“We’re in the middle of something here, old man. What’s the message?”
The beggar didn’t raise his head or move at all, but his voice came out stronger than Boss expected. “An old friend seeks you.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”
The old man was silent long enough that Boss opened his mouth to prompt him again. The old man drew a breath and said, “You were an agent once. A man of noble purpose and profession.”
Boss snorted. “I was an agent, yeah. Don’t know about all that other.” He didn’t care for how often that’d been mentioned today. Boss briefly wondered if maybe the dealer and this old guy were partners in something. The dealer was on edge, though. If they were in on it together, he was doing a masterful job of acting.
“You have strayed.”
“Livin’ll do that to a man. Do I know you?” Boss asked.
“You knew me once. Long ago.”
“Yeah? What’s your name?”
“Today,” the old man said, “I am Honor.”
Boss couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But Boss’s name was Boss, so he didn’t have much reason to doubt it. Still, it sounded funny, and so he let out a little non-committal chuckle that he hoped could be taken as either polite amusement, or simple acknowledgment. There was a too-long moment of silence afterwards.
“Look here,” the dealer finally said, “clocks is spendies. Sum me out and chat after, or me and merch is scoots.”
Boss was still trying to work out whether there was some connection between the two degenerates that stood before him – when all of a sudden the old man moved all easy and casual, like he was stretching after a nap. But in the movement he somehow covered the distance to the dealer and in the same motion, he swept his hand out in a graceful arc.
Maybe he touched the dealer; Boss couldn’t tell exactly what happened. He just saw the dealer flinch. And just as smooth, the old man returned to his spot as calmly. And even as if he’d never moved at all, with his hands folded in front of him again. It’d all happened in less time than it took Boss to inhale. Everybody just stood there stunned for a second.
Then the dealer made a little gurgle, and he let go of the leash and reached up to his neck with both hands, and all of a sudden it looked like he was trying to tie a crimson silk neckerchief on, the way his hands were going, and all the red. Boss’s brain wouldn’t process what he was seeing because he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. The dealer fell on his knees and gurgled some more, and Wing said something that Boss didn’t quite catch.
The old man was as still as if he’d turned to stone, even when the dealer went on over and fell, and leaked out everywhere. Standing there with his hands in front of him. But now Boss saw the blade; some sort of knife, though he had no idea where it’d come from.
“What’d you do?” Boss heard himself say. The old man didn’t answer. Wing reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and Boss could’ve told him that was a bad idea if he’d just asked. It looked like the old man just kind of shrugged and brushed Wing’s hand, but somehow the next thing anyone knew, the old man had Wing’s hand flipped over palm up and bent the wrong way back, and Wing was howling like a woman with her hair on fire.
A sudden motion caught Boss’s attention, and he saw Cauld had pulled out his little pocket popper, and almost had it aimed – when the old man flicked his other hand out. The knife came sliding out – flying straight like a dart – and stuck right in the middle of Cauld’s chest. Cauld stumbled back, and tried to get the pistol up anyway, but he acted like it’d gotten too heavy all of a sudden.
Boss looked back in time to see the old man slam a fist into Wing’s throat. Wing choked up and stopped screaming then. The girl was just standing there, watching the whole thing happen, and Boss knew if he pulled the trigger, he was going to hit her and probably Wing too. But at that point she didn’t seem so valuable anymore, and Wing was probably dying anyway. He reached under the desk and grabbed for the grip of his short-barreled two-gun.
The old man took a funny little half-turn and kind of windmilled like he was doing a dance, and Boss realized the old man had produced a sword from somewhere and was bringing it down in a surprisingly fluid arc. He’d obviously misjudged the distance, though, and was coming down well short of his target. Boss almost felt sorry for him as he squeezed the trigger. Almost.
The two-gun thundered and Boss was caught off guard by the recoil. He completely lost his grip on the massive weapon, and his arm flew backwards with surprising violence. Strangely enough, the old man hadn’t reacted at all. He was just standing there with his sword extended, having apparently cut Boss’s desk through the middle. The girl seemed to be alright too. She just had her hands over her ears.