Alcohol, Reno realized, could wash away anything. It hadn't always been like that. They'd promised him a toe-hold to climb out of the slums, but given him enough rope to hang himself.
His victim was some harmless native, speaking a language he'd pretended not to understand and waving a white flag he averted his eyes from.
It didn't matter if it was 'justified,' he wasn't a hero.
"Someday," he whispered, "I'll get out of here." He wiped his face with the flag and took another drink, burning the last of his conscience away.