The Interrogation

The rain pounded on the glass overhead as Mordecai wheeled his latest victim through the abandoned brewery in an office chair. They were deep inside the skeleton of an industrial titan killed by the law. Many former workers ended up joining the ranks of the illegal liquor trade out of a desperation to feed families, and that exodus had brought a heavy toll to St. Louis since then.

The wheels squeaked and skidded as he pushed the man through broken glass and debris. Gracie had thought that he was going to simply be killed off and dumped in the river, but strapped to a chair? What was this going to be his end? Tortured? Mutilated? Left to rot in some hole? This was going far beyond the typical operations of a mob hitman sent to kill someone.

"Why all the fuss? Is this Marigold business or are you clocking overtime now?"

Mordecai stayed silent. He had absolute focus on the task at hand, and he had no idea how much time he had to extract answers.

"Hmm, you knew I was a jewel thief."

Mordecai dignified Gracie with a response this time. "Yes."

Gracie then realized that this hitman might be after money, or perhaps gemstones. "Well, it turns out that when they catch you, they don't let you keep the jewels. There's no buried treasure, if that's what this is about."

"I am not interested in pilfered rocks."

Gracie was now drawing a blank on what this guy could possibly want. "What then? Your boss gets my dues on time and in full. So… my margins are slim. I got nothing for you."

Mordecai then picked up an electric utility lamp and reached up to hang it on a wire above their heads, turning the light on in the process. "We'll see." He said, light reflecting off of his glasses.

Able to see, Gracie looked around the room and confirmed that they were indeed inside a factory. The rain continued pounding outside on the glass, the sounds echoing throughout the structure. Their voices would not carry far in here during the storm, even if he was screaming. "Why here? Thematic irony?"

Mordecai, still not betraying a single emotion, continued setting up his "office". "It's conveniently inert, and a pitiable mess, but no one will hear you. Also, the lagering caves are suitable for storage. With your leg injury, they would be a veritable oubliette."

"A dungeon? Is that what he means?" Gracie thought to himself while Mordecai continued.

"That assumes a more prolonged process than would be expedient, however. If my colleagues reappear, they are liable to disrupt. They think I'm having fun. They wouldn't understand my need for—"

"What kind of deranged—"

"—illumination." Mordecai finished, producing a file from his messenger bag. "As of late I have been tasked with cleaning up an unusually large amount of loose ends. As you have no doubt ascertained, you are one of them. But in your case, and the others, I don't know why. What put you on my list."

Gracie was starting to get the picture now, or at least a portion of it. But his captor had more to say. "So I've compiled some research. Court records, property records, there are possible answers here. But I need more direct insight. Perhaps it is unwise, unorthodox… unprofessional to pry. But I don't know if I… know some things I thought I knew. Important things."

This was taking a dark turn for Gracie. "Wait, you want me to help you finish your book report… about why you're supposed to murder me… just to put your mind at ease?"

Mordecai sat down, coat on the back of his chair. He finished skimming through the file before looking up with an emotionless expression. "Yes."

Though the hitman prepared himself for a number of possible responses to his victims finding out the truth of their capture and interrogation, he wasn't prepared for Gracie's reaction. The jewel thief howled with laughter for a good minute as if it were the greatest joke he had ever heard. He didn't seem to mind that Gracie was the punchline in all this.

"Well, life does have its twists, now doesn't it?" Gracie said, smiling. He might have a bargaining chip to use here. A corkscrew drill imbedded itself into the chair's armrest though, causing the thief to flinch and recoil his hand. Mordecai hardly saw this situation as amusing.

Gesturing to the bag beside them, Mordecai added one more detail to the situation. "Though I did bring an assortment of instruments too, incase I need to underscore my seriousness."

Sighing, Gracie decided that it would go on whether he liked it or not. "Fine, get on with the paperwork…"

"Good." Mordecai said, adjusting his glasses and looking through the file once more. "Now, according to court records, you've made at least two court appearances for petty theft charges in the past… before graduating to grand larceny and conviction in 1925. That's five to fifteen years. Even with a sentence mitigated a generous thirty percent for behavior, you'd still be incarcerated. How does that figure?"

Gracie had heard such questions before, and reflexively got defensive as if he were being questioned on the stand in a courtroom. "It's hard to do math with my Achilles heel coiling up the back of my leg. So I figure you can eat glass."

That wasn't the answer Mordecai was looking for, so he decided to try a different avenue. "Let's discuss property records, then. You're the building owner and license holder for a billiard hall on McRee Avenue. The previous name on record is Gerhardt Grombach. A relative of yours no doubt."

"My uncle."

"Your deceased uncle. 1926. Did he die before or after your premature release?"

