Seven

Some time later…

Charon inclined his head in a single nod as he set the phone back in its cradle. "Management will see you. The roof. Go on up."

"Thanks." The woman nodded. She strolled through the Continental to the elevators and rode up to the top floor, then got out and headed to the stairs.

A pair of men standing at the staircase door nodded to her. The woman halted between them and held her arms up as one patted her down with swift and professional intent. He nodded to the other, who opened the door and held it open. She walked through and climbed up to the roof.

The Continental was far from the tallest building in Manhattan, but it was still tall enough that the sounds of the city streets below were muted. Something akin to a small garden had been set up on the roof, offsetting the stone of their surroundings. A table and several seats stood at one side, where a man sat, going through a thick, leather-bound tome in the crisp autumn air.

The woman crossed the roof and sat down opposite the man when he looked up and nodded to the seat. "Sir," she said. "If I may be so blunt… you look exhausted."

"Time and toil take their toll upon us all," said Winston, setting the tome down on the table.

"And the chaos with the High Table has nothing to do with it?"

"I did warn them about going after John Wick," he said mildly. "Even shared the devil's own message."

"What'd he say? That'd he'd kill them all?"

"Precisely." Winston inclined his head towards her. "As you are before me now, I infer that you did not pursue that particular contract."

"I'm crazy, not stupid."

"As you say," Winston said, chuckling. "So then, what can I do for you, Miss Marx?"

Lisa Marx sat forward and placed her clasped hands on the table. "Susan Rizzi."

Winston raised an eyebrow fractionally. "What of her?" he asked, his voice carrying a slight tone of warning. "She's retired – gone apostate, as it were."

"Oh, I'm aware." Marx grinned and drew an envelope from her jacket pocket. "Susan asked me to give this to you." She leaned forward and held the envelope towards the Continental's master.

Winston stared at the envelope for a moment before reaching out and taking it. He broke the wax seal and tugged out a folded letter. Marx shrugged when he gave her a questioning glance.

Unfolding the letter, Winston read it over in silence while Marx waited. When he'd finished Winston folded it back up and set it down on the table.

"I didn't know Susan was on correspondence terms with you," Marx said.

Winston grunted. "This is hardly a regular occurrence. It seems Miss Rizzi perceived some kind of debt… much like the one you professed to owe her."

Lisa grew very still.

"Perhaps that's why she entrusted you to deliver such a letter."

"Or maybe the postal service where they live just kinda sucks."

"I wouldn't know," said Winston, a twinkle in his eye. "Regardless, I appreciate you bringing this to me."

"Great. Thanks for seeing me." Marx began to rise.

"I trust it's not too much of an assumption that you'll see Miss Rizzi and Mister Wu again?"

She paused. "What makes you say that?"

"The young lady accompanying you, for one." Winston gave her a little half-smile. "What does Mister Wu think of you gallivanting around with his cousin?"

"He knows better than to ask for details," Marx said with a wicked grin. "As to what he thinks: well, she makes her own decisions."

"Indeed she does," Winston said, chuckling.

"Hell, Susan asked her to get a letter to your bartender. They're aware. They respect Jenny's choices."

"Hmm." Winston nodded as Lisa rose to her feet. "I notice you didn't quite answer my question."

Marx sighed. "Not much gets past you, eh?"

Winston spread his hands and glanced around at their surroundings.

Marx took the hint. "Touché." She nodded. "Yes, I will see them again. Why? Are you going to say they're not out enough? They're not doing business – our business, I mean. They-"

"Nothing like that," Winston said with a shake of his head. "No, I would request you convey my well-wishes to the couple."

"Really?"

"You find it that surprising?"

"A little," Marx said. "Didn't figure you for such… sentimentality."

Winston gave her that enigmatic little half-smile again. "Oh?"

"They left the flock, right? Not your demesne anymore."

"I shan't argue that," said Winston. "Merely ask your indulgence in a matter of whimsy."

"Is that what this is?"

"Do you need it be anything else?" Winston asked, his tone a touch cooler.

Marx went even paler than usual. She stiffened. "What if I'm seeking reassurance that it's nothing but that?"

"Loyalty to an erstwhile comrade, is it? Admirable. It's such a disappointingly rare trait in professionals of your generation." Winston nodded once. "Very well, if such reassurance is what you seek, then I am giving it now. And you should know the value of my assurances."

"There is that." Marx half-nodded, half-bowed. "Alright, I'll convey your message. I'm sure Susan will get a kick out of it."

"My thanks," Winston said.

Marx started walking away, then paused and turned back. "Why does this matter to you? Why do you care? They didn't go into detail, but it's clear you helped Susan and Elijah in some way."

"Because I deemed it so." Winston folded his hands together. "Consider, Miss Marx, just how much choice is available to any of us. From a member of the High Table to an assistant chef in the Continental, from a cleaner disposing of bodies to the one who put the bullets in that body, ours is a world of rules and traditions. To have it be otherwise is to have the whole thing spin off the axis and into chaos. You understand this."

"I'm aware."

"Then you're aware that ours is not a domain of such things as compassion or mercy or, indeed, love."

"Alright, I won't dispute that. But why does that matter?"

"Which is more difficult, Miss Marx? To press a trigger, or to love somebody?"

Marx crossed her arms and smirked. "You might be asking the wrong person."

"On the contrary," Winston said. "The fact that you walk in this line of employment makes the question rather more relevant to you than many others."

Marx flipped her hand up in the manner of a fencer acknowledging a hit. "And your point?"

"Miss Rizzi and Mister Wu chose," said Winston. "They made decisions that rather complicated their lives. They discarded one code in favor of one even more… arduous."

"So, you just enjoy an underdog story?"

Winston's smile hid more than it revealed. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I respect the decision they made together. Perhaps I was merely bored at the moment and wanted to see what they would do. Perhaps all of those, perhaps none of those."

"Fine, fine," Lisa said, returning the smile. "Keep your secrets."

"Indeed I shall," he said, lifting his brow fractionally. "Thank you, Miss Marx."

His tone made it clear the conversation was over.

Lisa Marx inclined her head and walked away. She grinned to herself as she approached the door leading downwards; Susan and Elijah would undoubtedly be glad to hear of Winston's well-wishes. Surprised, most likely, but certainly glad. Maybe next time they'd send along one of Susan's pastries – wouldn't that be something? Lisa decided she'd suggest it, just to see if it would get a reaction out of the Continental's enigmatic ruler. But that would come later. She'd promised to show Jenny a good time, and, well, they didn't come much better than the Continental.


Behind her, Winston also smiled briefly to himself as Marx disappeared through the doorway. He picked up the letter and tucked it into the jacket pocket of his suit before looking up and out, across towards the city skyline. So Rizzi and Wu had crossed through one crucible and emerged, like disparate metals, alloyed into something stronger. Maybe they could find some semblance of peace and contentment on the other side – they certainly seemed to have started well in that regard, if Rizzi's letter was anything to go by.

But then, so had John Wick, once.

And look how that had turned out. Winston sighed, looking out again at the city skyline. There had been enough chaos and turmoil recently. But the reality of their world was that it endured. It persisted. And it would continue to do so, regardless of their presence or absence. Perhaps the two former assassins could find their own path on the outside after all. The head of the Continental smiled wistfully, then straightened his jacket and rose to his feet. Enough self-indulgence for the moment.

Life went on.