It is said that there is no honor among thieves. I'd be inclined to agree. I can think of quite a few ways to describe the folk I've met along this twisted path I travel, but honorable is not among them. Gutsy. Intuitive. Desperate. Even a few that were smarter than most. But honor is almost unheard of.
What you can find, is loyalty. Much like the people that walk this hollow shell of a world there is a unique sense of loyalty for everyone. Some are loyal to kingdom and country. Soldiers standing ready to defend the sanctity of their nation and it's people. Others, are loyal to the greater good of humanity. Hunters; trained from a young age in the hopes of entering the fiery crucible of combat that they may emerge victorious against the creatures of Grimm and claim themselves heroes.
Among my fellow thieves there reigns another kind of loyalty. One not founded on the basis of such ideals as patriotism or for the betterment of the people, but one born of a more practical nature. Loyalty to almighty Lien.
Money is the root, and some would say the cure, of all evil. With enough of it you could buy yourself a kingdom. And without it you might find yourself deciding that things like honor are optional and in no way necessary to continue living. Not to say that having money makes you honorable. Go ask the SDC how they would manage if they had to pay their Faunus employes like everyone else, if you don't believe me.
But no matter what side of the greener grass you're standing on, one loyalty still holds true above all others. Loyalty to family. To find an individual willing to turn their back on their own kin is to find a truly pitiful excuse for a person, at least from where I'm standing. And it is because of this loyalty that I find myself back in the company of a certain individual that knows what it means to be a part of a family.
"Knock-Knock! Honey, I'm home!" I yell as I make as dramatic an entrance as I possibly can, slamming open both door to the club of one Hei "Junior' Xiong. What's life without a little fun? Besides, I spent years cultivating my image. Might as well put it to use.
"Mister Torchwick," he replies. His face is one of annoyance and his tone is one of a thinly veiled malice. He must still be mad after what his goons went through after I hired them. Can't say I blame him.
He very carefully places the glass he was polishing on the bar in front of him and produces a bottle of bourbon and a spare glass to accompany it. A man after my own heart, truly.
"I assume you're not here to apologize for getting some of my best men thrown in a prison hospital are you?"
He pours two drinks, the larger of the two he claims for himself before downing the contents as if his life depended on it. Again he very carefully places the glass down on the bar and poures himself another drink. This one much more reasonable. Must have something to do with the recent remodel. Those kinds of things never go right.
"You'd be right, Junior my good man. Not to say I'm not sorry for losing them. I find myself in a bit of a labor shortage as of late and I'm in need of some good people for a milk run of a job," I reply as I saunter over to meet him at the bar. I make sure to keep my face jovial, hands wide, and the twin girls in complementary blades in my peripheral vision.
As I claim my own glass I can see he's giving me his best glare. Too bad it's nothing compared to Her Royal Combustible. Give it a few years and he might get there. Maybe.
Before he can retort I down my own drink and cut him off by thumping my empty glass down hard enough to get the point across that I wasn't done talking. First impressions are important but so are second, third, and fourth impressions.
"If you're thinking I need more of your men to knock over more dust shops, you're wrong. I've got a new source of muscle for that lined up. What I need from you," I say as I point at him, "is two of your most loyal men."
"Loyal?"
"To the Family. You'll all understand when you hear what I need done."
He says nothing for a moment. I can see him trying to figure out what my angle is. I make a show of fixing my hair in the mirror behind the bar. No sense making it easy for him. I drop the jovial face and fix him with a stare after a bit just to make sure he understands the seriousness of the situation.
After a moment he grabs the bottle and his glass and motions for me to join him the back room. I follow and as we pass the two deadly looking ladies I send a smile their way as I tip my hat to them. I might be a criminal but never let it be said that I wasn't a gentleman. At least when it was practical.
In no time at all we're sitting across from one another in a not-so-polite silence as he types out a message on his scroll while giving me the evil eye between words. Again, I've had worse. A valiant effort though. Commendable even.
In short order two older fellows in black suits join us with a nod of greeting for me and a handshake for Junior. They stand at the ready, knowing full well why they were called into a secluded meeting between two individuals such as Junior and I.
They look like they've been in the game long enough to have come up with the rules themselves.
For once in my life I decided that discretion is the better part of valor after all and skipped the theatrics. I also hoped my gamble would pay off.
"Gentlemen, my name is Roman Torchwick and I am here asking you to help me. I need several important objects packaged and delivered to a certain person in Atlas. Given the recent happenings between me and the law I find myself unable to make the journey personally and I don't trust my other comrades enough with such an important task."
The two gents say nothing, knowing the negotiations go through the man behind the desk. "And what exactly is it that you need delivered?" said man asks as he pours himself another drink.
"These men have been part of the family longer than either of us have been alive. We look after our own and I'll be damned if I send these guys into the wild with something dangerous."
As I give my response I take make note of subtle gleam of understanding I see in the eyes of my three companions. Looks like my gamble paid off. "I need someone to deliver some Christmas presents. To the family."
