For Gold and Revenge

by Noah Layton

  ‘You think he will move close to the window?’

  ‘Probably not, but I really don’t want to get into a fight with him. He can overpower me easily. I’m going to try and find a different way to take him down. If I do end up getting into a fight and I can’t get to my gun, I’ll lure him to the window and you can take him out. You’ll know which one he is – he’s about seven feet tall and three-feet wide.’

  ‘Seven feet tall?!’

  ‘Okay, maybe a little shorter than that, but he’s a big guy.’

  ‘You got it. Be careful, Drake.’

  ‘Always am.’

  She kept low and leaped up expertly to the bottom of the rickety fire escape, beginning her ascent.

  I dashed across the street to the front of the building and tried the door. At first I was surprised to find that it was unlocked, but as I looked around and reminded myself of where I was, the surprise quickly vanished.

  This slum was nobody’s home. Anybody could come and go.

  Which was fortunate for somebody like me.

  I shut the door behind me quietly and found myself standing in a dank, dusty reception hall bathed in darkness. The smell of damp pervaded the walls.

  A laugh echoed through the walls from a room somewhere overhead, and an open pipe dripped into a dark puddle on the concrete in the corner.

  I crossed to the steps and began the climb up to the third floor. Along the first and second floors I glanced up the corridors, searching for any sign of life that might have come running in the event that a struggle broke out – which was pretty damn likely.

  The first was occupied by a single drunk at the very end of the corridor, slumped over on the ground and singing quietly to himself. He might have been completely asleep and just muttering in his dreams, but he wouldn’t be a problem either way. I doubted if he would even be able to make it up the stairs.

  The second-floor corridor was completely empty, and the doors to every single room were closed.

  Which just left the third.

  I climbed the steps slowly, one by one, hugging the wall and keeping my view focused on the corridor as it came into view.

  I rounded the first half of the flight of stairs, then gripped the bannister as I practically lifted my body up the rickety wooden stairs, desperate to stay quiet.

  Maybe I was being paranoid, but in a situation like this – hunting down your ex-colleague to murder him in revenge for likely having a hand in your attempted assassination – a man like me couldn’t afford to be paranoid enough.

  I creeped to the edge of the corridor where the stairwell met the hall and peeked my head around the corner.

  All was empty and quiet. Most of the doors were closed, including Wargo’s – number 319, eight doors down.

  I knew that he would be waiting in there for me unless he was sleeping, but even if he was getting some shut-eye he would be getting it lightly.

  I would need to stake out the place from close-up if I was going to have a chance of doing this.

  I started up the corridor, careful to keep my steps quiet even on the concrete beneath my feet. The floor was strewn with trash and paper which made manoeuvring all the more difficult.

  Halfway to his apartment door, the booming laugher that I had heard in the dank reception hall sounded out again. It was much louder now, coming from behind one of the doors on the right of the corridor.

  I froze up and waited as it subsided.

  There was no reaction from anywhere.

  Looks like I can afford to make a little noise.

  I picked up the pace, stopping outside of the apartment door next to Wargo’s. From outside I had seen that the window to this one had been smashed, leading me to believe that it was probably abandoned.

  There was a possibility that there some squatters residing inside, but that was the chance I was going to have to take. I needed somewhere to safely listen through the walls.

  I tried the handle and found it to be unlocked.

  Pushing the door open, I slid past it on its whining hinge and moved inside, reaching for the handle of my dagger.

  A light breeze blew in through the broken window across the way. The room comprised a single bathroom to my left that wreaked to high heaven, and a small living space scattered with more papers and pieces of trash.

  I crossed carefully to the window, making sure for definite that I didn’t have any company, and waved out to Cassandra.

  She was perched on the fire escape of the building across the street, directly opposite Wargo’s apartment. She saw me and moved the rifle slightly in my direction before lowering it and waving across to me.

  That was a good sign – she knew not to point it straight at the first thing she saw and shoot after figuring out what she was looking at.

  I pointed my thumb to my right in the direction of Wargo’s apartment.

  You see him?

  She shook her head with a frown.

  Not a thing.

  Shit. He might not have even been in there.

  But if he was, and he was being quiet about it, then he would easily get the drop on me, whether I decided to sneak in or run in guns blazing.

  I didn’t take him to be that smart, though. He wasn’t exactly an intelligent guy.

  All was quiet save for the muted breaths escaping my mouth every now and again. The silence was crushing.

  I approached the wall and pressed my ear to it. It was made of chipped and battered wood that pressed against my skin sharply.

  I waited and listened for stretching moments until there was a knock against something on the other side of the wall.

  Maybe I’m just imagining things. Sitting in a shithole like this can do that to a guy. There could be poison in the air for all I know.

  But then it sounded again. Suddenly a series of footsteps rang out, moving towards the hallway from Wargo’s room.

  I looked towards the door. It was still hanging open by a foot.

  I hopped back sharply from the wall, out of sight of the eyeline provided by the gap in the door.

