Raimi,” Pena barks, “but you’re a cripple now. We can’t live in the past. You’re not fit to walk, never mind run a corporation like this. Stand down, for fuck’s sake, and let those of us who know what we’re doing take command. You’re a joke. The only reason you haven’t been attacked is that all our rivals are falling over laughing.”
    Tasso sighs an old man’s sigh and shakes his head meekly. The right side of his face is a stiff mask—paralyzed from the stroke—and the eye there rests dead in its socket. “You’re right,” he mutters, his voice a slurred imitation of what it used to be. “I thought I was helping, but I see now it was an old fart’s folly. I wasn’t a man to lead in my prime, so I’m hardly fit for