Killing a policeman was always a bad idea, Loach knew. The police force took it personally and every officer in the city would make it their mission to catch the perpetrator. Loach had always taken very great care to avoid harm to law enforcement officers, therefore, but if it was absolutely necessary to kill one, as seemed to be the case now, there were ways to lessen the risk and the most important one was to commit the act as far away from your home as possible.

He decided to look for a victim in a part of the city that, for some reason he'd been unable to determine, was called The Nibblings. It was pretty much the most run down, most crime ridden part of the city, a place in which a dead policeman could be attributed to pretty much any of the unfortunates who had no choice but to live there. The only trouble Loach could foresee was that the police might not enter such an area at all, but if that proved to be the case he could easily carry out some kind of minor crime nearby, get a policeman chasing him and lead him there.

What was certain was that the police would be going around in pairs there, so he would either have to kill two of them or find a way to separate them before doing the deed. Both carried risks, though, and that bothered him. Back in his own time he'd occasionally had to take great risks along the way. You didn't rise to the top of a crime syndicate by playing it safe, but there were necessary risks and there were unnecessary risks. This risk was completely unnecessary and Loach felt a burning resentment towards Machine for making him do it. He understood the man's caution, of course. The police must have tried to plant undercover agents in Badger's operation from time to time and it was natural for Machine to suspect him, but there had to be better ways than this.

Loach sighed. If it had to be then it had to be. Keep your eyes on the prize. Even with his head phone in flight mode it could still detect the radio transmissions from the machines in space, carrying who knows what information between them. Was it just impersonal data, he wondered, or were there personal messages mixed in with it? Machines wishing each other well, asking after each others health, maybe sharing the machine equivalent of amusing cat videos. Whatever it was, Loach saw it as the promise of a better life. Life with power such as no other man had ever known. Power he would have to share with Randall, of course. To begin with. at least.

The road to The Nibblings passed through a busy street market. Dozens of stalls packed the street, each one piled high with fruit, vegetables, sheets, carpets and cheap household items beaten from sheets of copper or hand carved from wood. The crowds of shoppers arguing loudly about prices made a deafening din as Loach squeezed his way through. At first he was simply trying to get past and go on his way, but then a vegetable stall caught his eye and he paused, looking at a canvas sack full of onions. The sack was just the right size to keep a man's head in, and the onions gave him the excuse he needed to be carrying it. A small piece of blackboard had a price written in chalk. Six pence.

"Best onions in the city," said the vendor, seeing him looking at it. "Not even the Mayor himself has better."

Loach wanted the bag, but it would have been suspicious if he hadn't played the game and so he picked up one of the onions and frowned at it, rolling it between his fingers. "I'll give you two pennies for the lot," he said.

The vendor laughed as if Loach was joking, but then he coloured with anger as he realised he was serious. "Sixpence is a bargain!" he declared. "I normally ask twice as much for them."

"So why are you only asking six pennies today?" asked Loach. His heart wasn't really in it, though. He just wanted to grab the bag and be on his way. He ended up paying the six pennies, therefore, and strode away as the vendor switched his attention to another potential customer.

The Nibblings was dark even in the full light of day. The buildings crowded close to each other, almost giving the impression of walking through a deep forest. A mangy dog was sniffing around at a pile of filthy rags that then moved, revealing itself to be a passed out drunkard lying in the gutter. The dog was licking up a pool of vomit. Loach passed him by with a grimace of disgust.

He spent the rest of the morning walking the streets of the wretched slum district, never once seeing a policeman. Everyone he saw had a feral look in his eyes and a weapon hanging from his belt. Everyone paused whatever they were doing to watch him carefully as he passed by, a look of hostility that told him that he was unwelcome here. An outsider. He guessed that if he lingered here too long it would only be a matter of time before he was confronted by a large mob, too many even for his combat app to handle. They would batter him to death, strip his body of everything he owned and leave him lying in the gutter for the dogs and the rats. As the sun reached noon above him, therefore, he decided that he'd been pushing his luck long enough and made his way back to one of the main streets running from one of the city gates to the city centre.

