Chicago, September 7th, 1928

"This civil war in Missouri is threatening to blow up in our faces." Tony complained to his bodyguard as they walked down Madison Street. Though there were no trees growing in the concrete canyon, autumn winds blew down the block. As the pair walked, Tony continued to vent to one of the few people he could safely talk to without fear of reprisal. Joe was tight-lipped and was never stupid enough to betray his own boss even by accident.

"I mean, first the Marigolds get into a tangle with some nobodies, then the whole outfit is shitting bricks over this 'ghost'. Then Vito gets into a blood feud with the Russos, and now Kansas City wants to move in on our turf. The feds are involved now too. We may need to cut our losses."

"Al won't be pleased." Joe said.

"No, he won't. We need the Mississippi, but at least we can get Asa to rebuild his forces. If I knew it was going to be such a shit show down there then I never would have gotten the Outfit involved. Go further down the river to Memphis then run our product up on rails."

The two continued their path, getting to the corner with Dearborn. It would be a short walk to one of their satellite locations. A little gin joint in the back of a pool hall. All that stood between them and the end of the block was a big crowd of people shopping at a department store. People were entering and leaving through the front door, hailing cabs and waiting for private rides. As the gangster and the bodyguard moved through the crowd, Tony spotted a figure who stood out. Tall and dark, he was a strong contrast from the shoppers who were almost all dressed in color. The only light coming from this figure was reflected off a pair of simple, brass-trimmed glasses.

Joe spotted the man and moved to intercept, but something sharp slashed across his neck and the bodyguard dropped. With all the noise and people immersed in their own conversations, no one noticed the man collapse with blood oozing from his neck. All at once, Tony felt his blood run cold. He was now alone with a complete stranger who was here for him.

"Tony the Scourge…" The shadow said.

"W-what do you want?"

"Atlas May sends his regards."

"Atlas Ma—" Several gunshots echoed through the street. People panicked all at once as the lone gunman approached the dying gangster and put one more into the cat's head for good measure. Before anyone could get a good look at him, the gunman retreated into a back alley. Footsteps behind warned him that someone was following. Turning a corner and standing flat against the wall, the second bodyguard who had been trailing behind was now running full speed. Showing himself, the gunman opened fire once more and sent his pursuer to the ground in a pool of blood. Climbing over a locked gate, the gunman disappeared into the back alleys of Chicago.

Across town, Joe Aiello was just getting out of a meeting with fellow bosses when one of his most trusted associates entered the room. "Boss, I've got news."

"This better be important, Sal. I've got a one o'clock to get to."

The associate caught his breath before looking behind him to make sure no one was listening in. "Boss, Lombardo is dead."

"What?" Joe asked in disbelief. "I didn't give anyone orders."

"People are saying that it's either one gunman or two. Possibly Northsiders."

"I'll reach out to get more information. But if this is true, then that means—"

"Capone will be coming for us." The associate surmised.

"Exactly. Big Al has been wanting us gone for years. Bastard wants the whole city, and he's going to use this as the excuse he needs to bring all-out war across Chicago." Joe said, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands.

"What should we do?"

"Business as usual, Sal. But go to Heller's apartment and summon him. We're going to need our ace killer in the fight to come."

An hour later, Sal and another associate showed up at the apartment complex near the lake outside of downtown. Quickly climbing the stairs, the two were out of breath by the time they got to the tenth floor. Wasting no time, Sal knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Maybe he's out?"

"At this time of day? I doubt it. Heller would be sleeping off his night shift." Sal said before knocking again, this time harder than before. After nearly a minute there was still no response. "Alright, big guy. Break it down."

With a few good kicks and a couple of body slams, the door finally gave way. The two men entered with their guns drawn. Sweeping through the small apartment, the furniture was still in place. In fact, everything was perfectly clean and polished. Something was missing though. There was no clothing, no food, no personal items of any kind.

"What the hell?" The big guy said to himself. "No sign of a fight."

A knock on the broken door jumped the two men who turned their guns in the direction of the noise. A small cat raised his hands. "Don't shoot! I'm not armed!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sal brought his gun to rest and motioned for his partner to do the same. "Sorry Leo, we're looking for Heller."

"Mordecai left this morning. He said Joe was moving him to the Northside."

"Oh he did, did he?" Sal said, shaking his head. "No, his orders were to take today to rest and prepare for an operation tomorrow."

The landlord shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I can tell you he isn't here. In fact, he left just as I was opening the front office."

"Why would he do this?" The big guy asked Sal.

"I think I know why. You know Mordecai's old boss?"

"Asa Sweet?"

"No, his first boss. Atlas May."

"Yeah?"

"Who do you think gave the order to have Atlas iced?"

The man drew a blank as did the landlord.

"Tony the Scourge. That's who. I don't know everything that's happening, but Mordecai checking out this morning and Tony being gunned down a few hours later aren't a coincidence. Send us the bill for the door, Leo. We'll be back if we need anything out of the apartment."