  The door to Wargo’s quarters began to unlock by his command. Listening intently, I could hear four or five latches and buckles being unsecured, as well as a key turning in the lock, before the door opened.

  A figure stepped out, and the door closed. I heard the lock turning, the handle being checked to ensure that it was secure, then footsteps that moved slowly past the door and down the hallway, moving the way I had come.

  They quickly disappeared out of earshot, and silence reigned once again.

  He was gone. Wargo was a tank with legs, that much I knew; he was a few rungs short of a ladder – if you catch my drift – and I was confident that once I was inside of his quarters I would be able to hide out of sight until he returned.

  Then, when he was inside and his back was turned to me, I would cut his head clean off.

  Getting into a fight with him was the last thing that I wanted. His reputation for violence was no joke, and if I was going to survive this then I needed to execute him rather than fight him.

  I waited a little longer, making sure that he didn’t unexpectedly return as quickly as he had left.

  Minutes passed, and finally I decided to go for broke.

  I crossed silently to the door and inched it open, then stepped out and looked both ways up the corridor.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  I turned my back to the corridor and directed my attention to the door to Wargo’s quarters.

  He had locked it from the outside, which meant that all of the latches on the inside would be undone.

  All I had to deal with was the lock that had been secured with his key, and from my examination of it, it didn’t look too tough to break.

  I shoved my hand into my satchel and found my lockpicking kit.

  And in that instant, just as I unrolled it in both hands and leaned forward to examine the lock. I felt a hand quickly grab the scruff of my collar, and the press of a blade to my neck.


  I dropped the lockpicking kit to the ground with a thud.

  ‘Don’t reach for that gun.’

  Shit.

  ‘What did you say?’ I said quietly.

  ‘I said, Drake,’ Wargo repeated clearly, ‘Don’t reach for that gun.’

  I raised my hands slowly and sighed deeply, cursing myself.

  ‘I can’t believe I fucking fell for that. Fake footsteps and hiding in one of the door alcoves, right?’

  ‘Exactly. That’s your problem, Drake. You think you can profile somebody and figure out everything you know about them just by how you see them on the surface. I bet you think I’m pretty stupid, huh?’

  ‘… If I call you stupid are you going to kill me?’

  ‘You’re funny,’ Wargo laughed. ‘Pity you won’t be able to grace the world with your humour for much longer. Unlock the door for me, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  Wargo’s hand drew away from the back of my neck briefly, but the knife remained.

  I could have risked it and gone for the knife, but the blade was held too tightly to my skin. One wrong move and he would slice my jugular open.

  His hand reached forward and placed the key in my outstretched hand. I did as he said, unlocked the door, pushed it open and handed the key back to him.

  ‘Walk inside.’

  I clenched my eyes shut and moved forward. With the few footsteps required to get me inside I considered a swathe of possible exits, but all of them led me back to the knife at my neck.

  And if that wasn’t enough, I suddenly felt the uncomfortable press of another in my back.

  I was Wargo’s puppet, moving where he told me to go. If I leaned forward too far, knife in the throat. If I leaned back, knife through the spine.

  I had nowhere to go.

  How am I this fucking stupid?

  Because I had taken Wargo’s stupidity for granted. He wasn’t stupid at all.

  My ex-colleague guided me carefully into his quarters, past the bathroom and into the main living area. It was furnished with a huge bed, a desk, an armchair, a kitchen stacked with empty bottles of liquor, and a large wooden table stacked with even more empty bottles and scattered coppers.

  ‘Put your sword, your dagger and your gun down on the bed.’

  I reluctantly did as I was told, laying my weapons down one by one.

  I just prayed that he would forget to ask me about-

  ‘Empty your pockets.’

  Fuck.

  I pulled out my concealed pistol, knowing that he would find it eventually either way. After throwing it down on the bed with my other weapons, Wargo turned me around and ordered me over to the table.

  ‘Sit there,’ he commanded, ‘and don’t try anything.’

  In the meantime Wargo turned his attention to my forfeited weapons. He quickly examined them, then picked up the rifle and seated himself in the armchair at the end of the bed, resting it in his lap and aiming the barrel right at me.

  The huge figure, the small eyes, the bald head; the man sitting across from me was unmistakable.

  There was a long stretch of silence as we stared at each other, and Wargo finally laughed.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Drake.’

  ‘Wish I could say the same for you, motherfucker.’

  ‘Hahaha…’ He chuckled, ‘You’re angry. I understand. I would be too if I had cornered myself into a situation as stupid as this one. Bet you must be wondering how the you got yourself here in the first place.’

  ‘What I’m actually thinking about is the fact that you’re even talking at all.’

  ‘I’ll bet that’s something of a surprise.’

  ‘You’ve got no idea. I know you for a year and you hardly say a word, and now here you are practically reciting poetry.’

  ‘Beware the quiet man,’ Wargo said. ‘He’s always the most dangerous.’

  ‘You don’t have to be quiet for me to know that you’re dangerous. I knew that the first time I saw you kill a man. I just didn’t think somebody with habits like that would be such an eloquent speaker.’