His time in The Nibblings hadn't been wasted, though. He'd spotted an area that even the locals seemed to stay away from. An ancient building so weathered and rotten that it looked as if it could collapse at any time. That would make it a good place to lure his victim. No witnesses. He made sure his head phone had a good record of its location, therefore, and then went to look for policemen elsewhere.

He found a couple strolling along the main street. They were twirling their batons by their leather straps as they plodded along at an amiable gait, perfectly in step with each other, along the narrow raised walkway by the road's edge. Loach walked past them along the other side of the street, looking them over out of the corner of his eye. Getting their measure. One of them looked to be in his thirties, fit and in shape, while the other was older. Fifty at least by the look of him with a large belly hanging over his belt and sagging jowels on either side of his mouth. There was a hard look on his face, though, that made Loach think that he might be the more dangerous of the two men. Decades of experience on the street, well familiar with every trick in the book. There was a look in his eye that told Loach that he would be vicious and unforgiving with any man who crossed him and that he wouldn't be handicapped by any civilised rules of combat. He looked fat, but it took a lot of muscle to move that much weight. He might we'll be amazingly strong. That was what decided it for Loach. This was not a man he dared leave alive with a grudge against him. His was the head he would take.

They were heading away from the Nibblings. He had to act quickly before they got too far away from it. He activated his combat app, then crossed the street to a spot just a little ahead of them so they would be walking towards him. Then he turned to face them and began walking as if the way ahead of him were completely empty.

The fat policeman was on his guard almost instantly. He knew trouble when he saw it and he gave a twitch of his hand that brought his truncheon up so that he was holding it by the leather wrapped grip, instantly ready to use. The truncheon had been almost a joke weapon in the twenty first century, featuring in cartoon caricatures of policemen, but Loach knew how deadly it could be in the hands of a man who knew how to use it. One firm blow could break bones or cave in the skull, killing instantly. Nevertheless it was the other policeman, the younger, less alert one, that Loach would have to attack first, before he got a good enough look at his face to be able to identify him. That would give the fat policeman time for a free swing at him and Loach braced himself to ward it off.

Something in the fat policeman's manner told his younger companion that something was wrong, and he brought his wandering attention back to the man who'd suddenly appeared in front of him, just in time for Loach's fist to hit him under the jaw with just the right amount of force to render him unconscious. Then, in a continuation of the same movement, he slammed his shoulder into the fat policeman, knocking him to the ground. Both policemen fell and Loach jumped over them, ready to sprint off down the road.

He could easily have lost them both and escaped, but that wasn't what he wanted. He pretended to trip, therefore, falling to the ground, which gave the fat policeman time to climb back to his feet. One glance at his companion was enough to tell him that he was alive and in no immediate need of medical attention, and then he turned a furious red face towards Loach. "Stop there!" he demanded in a thunderously deep voice. "You're under arrest!"

Loach jumped back to his feet and ran, pretending to have a limp to allow the policeman to keep up with him. Several bystanders were stopping to watch. One, right in front of Loach, jumped into the street to keep from being bowled over by him. Behind him, the policeman had produced a whistle and was blowing on it. Loach guessed it was a signal to any other policemen nearby to come to his assistance.

Loach turned left down the first side street he came to, almost running headfirst into a woman weighed down by two bags of groceries in her walnut brown, deeply veined hands. Loach jumped sideways into the street to avoid her, almost into the path of a horse and carriage. The horse reared up in alarm and the driver pulled sharply on the reins to keep it under control. "Ere!" he cried angrily. "What's your game?"

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Loach paused long enough to look back and was relieved to see the policeman still chasing after him, red faced, looking almost comical as his belly bounced up and down with every step. He was making better speed than Loach had expected, though, and there was fury in his eyes as they fixed on the man ahead of him. Loach began running again, still pretending to limp. The Nibblings were just a couple of streets further on.

