Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

Just then Wing poked his head in. “Hey, Boss, you got some guy out here wants to see you.”

“He’ll have to wait. We’re in conference.” Boss said. That made the decision for him. Wing was already here. He should stay and help with the dealer.

“Said it’d just take a second.”

“What’s he want?” Boss asked Wing.

“To see you, I reckon.”

Boss dropped his gaze ever so slightly and clenched his jaw just a bit more. “Yeah, I figured that part. But what for? He selling or buying?” he asked.

“Beats me, Boss. Just said he had a message.”

“Not the kind where he walks in and tries to kill me.”

“Nah, Boss, he ain’t gonna hurt nobody.” Wing chuckled. “He’s all old and beat-up lookin’. Beats all I ever seen. Got a blindfold and everything.”

Boss scratched between his eyes with his thumb knuckle, but then it occurred to him that this might be just what he needed. A good distraction, an excuse to bring in both his guys. Just had to be careful not to give anything away. “You won’t mind I hope. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Your house,” the dealer said. “Just don’t jerk.”

“Alright,” Boss said, and then added a heavy sigh, like he was doing everyone a favor. “Bring him in, but stay on him. Hey, and while you’re at it, get Cauld in here so we can pay this man.”

Wing scrunched up his face for a second, clearly trying to work out why Cauld would have anything to do with paying anybody, but then he figured it out. Thankfully the dealer was too busy watching Boss.

“Sure, Boss. What’s the amount?” Wing asked.

“One-ninety.”

Wing whistled, and then looked the girl up and down. “Yeah, I guess I could see that. Usual package or secure?”

“Secure.” It was their internal code: The usual package was for when someone might have some use alive. Secure meant drop the hit fast and hard. Wing nodded and disappeared.

Boss raised his hands in mock exasperation. “Sorry for this. I have at times been overly kind to beggars. Guess word gets around.” It was true. Boss tried to help the less fortunate out when he could. Just hadn’t been able to all that much of late. The dealer didn’t respond, except that he pulled on the leash and drew the girl closer.

A moment later, an older man shuffled through the door, his hand partially outstretched and head slightly bowed. Wing and Cauld followed him in. The dealer, wily as he was, slid over — slick as oil — and put his back to the wall, his eyes on the three arrivals while he kept the girl between him and Boss.

Wing trailed close to the old man and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting too close to Boss. Cauld was a pure professional. He rolled in casually with a case in his hands and took up a spot next to Boss, one that just happened to have a real good angle on the dealer.

“You wanna handle the pay first, Boss?” Cauld asked.

“Best to keep that private, I’d think?” Boss answered, looking at the dealer.

“Fine that,” the dealer said, his eyes roving smoothly between Boss, Cauld, and Wing.

The old man hadn’t raised his head or stirred since Wing had stopped him in place. He just stood there, head bowed, hands folded in front of himself — like a child waiting to be punished. His hair was long and wild, a dirty grey, his face dusted with a wispy matted beard. He really did look pathetic, and Boss thought for a moment it might be kindest to just put him down. But Boss was a businessman, not a murderer.

“We’re in the middle of something here, old man. What’s the message?”

The beggar didn’t raise his head or move at all, but his voice came out stronger than Boss expected. “An old friend seeks you.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

The old man was silent long enough that Boss opened his mouth to prompt him again. The old man drew a breath and said, “You were an agent once. A man of noble purpose and profession.”

Boss snorted. “I was an agent, yeah. Don’t know about all that other.” He didn’t care for how often that’d been mentioned today. Boss briefly wondered if maybe the dealer and this old guy were partners in something. The dealer was on edge, though. If they were in on it together, he was doing a masterful job of acting.

“You have strayed.”

“Livin’ll do that to a man. Do I know you?” Boss asked.

“You knew me once. Long ago.”

“Yeah? What’s your name?”

“Today,” the old man said, “I am Honor.”

Boss couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But Boss’s name was Boss, so he didn’t have much reason to doubt it. Still, it sounded funny, and so he let out a little non-committal chuckle that he hoped could be taken as either polite amusement, or simple acknowledgment. There was a too-long moment of silence afterwards.

“Look here,” the dealer finally said, “clocks is spendies. Sum me out and chat after, or me and merch is scoots.”

Boss was still trying to work out whether there was some connection between the two degenerates that stood before him — when all of a sudden the old man moved all easy and casual, like he was stretching after a nap. But in the movement he somehow covered the distance to the dealer and in the same motion, he swept his hand out in a graceful arc.

Maybe he touched the dealer; Boss couldn’t tell exactly what happened. He just saw the dealer flinch. And just as smooth, the old man returned to his spot as calmly. And even as if he’d never moved at all, with his hands folded in front of him again. It’d all happened in less time than it took Boss to inhale. Everybody just stood there stunned for a second.

Then the dealer made a little gurgle, and he let go of the leash and reached up to his neck with both hands, and all of a sudden it looked like he was trying to tie a crimson silk neckerchief on, the way his hands were going, and all the red. Boss’s brain wouldn’t process what he was seeing because he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. The dealer fell on his knees and gurgled some more, and Wing said something that Boss didn’t quite catch.

The old man was as still as if he’d turned to stone, even when the dealer went on over and fell, and leaked out everywhere. Standing there with his hands in front of him. But now Boss saw the blade; some sort of knife, though he had no idea where it’d come from.

“What’d you do?” Boss heard himself say. The old man didn’t answer. Wing reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and Boss could’ve told him that was a bad idea if he’d just asked. It looked like the old man just kind of shrugged and brushed Wing’s hand, but somehow the next thing anyone knew, the old man had Wing’s hand flipped over palm up and bent the wrong way back, and Wing was howling like a woman with her hair on fire.

A sudden motion caught Boss’s attention, and he saw Cauld had pulled out his little pocket popper, and almost had it aimed — when the old man flicked his other hand out. The knife came sliding out — flying straight like a dart — and stuck right in the middle of Cauld’s chest. Cauld stumbled back, and tried to get the pistol up anyway, but he acted like it’d gotten too heavy all of a sudden.

Boss looked back in time to see the old man slam a fist into Wing’s throat. Wing choked up and stopped screaming then. The girl was just standing there, watching the whole thing happen, and Boss knew if he pulled the trigger, he was going to hit her and probably Wing too. But at that point she didn’t seem so valuable anymore, and Wing was probably dying anyway. He reached under the desk and grabbed for the grip of his short-barreled two-gun.

The old man took a funny little half-turn and kind of windmilled like he was doing a dance, and Boss realized the old man had produced a sword from somewhere and was bringing it down in a surprisingly fluid arc. He’d obviously misjudged the distance, though, and was coming down well short of his target. Boss almost felt sorry for him as he squeezed the trigger. Almost.