I was back at Marco’s place the next day to pay out the rest of the contract. He was already spying on the street through a small gap in the curtains when I arrived. The door was unlocked, so I slipped inside when nobody was looking and found him sitting on a chair next to the front window.

“I’ve got the rest of the money right here. I trust that you’ll properly dispense it to your men for the job?”

“Sure. I’m not burning my bridges just yet.”

It certainly did not look as if he was planning on sticking around though. Despite having been in the house for some time, he had left it entirely bare of personal belongings and took little care in keeping it clean. There was no realistic prospect of Marco being able to stay in Walser now that he was a fugitive. He would likely have to flee back to his parent’s homeland and keep a low profile for once.

That was one quirk of living in a world like this. Someone could commit a horrible crime and disappear the next day, fleeing across borders and fading into a fresh community with a new name and story. Extradition treaties were as old as the states that bartered using them – but they were essentially powerless when the surveillance state was not sufficiently advanced.

Marco stared at me while I hefted the second suitcase of cash onto the table. He was trying to assess what I was thinking in that moment. I could tell that he was of two minds about this arrangement, even if he wasn’t willing to turn down a huge payday for the hunch he had.

“I saw the news. It’s on every front page.”

“What news would that be?”

“Welt’s dead. Wasn’t that why you organized that show last night?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that I was the one responsible for shooting Welt.”

Marco glared at me, “You did then. You were the one who finished him off.”

It was generally considered bad form by professional fixers and crooks to ask these types of questions unless it was a dick-measuring contest. Marco already knew that I was willing to get my hands dirty to get my way. I had nothing to gain from telling Marco any more information than he needed to know. I kept my lips sealed and turned to face him with my arms crossed.

“Are there any other matters to speak of? Did anyone get killed?”

Marco was disquieted by my changing the subject, “No. One idiot got injured by smashing a window and cutting his arm, but they all got away before they could catch them.”

I smiled, “Then there’s no need to look so glum. Everyone’s a winner! You and your partners get paid handsomely, Welt’s plans for Walserian domination have gone down in flames, his victims have their retribution, and you’re free to do as you like.”

“Do as I like? I’m a wanted man. Unless I want to spend the rest of my days being hunted like a dog, I’ll have to leave Walser. This is the only home I’ve ever known.”

“Not to be harsh – but that is the risk you run in this line of business. I’m certain that my money will go far in finding you a new place to reside, and that is preferable to the alternative of staying here. Welt might be gone, but I imagine the sentencing for your crimes will be harsh.”

“I’m gallows bound. I’m more than aware of that.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and stretched out to his full height. He walked to the table and unclipped the front, quickly rifling through the stacks of paper bills to make sure that they were all legitimate and denoted as promised.

“I’m surprised you haven’t turned me into the police yet and gotten your money back.”

“I am not so foolish as to incriminate myself to save some money, Marco. As I said – my father would sooner wipe his bottom with those notes than ever find something worthy of spending them on. He won’t notice it’s missing.”

“It’s not about the money. It’s the morality of it all.”

I laughed so hard that it made him jump from its volume and abruptness. It bounced from wall to wall and echoed in his ears like a warning siren.

“Morality? You should find a new career as a comedian. When have I ever given you the impression that I care one bit about what’s moral or not? The only standard I hold myself by is the one I set. I care little for the judgement of others, nor am I willing to proclaim my superiority over you. My hands are every bit as bloody as yours.”

Marco tensed. I pulled my pistol from the inside of my jacket and pointed it at him.

“Shit!”

I pulled the trigger. A loud click rang across the table.

Marco flinched.

“It’s not loaded.”

He gritted his teeth and scowled at me, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Let’s cut to the heart of the matter here. You’re most concerned about me turning you in, or the reverse occurring, and me attempting to kill you to prevent that from happening.”

Marco slammed the trunk shut, “And?”

“I could have done that just now. I could have shot you and left with my money, and nobody would ever find out it was me. I am simply demonstrating the absurdity of the situation. Keeping the peace is best for both of us. I won’t stop you from leaving – but I won’t stand for you backstabbing me on the way out.”

It was a threat and a demonstration. Marco was not to be trusted now that our contract was complete. He could do any number of things to try and screw me over. I showed him that I could kill him whenever I pleased. It only took a momentary lapse of concentration for it to end.

“Don’t screw with me.”

“I’m not. The most valuable possession you have isn’t that trunk, it’s your life. You only get one - and it’ll be over before you realize it. Don’t waste it.”