From a side street about a hundred metres ahead of him two more policemen suddenly appeared. Young, fit and healthy. Probably easily able to catch Loach in a chase. They paused, looked this way and that, and one of them saw Loach being chased by the fat policeman. He punched the other in the arm to get his attention and pointed, and then they were both running towards him, blocking his escape. Loach cursed under his breath and ran through the first door he came to, a public laundry. Inside, half a dozen women were scrubbing sheets and clothes on washing boards in between soaking them in bowls of soapy water. They looked up in alarm as Loach burst in, nearly tripping over one of the bowls and making it spill water across the tiled floor.

Loach flew across the room, through the door into the next room which contained piles of folded blankets and out through another door into a back alley almost impassable with clothes and blankets hanging from clothes lines. Loach ran straight into the first one like a fly into a spider's web. He ducked under it and under the ones that followed getting his head and arms soaked with wet cloth. He heard shrieks behind him and guessed that the fat policemen was following him through the laundry room, further disturbing the women. A moment later his round, red head emerged from the doorway, saw Loach and he resumed the chase.

The other two policemen suddenly appeared from another doorway ahead of him, having cut through another building. Loach cursed again. There was no choice now, he would have to fight all three of them. He snatched a wet shirt from the nearest washing line and pulled it over his head. He could see through the wet fabric, but it would hopefully hide his face well enough that any of the policemen who got away would be unable to identify him.

The two younger policemen ran at him with their truncheons and Loach set his combat app to its maximum level of aggression. As soon as the nearest was within range he dropped the sack of onions and threw himself at him. They both fell to the ground, Loach grabbed his wrist and twisted. The man screamed as the bones were dislocated and he dropped his truncheon. Loach snatched it up and raised it just in time to block a downward swing from the other man's weapon. Then he aimed a blow at the man's knee hard enough to dislocate the kneecap. His scream was added to the cries the other man were making and he dropped to the ground.

He turned to see where the fat policeman was, just in time for thick, pudgy fingers to close around his wrist. He squeezed, and this time it was Loach who cried out in pain. The fat policeman's other hand reached up to grab the shirt wrapped around his head and tore it away. Loach looked up to see deep sunken piggy eyes glaring furiously into his. "Got you now, boy!" the fat policeman declared with satisfaction. "Got you now..."

Loach punched the other man's stomach with all his strength, but the thick, blubbery flesh just absorbed the blow. The fat policeman then threw Loach against the wall and pinned his arm up behind his back with enough force to almost dislocate the elbow. The man was terrifyingly strong! Loach was almost helpless in his grasp, and for the first time in years he found himself afraid of another man. Even with the combat app, Loach was physically outmatched by him. All the skill in the world, it seemed, was no match for sheer physical strength.

No! thought Loach, summoning fury to drive away the fear. I don't accept that! I can beat him! I can beat anyone! His combat app was already calculating several options and he chose the first without taking the time to see what it was. He pulled the knife from his belt with his free hand and slashed back with it, a move he wouldn't normally have been able to do with his non dominant hand. The combat app was ambidextrous, though, and the knife penetrator deeply into the policeman's groin where there were no layers to fat to protect him.

The policeman howled with pain and Loach pulled himself free from his grasp. Loach transferred the knife to his right hand and slashed it against the other man's throat. Blood sprayed out and Loach jumped to the side to avoid being drenched with it. He felt a few hot droplets landing on his face even so. He heard a noise and turned to see one of the younger policemen, the one with the crushed wrist, running at him with his truncheon raised. Loach threw the knife. It sank up to the hilt in the man's throat and he fell with blood erupting from his mouth.

The third policeman, the one with the the dislocated kneecap, was backing away on all fours, a look of horror on his face. He fished in his belt for his whistle to call for more help. Loach sprang over and snatched it from him before he could blow it. "Please!" begged the policeman, staring up at him with hopeless despair. "Please don't kill me."

"It's nothing personal," Loach replied, not without sympathy, "but you've seen my face." The combat app took over again and Loach picked up the truncheon from where the policeman had dropped it on the floor. It was not a joke weapon, he contemplated as he felt the weight of it in his hand. Used correctly, it was deadly. He swung it and crushed the policeman's skull.