  ‘I like to talk when it’s important. Killing isn’t important.’

  ‘You’re planning on killing me, are you?’ I said calmly. ‘What makes this instance so different from all of the other people you’ve taken down?’

  ‘Because it is interesting circumstances that have led us to this moment, with me sat across from you pointing your own gun at your face. Your death might not be important, but the circumstances surrounding it are very interesting.’

  ‘If you’re going to kill me just go ahead and do it. You know why I came here.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘To put the barrel of that gun to the back of your head and pull the trigger.’

  ‘Indeed. But I have a feeling that you have more than a few questions about this situation that we’ve landed in.’

  ‘That I do.’

  ‘Then ask away.’

  Wargo hadn’t lit a lantern in the quiet, dark room. From where I was sat I surmised that Cassandra wouldn’t be able to see either of us.

  Only when her target was close to the window would she have a decent shot across the medium distance between the fire escape and this building.

  ‘Were you in on it?’ I finally said.

  ‘In on what?’

  ‘My death. Tomas and Rolo told me that Killian ordered it, which makes sense. Bartram owned up to it, told me you were all involved, but he was just begging for his life. He would probably say anything if it meant saving his own skin. So which one was it? Did Killian warrant it or did you all decide to kill me as a group?’

  Wargo smiled deeply in the shadows.

  ‘Let’s just say we came to an agreement that it was for the best.’

  ‘For the best of what?’

  ‘Our… Situation.’

  ‘What situation? Sitting around all day going after apple thieves for 50 gold pieces a piece while the real bounties and the real criminals run riot behind the scenes?’

  ‘You really have no idea how this city works, do you? You know, for all of the information you claim to have collected in that journal of yours, I’ll bet there isn’t a single thing about the relationship between the bounty guilds and the gangs.’

  I paused, slowly processing what he was saying.

  ‘… What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about this city, and the undercurrent of understanding about how the system of crime and policing actually works. The bounty hunting guilds, every one of them – why do you think they only worry about the common criminals?’

  ‘Because they’re used to the status quo and their desires are small. Every single one of them has fallen into their comfortable lives with no challenges, with no desire to take down the real criminals that taint this city.’

  ‘You think that’s the way things really are? Maker, for a guy who we all thought was smart, you’re stupider than I could have possibly imagined. Killian likes the status quo because that’s what he’s paid to do.’

  Wait… What?

  ‘… Paid by who?’

  ‘Who do you think? The gangs. The real people who run this city. All of that fighting for the little guy, bringing down the villains bullshit is a fantasy that the idiots in this city believe. The heads of the bounty hunting guilds and the gangs have an understanding; they help each other out, stay out of each other’s ways, and everybody gets along just fine. The gangs run their rackets, the bounty hunters get to sit on their asses and occasionally take down stupid lone wolves, and this city keeps on staggering forwards as it always has done.’

  ‘Bullshit. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t believe me. Look where you’re sat, Drake. You’re probably the only bounty hunter in the whole city who doesn’t realise how things actually are. You believe this fantasy that you’ve made up in your head. Now you decided to try and go it alone, you had a bit of fun, and you ended up sat in a chair stripped of all your weapons with
a guy pointing the barrel of your own rifle at you.’

  I sat back in the chair, dwelling on the gravitas of what Wargo had told me.

  It was a lie. Any effort that other guilds put in to bringing down organised crime and corruption in the city was false.

  ‘The only reason that I decided to go it alone was because Killian tried to have my killed. What was the point in that in the first place?’

  ‘Killian could tell that you were a live wire from the moment he met you. Told me himself. He said that you had a restless heart. That sooner or later one of us was going to need to take you out to the back yard and blow your head off like a rabid dog.’

  ‘But he ended up handing the job over to the lackeys,’ I replied. ‘Is that all I was worth? That he wouldn’t even do me the honour of sending actual members of our guild out to kill me?’

  ‘Funny,’ Wargo chuckled. ‘What did those two idiots tell you before you got the drop on them?’

  ‘That this was their initiation process. That they were just doing what Killian told them.’

  ‘That part is true. What I find funny is how all this could have been avoided if Killian had just sent professionals like Bartram and me to do the work. We could get the work finished right and proper, and none of this would have happened. But he underestimated you.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way.’

  ‘As soon as he found out that Bartram was dead, Killian knew the mistake he had made. Always trying to cut costs, that miser-bastard… We both knew you would come looking for us, so we made a break for it.’

  ‘You’re here,’ I said. ‘And where’s Killian? Where did your cowardly boss run off to?’

  ‘He went and hid in his tavern. The Rude Goblin. Nice place over in the Pale District. You know I mentioned all of that gold that the bounty hunting guilds are bribed with? Where do you think it goes? Straight into his pocket. Bartram and I have known about if for a while and we were willing to stick to this status quo. In return he shaved a little off the top of his earnings and gave them to us. Told us it would carry on, just as long as we kept our mouths shut.