It is here I find the four of us in a spare store room, amid the remnants of entirely too many rolls of wrapping paper and the occasional bandage wrapper, admiring the score of bright shiny boxes stacked neatly on the table before us. How those guys in the videos wrap presents so nicely I have no idea, but we managed. Paper cuts be damned.
Six hours we spent in here. Wrapping presents while swapping tales of past Christmases, of gifts, and most of all, of family. And did they have some stories. They got enough grand kids between them to start their own criminal empire.
Of course some of the details were glossed over but I can't fault them for that. I didn't give out the specifics either. Force of habit. But for all the secrecy we come away from this meeting with a sense of respect for one another. One that extends beyond the formal respect of fellow criminals, into the personal respect one family man has for another.
With a handshake to each of us the two gents, Joey and Nicky as I came to find out, take their leave after we stacked the presents on a handcart and covered them in a couple of table clothes. Image is everything after all. Can't have people thinking I'm getting soft.
"I had no idea you were a family man Roman." Junior says as he makes his way to the corner of the room to fetch an industrial sized garbage can.
"Good. That means I've done my job right so far." I reply as I make to gather the remnants of the wrapping paper littered about the room. "The people I work for are not the kind of people I'd like knowing I have family at all. Better to think I'm just a lonely soul."
"So who are they? Wife and kids?"
"Sister with two nieces and a nephew. They're the reason I'm even in the business at all. We've been through a lot and they would have been through a lot more if I hadn't stepped up and did what needed to be done. We never had much growing up during that time of year but I make damn sure they will."
I lock eyes with Junior as I deposit an armful of wrapping paper in the trashbin. "And with the way things are going it would be a very long while before I could get around to doing this if I don't do it now." He gives me a nod of understanding.
"I take it they don't know what you actually do for a living," he says somberly as he starts to gather the many cardboard tubes littering the floor.
I pause to remember exactly what cover story I decided to tell them. The fact that I can't remember what it was says something about me. I'll have to figure out exactly what later.
"Commodity trader. I think."
"Not entirely a lie.
"Not entirely the truth either."
"Could be worse."
"How so?"
"You have an out."
At this point we've gathered all the trash and head out the back of the club in search of a dumpster. We get a couple of weird looks from the staff. It's not everyday you see the boss taking out the trash around here. We find the back lot empty and Junior decides to continue the conversation here.
"For better or worse I was born into this line of work. One day, my parents will hand me the keys to the empire while they get to go sit back and relax on a beach in Vacuo. The Family as a whole will depend on me. And in turn each of their families will depend on me. For a steady income. Protection. It's not the safest life we live you know." I return the nod of understanding.
"But you have a way out. I have nothing but the stress of knowing someday these people will look to me for guidance. I just hope I'll be ready."
I nod in understanding as we make our way to the dumpster and start emptying the trash bin into it. The silence between us is not like the one from before. It is one of understanding, a mutual respect from one family man to another. It's in this silence that I find myself thinking back to the last time I spoke to my estranged kin.
It's been so long since I've had anyone to confide in. I figure it's now or never. You know what they say about these things, you shouldn't keep them bottled up.
"My nephew, Niko, he thinks I'm the greatest guy in the world. Up there with the heroes of old. If he could only see me now." I struggle to suppress the emotions from seeping into my voice and I go through the motion of helping empty the trash. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have said anything but I've accidently started a chain reaction that sends me spiraling down the pathways of my memories like a bullhead with one engine spirals into the ground.
I think of every terrible thing I've done. In the beginning it was just stealing purses and pick pocketing. Now I'm neck deep in a terror cell risking everything for biggest payoff I've ever had seen.
I fail miserably.
"He said he wanted to be just like me. So he could take care of me like I took care of his mom and sisters. He says he's saving his money to buy me the best Christmas present ever." I manage to choke out. It comes out barely above a whisper. I'm unsure if it was audible enough for Junior to hear me until I see him pause for a moment.
Where did it all go wrong? It wasn't supposed to end up this way. I just needed enough money for the kid's food. What happened?
I reach up and tilt my hat to better cover my right eye from Juniors gaze. The tears threaten to break my facade like a river waits to break a dam. Patiently waiting for any crack to exploit, any weakness they can use against me. It's not good for my image and I fear I've done enough damage to it for one day.
"I see." He says as he finishes emptying the trash bin into the dumpster and when he is done I can feel his gaze focus on me.
I don't turn to face him but I don't turn away either. I hold my head as high as I can, refusing for one second to let my guilt weigh me down. If I sink now I'll never make back up and there is still so much work to do.
"Come on, let's get back inside before the rain gets any worse. I'll get you a one for the road.' he says quietly as the starts to wheel the bin back towards his club.
"What are you talking about? It's not rain..."
I can feel it now. One solitary tear running down my cheek. Like a wanderer roaming the land in search of purpose, of direction. Separated from his family by distance and time but continuing on because there is nothing else he can do but march forward because that is all he knows.
They say there is no honor among thieves. I'm still inclined to agree. But there is honor in family.