Page 69

Colt at once remembered why he loathed this person. “Whose hand is that?”

“Oh, do you want it? I was thinking about giving it to you, actually. I have the other one, as well.”

It was a small hand, thin fingers with long nails and pallid skin, preserved, likely taken from a corpse. “Who does it belong to?" he said, even less patient now.

“The girl you killed. Melissa Mallory.”

Colt ground his teeth and glowered. “Why do you have it?”

Geoffrey tilted his head, confused. “Because I wanted it, obviously. It makes a nice souvenir, don’t you think?”

“How did you even get it? You’re not allowed out of the building.”

“That would be telling.”

“A year ago, I would have killed you where you stood for this.”

Geoffrey smiled, and his eyes widened manically. Eagerly. “Perhaps we are not as similar as I thought, Mr. Colt. But then, I can’t say I am disappointed. This may be even better.”

“And people think I’m psychotic.”

“You should be glad,” said Geoffrey. “I wouldn’t let you talk to me that way if I did not like you, Mr. Colt.”

“I’m not afraid of your uncle, idiot.”

“Oh, I know. Honestly, that is the most annoying thing about being his nephew. Everyone thinks they should be afraid of him. It tries my patience, sometimes. People are afraid of you, though, aren’t they? How do you manage that, exactly?”

“Get the fuck away from me before I break both your legs and throw you in your uncle’s pool.”

“Intimidation. Charming. I’ll keep that in mind.” Surprisingly, he actually left Colt alone. The other people in the hallway were quick to get out of Geoffrey’s way.

Page 68

Colt didn’t much care for the way Rofal’s men looked at him as he passed them in the hall. Whenever he caught one staring, he would meet their gaze evenly until they averted their eyes. Geoffrey was a different story, however.

“Mr. Colt! I was hoping to see you!” Geoffrey was a strange creature. Not yet a grown man, but he often wore tailored black suits and ties with even blacker undershirts. His dark hair was always sharply cut and combed, and his pointed eyebrows made him look perpetually and indignantly attentive.

Colt wondered if ignoring him would make him go away.

“I heard you killed five people the other day,” said Geoffrey. “How was it? Did they scream a lot?”

He figured not. “No. They didn’t even know what happened.”

“Ah. I see. Efficiency. That’s less fun, but I can appreciate the preference.”

Colt squinted at him as they walked. “What do you want, kid?”

Geoffrey’s brow receded a little. “Only to get to know you better, Mr. Colt. I like you. We’re kindred spirits, I feel. You’re not like the dullards my uncle usually has working for him.”

“The dullards I used to make a habit of killing, you mean.”

Geoffrey’s smile was full of teeth. “My uncle says you’re a true savage.”

“You should hear what he says about you.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“That you’re an irreverent pain in the ass with no mind for the consequences of your actions.”

Geoffrey laughed. “He worries too much. Still doesn’t trust me to handle my own affairs. Well, he’s only human, I suppose.”

It was then that Colt noticed Geoffrey was carrying something.

A severed human hand.

Page 67 -- VIII.

‘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.