I wasn’t going to kill Marco. He still had to hand out the rest of the payment to his underlings for the good work, and I was always a firm believer that one should be rewarded appropriately for their labour. Not to mention what a shitstorm it would be to have the entire criminal underworld gunning for me for failing to pay up.

I hovered by the door with one foot already across the threshold, “That is all I have to say on the matter. It would be best that we never meet in person again, and I suppose that will be easy given your status as a wanted man.”

“Yes. I’m not staying here for long.”

“Then I won’t waste any of your time. Enjoy the money.”

With that, I closed the door behind me and started to head back down the street. I happened to cross paths with Benny, the man who Marco assigned to one of the districts, and he gave me a faint wave before discovering that I was not interested in returning the favour. I marched past without sparing a second glance.

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Marco was still licking his wounds and counting his wads of cash when Benny pushed through the door. Marco was convinced that Maria had changed her mind and returned to kill him, but his paranoia was unfounded.

Benny frowned, “You’re on edge today. What’s going on?”

“Can you blame me? This is going to be my last week living in Walser. I have to leave everything behind and move on. I said I would not get sentimental about it, but it pains me to leave behind my connections with people like you. A trusted hand is a rare find these days.”

“Well, I get not wanting to go back into that shithole prison, and there was that attack that ruined your old house...”

Benny was not the brightest bulb around, so he often missed the finer details of what he was speaking about with Marco. He would stumble headfirst into emotionally fraught territory without thinking, or forget to push further when Marco was hiding a problem from him.

“That trunk, did Maria hand over the rest of the money?”

“She did.”

“That’s funny. I saw her walking down the street just now.”

Marco shook his head, “I don’t want to deal with her ever again, and I won’t have to once I move out of here. There is something horribly wrong with her.”

“I wasn’t on that job, but isn’t she the one who intervened at the museum? That was her uncle you were trying to wack.”

“I don’t know what happened to create a person like that. She’s only a teenager, but she runs around gunning down whoever she pleases, burns down buildings, and hires criminals like us to help do her dirty work.”

Benny shrugged, “Nobles.”

“You can’t assume that all nobles are bloodthirsty killers. It’s an unhelpful answer.”

Nobles had the incentive to use violence to get their way – but Marco was usually the one being paid to make that happen. He had never encountered someone in high society who was willing to actively become an involved party in the execution of the job. There was more to this that he couldn’t see.

Regardless of his feelings, there was nothing more to do. He was one of the most wanted men in the nation and his window of opportunity to escape would not last forever. The instability that was now ongoing because of Welt’s coup presented the perfect chance for him to buy a ticket on the nearest seafaring vessel or continental train and fly the coop.

Getting involved with Maria felt like a bad omen. He could ponder the answers in his own time, far away from here, where she couldn’t track him down and make good on that promise from earlier.

“Why not sell her out to whoever comes knocking? I bet those monarchists would pay good money for information about who’s messing with ‘em.”

“Sell her out? Ever since I got involved with the Church Street gang they’ve been trying to murder me. They’re not going to stand there and let me speak. They’re going to put a bullet in my head the first chance they get. I’ve been burned three times now. I’m not sticking around to get burned again.”

“Really? You always have a hard time turning down a messy job when the money’s good.”

“They might be messy but I’m still the one in control. They want to eliminate the criminal element in Walser completely. It’ll be heavy-handed policing and secret death squads before you know it. They are not interested in using us to get the job done.”

The incident at the prison was the final nail in the coffin for Marco. Staying in Walser at this point was suicide. At the present moment, he was being pursued by the monarchists for interfering with their crime-reduction plans and as a means to further that goal by removing one of the most infamous professional criminals in the country.

Oddly it was Maria who struck him as the bigger problem. Not only did she know where his safehouse was, but she was savvy to a lot of information that he wasn’t comfortable sharing. Nobles were stupid and vain, so what kind of maniac did she have to be to engage so openly in his line of business? Combining influence, money and killer instinct was a dangerous mixture.

He was getting out. It was time to quit while he was ahead. He had the cash to move away and start over somewhere new, even after the police shuttered his account with the local bank and raided his house to steal what he was keeping hidden under the floorboards. That was why he split up his ill-gotten gains between several hiding places, including entirely different houses bought under fake names and identities.

It would be a pain to set all of this up again. Marco was not certain if he would return to a life of crime in his new home. Getting in on the bottom floor with the resident criminals could be difficult, and it wasn’t worth it if they didn’t pay good rates for the blood, sweat and tears.

“If you’re crazy enough to try and let them know, then I cannot stop you. I wouldn’t advise doing it.”