The two scurried down all the stairs and made their way to the car. Once inside, Sal gunned the throttle and sped off down the street. "We need to find Heller before he skips town."

"Yeah, but where could he be?"

Union Station

"Alright boys, we need him alive. We also can't cause a panic, so jump him before he gets a chance to shoot." Sal said, checking his gun one last time before getting on the train. He and three others quickly combed from one end of the train to the other, not finding anyone who looked like Heller. Two others supervised anyone coming and going. Nearing the last car, Sal took a deep breath. This was it. It had to be. Mordecai would naturally be fleeing to St. Louis. That's where he had contacts, friends, maybe even family.

Zeroing in on the last room in the car, Sal motioned for his associate to pick the lock. Quickly, the cat did his work until he was able to undo the latch. Sliding the door open, they instead found a meek old man, already asleep before the train had even departed.

"What now, boss?" The associate asked Sal.

"Check the manifests for any other train bound for St. Louis. He's got to be on one of them."

On the next platform over, two long blasts from the locomotive signaled its departure. Mordecai briefly pulled the blinds back to see the men searching in vain on the southbound passenger trains. Satisfied, he laid back and relaxed in the leather seat. Soon the train was rolling along through the city as the sun began to sink toward the horizon. If there is one thing Mordecai learned in his years as a hitman, it was how to cover his tracks. Of course they would all be thinking he was headed to St. Louis, but what they didn't realize is that his business in that city had concluded. His business in Chicago had concluded as well. After two years, his quest to avenge the man who made him had finally come to an end. His search was all consuming and attaining vengeance had cost Mordecai no small amount. In the reflection of the courtesy mirror, a sign of his age made itself known. Another grey hair on his cheek. He could expect one to occasionally reveal itself for now, but if the old photos of his father were any indication Mordecai could expect to be sporting a grey and faded muzzle before he was fifty.

He was headed east, back to territory he had not treaded in years. The thought had nagged at him for some time. "What now?" Would he stay in the business somewhere? Find a new outfit across the country where he name was not known? No. It had been long enough now. Far too long, in fact. Viktor had shown him as much when trying to reconnect with his daughter. His mother and sisters were still in Brooklyn last he knew. They had found better accommodations thanks in part to money he had sent them, but recently his correspondence had gone unacknowledged.

Checking his watch, Mordecai saw that his reservation in the dining car was in five minutes. Putting his jacket back on over his holstered Colt, he made sure to look presentable. Every hair, grey or otherwise, would stay in place so long as he could be seen by the public. Just before going out into the sleeper's hall, he stopped and pulled the Zagara out of his lapel. It was the symbol of Sicily and his allegiance to the old guard in the mafia. An allegiance he no longer felt compelled to obey. Crumpling the fragile flower in his hand and tossing it in the trash. He no longer had a gang, an outfit, or a master. Just himself. A lone gunman with a new and personal mission.

Hours later, after retiring from the dining car, Mordecai settled in for the night. The small inconsistencies around the cabin bothered him, but fatigue from a long day would soon overpower any annoyance. He first passed the time with games and puzzles on the back pages of the paper. When tests of logic had been completed, Mordecai moved on to using the paper as a key to develop codes. A useful skill that he had put to use many times. But then it hit him. This was… unnecessary. Creating codes and secret messages? That may have served him in the past but now he had no one to communicate with. If he had to send a letter to one of his former colleagues in St. Louis, he knew their address and could trust that they wouldn't rat him out.

Similarly, the fake names, identification papers, disguises, all the tricks of his trade were now useless to him. He wasn't Atlas May's golden boy anymore, nor was he Asa Sweet's shadow. Joe Aiello couldn't claim him either. At best he was a hired gun to the Chicago outfit. A useful hired gun, but he was not Italian and would not have been able to climb the ladder even if he wanted to. The persona he had wrapped himself in for so long now was, at best, a useless mask. At worst, people would kill him for things he had done. It was necessary to let go of what once defined him. Now, for the first time in a long time, he was Mordecai Heller. Just Mordecai, nothing more and nothing less.

And yet, he could not say what that meant. He had been a mere boy when he left New York City. A boy who was frightened and on the run from people trying to kill him. His flight had not even been his first plan, it was the contingency. A last-ditch effort to move a threat to his family well away from the city. He had been acting as his own bait, and it worked! But that success came at a cost. When he came to serve Atlas May, the man who cared for him wrapped Heller in a cloak of darkness, provided him with a gun, and sent him into battle against an enemy that would never fully die. Ethan had figured that out in short order and found his exit, now Mordecai was exiting as well. Things were going to get messy in the world of the mafia, and if he stayed it would be only a matter of time until he met a fate like Viktor.

