part 7

I decided I needed to make a house call. I stood outside the gates to Rancini’s house, I was on the outside, looking in. I despised Rancini and what he stood for. His beautiful life acquired through ugly means, his house built on the backs of broken men. Usually I stayed out of his way, and he out of mine. Though maybe he thought me nothing to get worried about at all. I figured that even if Rancini didn’t have the Espirit, he’d know where I could find it. And who I’d have to get it from. I wasn’t in the business of museum robbery. Figured something with that kind of reputation would go to someone’s head, just another trophy locked up and admired in someone’s cabinet. And then a new trophy is acquired, and the other one is forgotten. I’d seen it all before.

I vaulted over the wall, landing behind some bushes. The grass rustled beneath my feet, whispering silent warnings to those who would care to listen. The clouds shrouded my movement, denying all but the most persevering the faintest sliver of light. I had to make my way to the house silently, and lemme be the first to tell you that’s not an easy thing to do.

You need to start walking on your heel, then slowly roll your foot from the back to the front, on the ball of your feet Anyone who’s seen this being done or has done it before can tell you: You look like a damn fool doing it.

With regards to human companionship, I was pretty much as good as alone. A lifetime of solitude and preference for the bottle pretty much helped in that regard. As much as the loneliness hurt, I had my own companion by proxy. I called her Ender.

She was my trusty revolver. I removed her from her leather bed and held her hand delicately yet firmly. I called her Ender for a reason. As much as I ached for the companionship, I never fired her. Every time you pull that trigger, every time you end someone’s life, a piece of you dies too. Every bullet fired ebbs away at your soul, until there’s nothing left but animated flesh.

I held her tightly as I inched my way to Rancini’s.