Live of the Trade, Die for the Trade IV: Hugo Black

[Thechosenone]

The Runaway has a reputation for being a place to get a very cheap meal and watered down whisky. It’s also known as a place to go where no one will be looking. It’s a place to get lost in.

Inside the dimly lit pub is a cascade of shadows with a rare few illuminations coming from candles on the tables. It’s a sizable place with only half a dozen patrons.

The bar has is lined with stools, some wobbly and missing pieces of their frames. The bottles behind the bar are mostly empty and their labels peeling. The bartender is as deteriorated as his bottles, pale skinned, thinned hair and with scars crisscrossing his hands.

A table of three occupies the west end of the Runaway. Nelly Dunn, a thin young woman with dark hair tied tightly behind her head. She wears the plainest clothes possible today, much more dower than her usual attire… a show girl’s dress. Jonas Tott is the most significant presence at the table. He’s a heavy man in earth stained clothes. His derby barley fits his fat head, his shoe seems strain, his jacket stitching fails. His a big man feared by most of the mine workers he’s in charge of. Tott knows a lot about the flow of Soul Stone, too much for a man with so many vices and so little cash. Professor Garret Hillard sits at the table with notebook open and pencil furiously scratching away Tott speaks. He misses none of Tott’s information, everything is absorbed and translated from word to written scribble, just as he does for Victor Ramos. He serves Doctor Ramos as a loyal and diligent aide and that includes today. To speak with this obese mess of a labor force leader who knows all the comings and goings of Guild Soulstone supply wagons.

“Slow down, slow down Mr. Tott. You said pick up is what time on Wednesday and how many Guild men operate that wagon?”

Tott sighs “Late. After ten and there’s usually seven guys. Big guys too cause the loads are heavy.” Tott says. Agitation is very clear in his mannerisms. He wants to be done with this and be on his way. He has money to spend. These Arcanist terrorist had script to spend and he’s trying to spill his secrets as fast as possible. The ladies of Silken Row are too tempting to leave alone and bars with better whisky are calling to him.

Nelly smiles, trying to ease Tott’s agitation with a pretty face. She needs to keep him talking. The more he talks, the more successful their raids on Guild targets can be.

Tott softens his tone and continues spilling secrets for a moment or so but all of them hush as a grating hiss and metallic click cut the silence. A table at the far end of their dining area churns with a wisps of smoke pierced by a little red glow. Someone’s there, a man in heavy black duster with wide brimmed hat hiding his face fills a chair. His body looms over the table; the size of it is dominating. The cigar in his mouth glows. He tucks away his silver lighter and soaks in the darkness.

The moment passes and Tott continues with his information. The scratching of the Professor’s pencil takes over the quiet. Tott talks and talks with seemingly no end to what he knows. Nelly can’t believe how this simple mess of a human being can be so deep into the Guild Soulstone trade.

Again the grating noise grips the room and a shiver runs down their spine. The man at the far side plays with his lighter again, the fire held close to his face. It shows a vein strangled face and yellowed eyes set in a blockish head. Half the face is pale and corpse like. The other half is slathered in thick crimson painted fashioned vaguely like a skull with white smears for teeth.

The man at the far side laughs.

Tott scratches his head “You two know this guys?”

His question is answered when Nelly and Garret leap from their seats, both of them drawing pistols.

“Hugo Black!” Garret screams as he grips the table edge and tips it for cover. Tott snaps his head back to the man at the far side. He’s stomping down the aisle with revolver’s raised. The one thing he didn’t expect is for the weapons to be pointed directly at him.

“Wh… no! Why?” Tott scrambles out of his chair and to the ground. “The Guild says you’re fired Mr. Tott.”

“No!” Tott’s chest is spattered by blood as two shots from the heavy guns rip him open. He slumps dead against the table.

Nelly fires, her shots fly wide and dig into the wooden posts and chair backs to Black’s left. Garret takes a more careful aim and with steady grip he pulls the trigger. Black’s big frame jerks as a shot catches him in the chest but the small caliber weapon does little damage. Thick syrupy blood trickles down Hugo’s chest. He feels little pain. Malifaux has thoroughly infected this man through and through.

“I get paid for Tott. Guild gets ya corpses fer free.” Hugo’s pistol flashes several times in the darkened bar. The sound of Black's guns is deafening. The only thing the Professor can liken they to is the mechanical click of machines in Ramos's lab and the backfire of his engines at the start up.

Garrett hears a heavy thump long before his eyes catch up. Nelly stares at him from the floor, a hole carved through her face and chest.

“Hugo!” Garret calls “Arcanist money is just as good as Guild script! We can pay you too! You’re not a guardsmen! You have no loyalty to the Governor. They locked you up remember! Work with us!”

Black rushes up on the table and throws his boot into the side. The force of the blow sends Garret to his back with head spinning. The only thought on his mind is Doctor Ramos. He failed the Doctor. His hand scrambles for the gun that was dropped from his grip but he can’t find it.

“Guild locked me up that’s true.” Garret looks up and his eyes lock with the dead orbits of Black. “But I ain’t sore about it. I love killin’ and I got lots o’ that done in the lock up. Now they want me ta kill fer on the streets. All you got ta offer is money.” The red skull leers down at him.

“Don’t do this! We need this information!”

Hugo Black’s laughter is slow and deliberate. He stands over the Professor with revolvers slowly rising. He relishes ever drop of fear in the man’s eyes. “I love the way you lookin at me.” Black smiles before shredding Garret with bullet fire.

Black watches a blanket of red billow out around the Professor. He reaches down to pull out a blood soaked wallet. He pulls a wad of Guild script out and throws it over the bar counter on his way out. The money falls on the corpse of the bartender, a blade wound having nearly severed the man’s head from his neck.

“Sorry fer the mess.” Hugo Black takes a moment to look at the Runaway. The place is filled with corpses now, each life ended quietly and quickly while he crept in on his primary target. He can’t help but love the idea of so much death having played out silently. It’s hilarious to him actually. He can’t hold back the laughter.

“Live fer the trade! Die fer free!”

[the_madhatter1]

Nice

[Thechosenone]

Thank you.