He snatched another shirt from the nearest washing line and wrapped it around his head again, just in time as fearful heads began to peep fearfully from doorways along the alleyway. Loach roared at them and they disappeared with shrieks of terror. Most of them would cower with fear until it was all over, he knew, but some of them would be running to fetch more policemen. He didn't have much time.

He pulled his knife from the other young policeman's body, then went back to where he'd dropped the sack of onions. He tipped out the onions and then went back to the fat policeman. He'd been the biggest threat, he'd earned the right to be his trophy. He cut through his neck with a few heavy chops, picked up the head by the hair and dropped it in the sack, taking care to make sure that it was upside down, the severed neck uppermost, to keep blood from dripping out of it. Then he ran off down the alley, back towards the Nibblings, to lose himself in the maze of narrow, dingy streets.

☆☆☆

Arriving back at the Halls of Valhalla, he went to the service entrance at the back, as Machine had told him to. This door also had a pair of policemen watching it from a few dozen metres away, but Loach ignored them. They would be on the lookout for people acting suspiciously so Loach strolled past them as if he was the most innocent man in the world. The policemen glanced up at him, then went back to a low voiced conversation about a bootmaker they both knew.

The service door opened to Loach's knock and a man in a neat white tunic peered suspiciously out at him. "What?" he demanded.

"I've got something for Machine," Loach told him.

"What?"

Loach opened the bag to show him. The man peered in, then staggered back and stared up at him with a white face. "Shall I just leave this with you?" asked Loach.

"No, no," The man opened the door wide and Loach went in. He saw the man in the white tunic begin to glance towards the policemen, but he stopped himself just in time and closed the door behind the former mob boss. "Machine's in the club," he told Loach. "If you'll wait in the storeroom I'll go tell him you're here."

He gestured towards a door and Loach went through, finding himself in a large room most of which was taken up with barrels and boxes. He sat on one of the boxes and waited. Five minutes later the door opened again and Machine entered, a look of fury on his face. He was followed by two henchmen in neat uniforms who stared at Loach appraisingly, their faces forming sneers of contempt as they imagined how easy it would be to pound him into a bloody smear.

"What in the name of VIX have you done?" demanded Machine, striding forward to glare into Loach's face, his hands clenched into fists by his side. "That ruckus behind Hollow Street, that was you?"

"You told me to bring you the head of a policeman." Loach upended the bag and allowed the head to fall out at the other man's feet.

"You weren't supposed to actually do it! You were supposed to push off and get lost!"

"Shit!" said one of the henchmen, staring down at the head. "That looks like Thunderguts!" He stared at Loach, this time with fear on his face. "You took down Thunderguts? He was one of the toughest men in the city!"

"If you say so," replied Loach. "So, do I get the job?"

"Every Nick in the city'll be out to get you! If you lead 'em back here..."

"I was careful. I left no witnesses."

"You killed them! You killed three Nicks!"

"Like I said, no witnesses."

"VIX! I can't believe you did this! What were you thinking of?"

"I came here for a job. You told me to bring you the head of a policeman, to prove I wasn't a spy."

Machine ran a hand across his face. "Well, I guess you proved that." He took a deep breath. "So, what do you see yourself doing for us?"

"I solve problems."

"What kind of problems?"

Loach remembered a line from a movie he'd seen once. "Perhaps I should say, I'm a problem eliminator."

"I see."

"With discretion guaranteed."

Machine gave a mocking laugh and pointed to the head lying at his feet. "You call that discrete?"

"I call that my resumé." Machine stared blankly at him. "The proof I can do the job," Loach added.

"Why did you leave your last place of employmemt?"

"They were idiots. It was only a matter of time before the police caught them. I didn't want to get caught with them."

"Who were they?"

"Discretion. Remember?"

Machine nodded. He looked back down at the head at his feet. "Perhaps we could find a use for a man of your particular skills. Where are you staying?"

"I haven't found a place yet."

"We have some guest rooms here, at the club. You can be our guest here while I talk to Mister Badger. Eric, why don't you show him the way?" He looked Loach up and down, frowning. "And find him some decent clothes to wear, will you?"

The henchman nodded and beckoned for Loach to follow him out of the room.