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‘No. We didn’t rob a bank. We just won’t be able to make large purchases at licensed vendors without drawing attention.’

‘R-right...’

‘We could have stolen from Rofal’s gun running business,’ said Garovel, ‘or his car theft ring, but money doesn’t change hands nearly as often in those. And stealing from the prostitution business would have probably done more harm to the prostitutes than to Rofal.’

‘But what if, uh... Rofal tracks the money himself?’

‘Hmm. Fair point. You should stop and check for devices.’

‘Alright.’ He found an alley and put the bags down to search them all. Stacks of troas filled each, more money than Hector had ever seen in his life. A single-troa note was a blue-and-white paper bill with the bearded face of King Martinus I at the center. His great granddaughter currently wore the crown. ‘I’m not seeing anything that looks like a tracking device...’

‘Good. Store the money somewhere away from your house, just to be safe.’

‘Okay.’

‘Ponytail is finally leaving. I’m in pursuit.’


Chapter Eight: ‘Where an Aberration doth grow...’
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Beneath the city, below the pipes and sewers and miles of cable, lay the mansion. Old wood and cold stone sat stark against the lamplight along the path to the entrance. Its turreted roof bore a pillar at the center which led up into Brighton, but the elevator therein was reserved for the Rofal family. Jeremiah Colt had to use an entrance hidden beneath a liquor store, a staircase into a lift the size of a broom closet.

The guards at the entrance stood upon his arrival and searched him, relieving him of his firearm and three knives.