Gracie felt a ping of shame from what had occurred that fateful day. "After. They knew he was buying booze from Marigold, paying kickbacks to Marigold for the gambling ring. But it was me they had on the hook. If I wanted off, I had to swallow a different hook. Go home, work for my uncle, make myself the go-between with Marigold. And then, of course, chat them up about it."

Mordecai was missing a piece in there still. "Them?"

"The feds. I guess I looked useful to them. They sent in a layer for me and everything."

"A lawyer for you? Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

"Well he showed up awful timely-like is what I mean. Guess they'd thought no one would buy it, my scrapheap representation striking a deal like that."

"So you struck a deal, got out, and then what?"

Gracie continued his story. "My uncle, that spiteful old badger, was the only one who had a place for me when I was a stupid kid, in and outta trouble. He had a place for me this time too, but he wouldn't let go of the reins so I could do what I needed to do. He took a bad fall. Wasn't meant to do anything but lay him up for a while. But at his age, though, a broken bone… well, I guess that's all it takes."

He closed his eyes, regretting every step that led him to killing his only family. "What gets me, after all that, I've never given 'em anything, no information they didn't already have. Nothing they could do anything with, and they don't seem too bothered by that. Like they just want to hear me talk. What a waste… the only reason I got to tell you is, well, maybe then it'll mean something more than nothing."

Mordecai was growing frustrated by this point though. It didn't make sense, the bigger picture. "It still doesn't mean anything that I can discern. All this fuss over a low-level informant. Why would anyone go to such trouble to get a yegg like you out of prison? What could you give them but the name of a bookie or a single delivery truck driver to intercept? An ambitious prohibition agent might manage a high-profile raid that shuts a venue down for all of ten minutes, but they are only a problem until they realize obliviousness pays better."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mordecai looked up, his mind working overtime to find a connection. "From this side of the playing field, that calls for a bag man, not a culling of lucrative affiliates. Not a string of risky hatchet jobs… I think I may have met your lawyer by the way. Nobody's behavior is making any sense."

Clarity Lost

Both men were stumped by the essential question of "why?" Gracie shook his head again. "I'll say. Exactly what is it you think I can give you?"

"Clarity. Clarity of some kind. A missing entry or integer that makes this add up."

"Pretty vague for someone who wants clarity."

Gracie did have a point. Unless he gave up a little information, Mordecai wasn't going to get much that could be useful in return. Turning back to the conversation, Mordecai offered up something that could focus their efforts on what was important. "You've heard of Atlas May?"

"That fat cat with the caves? Sure. His wife shot him."

Mordecai shook his head at the ignorance. "I've very little interest in defending her, but she didn't shoot anyone."

"Well, that's the scuttlebutt, as they say."

"She wasn't there. She wasn't even living with him at the time. A situation rife for rumors, I suppose. When things have visibly deteriorated."

Gracie was sensing a connection now. "Why's that? She took up with you instead?"

"No." Mordecai felt both insulted and disgusted at such an accusation.

"On second thought, not really the cake eater type, are ya? But you seem to know an awful lot about it."

"I worked for him. Atlas, I worked closely with him.

"So what about him, then? You think—oh! You suspect the next obvious answer, the other big game in town. Is that it?"

Mordecai's face said it all and Gracie continued with his hypothesis. "And you're wondering if you're cleaning up the evidence for it now? This is rich! Is that why you donned that Marigold regalia? So you could spy on them? Boy, you should have kidnapped Freud instead!"

"Lackadaisy and Marigold coexisted peaceably for years. There was no overt reason to suspect. But my boss, my new boss, has imitated that he knows what happened to Atlas. Which is impossible. It was all, it was a private affair… I thought."

"Well, I'm not in on that conspiracy. But I can help you. Let me go, I'll meet up with my agent contact. I'll tell him that I have information that it was Marigold that murdered Atlas May. Gimme a name, whatever you want. I'll tell 'em then I'll disappear like the dead."

Mordecai did give this option some thought. Killing just for the sake of it wasn't part of his professional mindset. If men had to die, it should be for a good reason at least. But no, there was every reason that the feds were somehow involved in this as well. "No. This doesn't end that way."

"Well, it was worth a shot." Gracie said, flicking the corkscrew drill.

"It would leave me without a real answer and you with considerable leverage."

"You're foolish enough to pull a stunt like this, after all. Lookin' to join the loose ends club yourself, over a dead man?"

A sudden knock alerted them both to a new presence just outside the building. Mordecai stood up quickly, looking back at the way they had come from. "They're here."

Pulling out his 1911, Mordecai continued asking questions. "You meet with someone. Your contact? Tell me who. Where do you meet?"

"Still, uh, chasing that rabbit, huh?"