Benny never listened to him though. Marco was a touch worried about what he was going to do when he wasn’t around to act like a voice of reason. There was no honour among thieves, but he and Benny had a closer relationship than most. They were friends, as much as they could be when so much money was on the line. It was natural to think about the worst-case scenario where someone in on the scheme tried to take more than their cut and leave the others in the hands of the police.

Benny made a strange noise using his lips, “I’m not going to do that. Where would I even start? A schlub like me isn’t getting in touch with the puppet masters behind the scenes anyway. They’re probably all meeting in secret in those gentlemen’s clubs, or in a nice, comfy mansion out in the countryside. Being a noble must be nice.”

“They’re a group of cutthroats all the same,” Marco grumbled, “They express it differently to the likes of us – but they’re not better for it. The kids aren’t spared from that either. They’re all fighting for every scrap they can get from the moment they’re born.”

Marco had rather fond memories of his childhood, growing up in a tight-knit community and not having to worry about where his next pay packet was coming from. That was a long time ago though, and it felt like an entire lifetime with the Civil War dividing it in two.

“True, but I know what I’d rather be.”

“Yeah. I won’t argue with that. Not having to worry about money and comfort is worth everything in the world, isn’t it? I’m not shedding any tears for those lucky bastards.” He took out three bundles from the trunk and handed them to Benny, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“You kidding me? I’m going to drink myself and my mates under the bloody table with this.”

“Maybe the reason we’re not living the easy life is because we’re not investing in the stock market.”

“I don’t know how that shit works,” Benny shrugged while shoving it all into his ill-fitting coat, “And I’m not learning now. Too old for it.”

Marco looked into the trunk with a furrowed brow, “I’m going to have to distribute all of this before I go. Are you going to see Jack soon?”

“Aye. You want me to take his boys’ share?”

“I’ll need to find something to put it in first. Give me a second.”

Marco wandered away to find something appropriate to put the money into so that Benny could take it without attracting attention. It had been so long since he visited this house that he wasn’t sure what was available. There was a dusty old revolver left alone and forlorn in the bedside cabinet, and some spare clothes, but nothing in the way of living conveniences.

There was one personal item hidden in the house. It was an old portrait of his mother and father. It was rather small and the details were difficult to make out, but he recalled that his mother liked to place it above the fireplace. He dusted it off and stared at it for a moment, before putting it down on the bed for later. Maybe he’d take it with him when he moved out of Walser.

He eventually found an empty wooden crate. He tucked it under his arm and headed back down to the ground floor where Benny was still waiting, but he was now sitting next to the window with a lit cigar in his mouth.

“Use this. It’ll make you look like a merchant.”

“I wish there was a way I could get you to stick around though. We’ve been working together for so long and all, and I’m never going to find good jobs like you do.”

“You’ve learnt enough from me to manage that by now. I’d prefer to stay in Walser too – but I don’t have a choice. The police are going to come down on me like a pallet of bricks once the unrest is settled.”

“Shame. Let’s make the most of it and burn through the rest of your beer before you go.”

Marco was expecting him to say that. He shook his head and wandered over to his stash, finding a pair of clean glasses and rifling through the selection. Benny always drank beer and nothing else, so his whiskey and scotch were safe for now.

The next several hours were spent getting loaded with everything left in the cabinet and regaling his ‘friend’ with every story he could think of. From the earliest jobs he performed to get into the Walserian underworld, to polishing his skills and becoming a feared killer-for-hire, no stone was left unturned. Many of those stories he had never told to anyone, not even Benny.

All he was left with in the end was a collection of empty bottles and a forlorn sensation of having lost his home. Nobody else would agree with having him around given his numerous crimes, but even criminals had emotional attachments to the places they lived.

The party had to end eventually. Marco always expected it to be at gunpoint though. He put the empty glasses down on the counter in the kitchen and returned to find Benny already blacked out and sleeping on his couch. The money would have to wait until tomorrow to be delivered.

Perhaps a fresh start was for the best. No more worrying about pleasing gang bosses or navigating complicated interpersonal relationships and long-running grudges. How long would it take for him to get back into trouble again? It wasn’t as if he was skilled at anything outside of committing crimes and murdering people, and he was too old and didn’t have the background to become a salaried soldier.

The days of walking up to the nearest base and being handed a gun were over. Most nations were moving over to a professional standing army model instead. A single well-trained man could be as effective as twenty untrained peers. That was tomorrow’s Marco’s problem, not the drunken man stumbling up the stairs.

It was always tomorrow’s problem.