In the distance, Mordecai's associate's voice carried through the building. "Where you at Peekon?" Mordecai felt the burning sting of the fresh wounds Sera had inflicted upon him earlier. She knew how to use a knife like a surgeon but lacked the Hippocratic oath. Gracie tried to get himself free in a desperate bid to not get caught. Once they were inside, any leverage he had would be gone and his life would be forfeited.

Mordecai reached up and turned out the light. "That won't help you." Moving quickly, Mordecai began pushing Gracie in the chair toward the underground storage where he would be kept safe, relatively speaking. However, information was still required. "A name, please."

"The agent? Uh, something Drago."

"You meet regularly. Where?"

Through the darkness, two figures emerged. The jingle-jangle of jewelry emitted from the corridor. The flash of a dagger reflected the dim lights from outside the building. Wicked teeth in a wicked smile emerged from the shadows, revealing a woman dressed in a most unusual inform. Formal, yet decorated with a variety of accessories. It was hardly fine silver and gold that she wore though, Serafine sported bones, wood, feathers, and pearl beads. On her collar was the symbol of her god, Maitre Carrefour.

Behind her was a strapping man, a former boxer and a brawler by trade. Nico refused to wear a suit, preferring his work clothes to be breathable and maneuverable. All around, he was a blue-collar man and the older brother of Serafine. Both combed through the factory like two predators looking for their prey. Mordecai had been acting strange. Well, stranger than usual, that is. They were under strict orders to keep him from asking too many questions about Marigold operations. Asa trusted him with many tasks, but no one was stupid enough to let such a new agent operate alone. Especially when his previous boss had been murdered less than a year prior.

Predators on the Prowl

"Come on out, hon? I hope you've got enough left for us to have some fun too." Sera said, smiling devilishly. But under the smile was a deep concern. Their victim should be dead with the others, yet there was every possibility that their associate was diving too deep into his victim's past. There were hints here and there, but nothing concrete. Still, Sera was skeptical of how committed to Marigold Mordecai truly was. She had even offered him a place at her side as well as protection, but he had rebuffed her. Instead, Sera took the time to carve a protection symbol into the hitman's chest, right above his heart. She could see why he wouldn't understand, but hopefully he would come around soon. Someone with his talents shouldn't be thrown into a grave and wasted.

Rounding a corner, the two came upon the sight of what they could only presume was the torture chamber. Across the room they could see Mordecai at work. "There you are hon!"

"Shit!" Mordecai said, under his breath. Gracie quietly pleaded. "Please, let me hel- "

Mordecai was forced to put him down right there. Taking out his boot knife, Mordecai sliced the cat's throat. It was too dark for Sera and Nico to make out exactly what happened, but it became obvious when Mordecai wheeled the body over. He looked at both of his colleagues. "Apologies, I was in the middle of finishing him off."

"You sliced his throat?" Nico said, noting all the blood that Heller was presently wiping off himself.

"Yes, but not before breaking his mind. Didn't even need to use the tools."

"Psychological torture? Ha, you really are one of us!" Nico said, smiling. "You just don't know it yet."

Mordecai removed his gloves, placing them inside the messenger bag along with his tools. "I take it the others have been disposed of?"

"Down in the Mississippi. It was closer." Sera explained, sheathing her knife.

"Good. Best not put all of them in one place. There's a pit behind the building we can bury him in. If anyone ever finds the body, there won't be enough left to pin it on us."

With a nod of agreement, Nico got to work, dragging Gracie into his tomb. Sera went to go keep watch, but also kept an eye on Mordecai. He was up to something, alright, but what it was she had yet to piece together.

Contemplations

An hour later Mordecai stepped out of the shower. It was one of the few times where his fur looked messy, but it would soon be clean after thorough drying and grooming. Looking in the mirror, he locked eyes with himself. He was tired and frustrated. All roads had led to dead ends except for this last one, but all he got was a name. "Dominic Drago." He could reasonably guess that Drago was in St. Louis somewhere, but it could take weeks of research to figure out where he might be and how to get close enough to question him.

Gracie also had a point. It was very dangerous to be asking these types of questions. Had the Savoys shown up earlier he would have been caught red-handed and likely would have joined the thief in the pit. He knew his colleagues were at least a bit suspicious, but his usual mannerisms gave him a bit of cover. Thought he was aware of some of his odd tendencies, he made no move to temper them when around Sera or Nico. The odder they thought he was, the more he could get away with.

It would be easy to walk away from this. Maybe he could go back to his family? With Atlas May dead there was little left for Mordecai in this town. And yet there was, deep inside him, a small glimmer of morals. While constantly called a traitor by people who didn't understand, Mordecai was working as hard as possible behind enemy lines to find out who killed Atlas May. But he didn't just want to take revenge, Mordecai wanted to eliminate the entire organization that killed the closest thing he had to a father. If there was anyone with the intelligence and skills necessary to pull something off of that magnitude, it was Mordecai Heller. Even so, he wasn't going to get anywhere with the information that he had. He needed a contact, someone who knew Drago and the people he was connected to.

Now dry and groomed, Mordecai went to put on his underwear and a shirt. Even while alone in his apartment he had to keep some clothes on in case he was called to do some late-night work. The other thing which bothered him was the persistence of Mitzi May. She may not have killed Atlas, but she was marching the remaining crew to their demise. He had thought that wiping out their weapon stash and crippling Viktor would convince everyone else to abandon ship, yet a few holdovers were particularly stubborn.

It was telling the truth when he relayed to Mitzi that if he was forced to go back there to finish off the speakeasy, he would do it properly. Not out of malice, but out of pragmatism. Those who survived could move on, and those who insisted on staying to the bitter end would meet their fate. He also didn't have much of an issue with killing most of the remaining members, but Mitzi, Viktor, and Ivy had treated him like family. He didn't show it well, but they had grown on him ever since he followed Atlas out of that train station. He was a scared kid back then, now he was a killer made in the image of his boss.

The newest addition to the crew was going to be a problem, he could tell already. He wasn't afraid despite being plenty old enough to understand the situation. He did come from out west; the accent gave it away. That hat wasn't exactly standard for the area either. Perhaps he was a cowboy? Nah, there was too much confidence in his eyes. No, Ethan had some tricks up his sleeve, he could feel it. In a fight, there was every possibility he could lose to the recruit. For the moment, Heller would just have to sit back and see what happens with the Lackadaisy. Let them make a move or two before deciding on the best course of action.

Restless Night

I found myself in a dark void with nothing to reference or hold onto. Suddenly, the ground began to shake and tremble. Out from the earth rose a large, monolithic object. I stepped back, confused about what I had just witnessed. What was this place?

Then, a voice of thunder spoke to me. "You have fallen back into your old ways, child. Once again you are an instrument of death."

"No, I was defending my friend. I couldn't let her die."

"True, but you chose to stay and join with these criminals. And now you have started to kill once again. How does it feel?"

"I… I hate it. I want a peaceful life. But the others are just kids. The oldest acts like a child most of the time. Abandoning them would be worse than staying and defending them."

"You… wish to guide them out, don't you?"

"Yes." I said to the voice.

"But you also know there is no way out of this life. You are now what you once were. The enemy, they called you the ghost."

"I did what I had to in order to survive in that battle."

"You can tell yourself that all you want, but at the end of the day you know what you are."

Then the monolith turned from solid rock into a mirror. The surface reflected myself back to me, but it was a twisted and contorted image. It was how I saw myself in the days after that battle. I was a monster, a ghoul, a phantom of who I once was. All my guilt, all my terrible deeds wrapped up into one reflection.

The apparition jumped out at me and suddenly I awoke. My heart raced, but soon I was able to calm it down. Looking around, Riley was next to me. "That's right." I recalled. "Ivy is in the next room over." Slipping quietly out of bed, I made my way out of the room. Pouring myself a glass of water, I sat down in the chair across the room from the kitchen. The rifle and bayonet were propped up in the corner, glistening from the light in the alleyway.

While I didn't want to be who I once was on that battlefield in the Argonne, I also couldn't let my new friends or my remaining family fall victim to the dangers of this new life. Rocky and Freckle were quite a pair, and their company reminded me so much of my departed siblings. I even had a protective nature about Ivy. Though a grown woman, there was much about her that was innocent. She realistically shouldn't be caught up in this rum-running business, but Mitzi needed all the help she could get.

I was committed to the cause now, no question about that. But if we were to survive, I'd need allies. That, I'm afraid, we were all out of. For the moment we would have to do the best with what we had. Tomorrow I'd start to teach the kids all I knew. If I could carve a path to a better life, to a house, home, and family, then perhaps they'd be able to follow behind. One major obstacle in the way was Marigold. Though I didn't want to admit it, there was no question Mordecai Heller could be major trouble. I might beat him in a fight, but if there was a way, I could get to him… convince him to stay clear or even to help, then we might stand a chance if the hammer ever fell on Lackadaisy.

I still was not at peace, but I slipped back into bed. Riley instinctively cuddled against me once more, seeking warmth and protection. That was something I was happy to provide. She was growing up fast and I'd have to make sure she always had a place of privacy for herself, but for now she was the little girl I had a hand in raising. And to her I was her protector. I'd be both her shield and sword. That was my role above all else, and it was one I happily accepted. If she could grow up and find a life of her own, then I would have done something right in life.