Tiredness finally caught up with Heller, and he at last laid down in the berth, falling asleep to the rhythm of the rails. Dozing off while carefully looking at his 1911 swinging gently in its holster. The gun which had carried since 1921 was mere inches away, but the legend he had built for himself was now separated by hundreds of miles.

Where it all Began

The train descended into a tunnel which darkened the coach. Terrified, Mordecai looked around for any chance of escape. The two gangsters that had followed him from New York made their move. Inching closer, death was creeping in. A small flash of light caught the young cat's attention. It was a revolver, left hidden under a folded newspaper. That tall cat which had been sitting in the next seat over had provided Mordecai with a means to escape…

Disembarking from the train, Mordecai wanted to throw up. His hands trembled from adrenaline and the cat quickly hid the pistol inside his coat. Looking down at the bloodstained letter which had been soiled by an inconvenient nosebleed, Mordecai was now somewhere west of the Appalachians without food, money, or a direction. In his haste to leave town, Mordecai had neglected to bring enough funds to get him far away from the street gang that was now after him. At least they didn't know where he lived. His mother and sisters would be safe so long as he stayed away.

"You survived." A deep baritone voice said. Mordecai whirled around and found himself staring at the cat who had just saved him. The big orange cat did not show much emotion. In fact, it was as if the gentleman was staring right into the heart of Mordecai's soul, judging him silently. Judging him for what, exactly? Heller couldn't say. No matter the cause, the teenager retreated, looking down and away in a submissive gesture.

"What's your name?" The older cat asked.

"Mordecai, sir. Mordecai Heller."

"Well Mordecai, I have an appointment to keep so I cannot stay here. However, if you don't have a place to go, you are welcome to follow."

"I don't want to be a burden, sir." Mordecai said, but the big cat laughed.

"You are far from a burden, son. Come, I'd like you to answer a few questions. Starting with why you are alone on a train far from home."

Not seeing much for options, Mordecai complied and followed the stranger out of the depot. They were soon walking down the street of a small town.

"First things first, I'd appreciate my pistol back." The cat said, holding out his hand. Mordecai gave the man his gun back. "T-thank you, by the way. They were going to kill me."

"Yet you killed them first. And without hesitation. A rare trait in someone so young. So, why were those two men after you?"

"I… would rather not say."

"Its alright to tell me. I'm not exactly the upstanding citizen my image suggests. They were gangsters who were trying to kill you. Naturally, that must mean you did something to warrant their wrath."

Taking a deep breath, Mordecai told the truth. "They hired me to balance their books. My family was starving so I diverted a small percentage of their income to an account in my name."

"And you were doing this for a while?"

"Two years… but they only just caught on."

"Which means either they aren't very smart or you are. So, you can balance account ledgers and preserve yourself when cornered. Did you have a plan in mind after escaping those gangsters."

"Well, no sir. I was trying to make distance between myself and my family so that they would be safe, but I did not bring enough money with me to go farther than Cincinnati."

"How would you like to come with me to St. Louis?"

"St. Louis? I don't know if I could be of use to you."

"You sell yourself short. Come with me and I will make sure you have everything you need to start a life far enough away that your family will be safe. That includes a job."

"I suppose I'm at the end of my rope otherwise. If you'll have me, sir, I will follow."

"Good. Now, I've got an assignment for you. Think of it as a test. The train for St. Louis leaves this afternoon, and between now and then I need to call in a few bets. Here is a nickel for a paper. I want you to pick which teams I should favor and explain why."

"I haven't gambled before—"

"You gambled with your life just now and won. You need not worry about whether I win or lose money, this is a learning experience for you and a test for me to see if you have the required skills for my operations. If you fail, I will pay the station master for a ticket to any destination of your choosing. If you succeed, there are a great many things in St. Louis which a young man like you could do. So, do we have a deal?"

"Yes, sir." Mordecai said. Taking a nickel, he went down to the newspaper stand and bought the sports edition. Flipping through the pages, Mordecai took careful notes about which teams in baseball had been doing well that season and did as much research as he could to ascertain why some teams were better than others. It was similar to what he had been doing in New York, only on national sports instead of underground fighting rings and boxing matches. Two hours passed quickly and just as Mordecai was getting done with his task he spotted the stranger across the street waiting for him.

"I'm here, sir. As you requested…" Mordecai handed the man the newspaper with his notes. The stranger gave the young cat a little smile before scanning through the document, noting all of the information which had been added into the margins. It was mostly numbers which were adding up how each team was doing across the league.

"And you think these are the teams which will win next week?"

"Yes sir. I compared their team batting average, scores, as well as their historical win-to-loss ratio against the teams they'll all be facing in the next week. Combined with averages over the last five seasons, I believe these picks will give you a better than random chance at coming out ahead."

"Interesting. And you did this in…" The stranger checked his watch. "Less than two hours. I've paid a lot more to experienced men who could not deliver this level of detail. Tell me, who do you think will win the season?"

"Logically, I would predict that Cleveland will win this season…"

"But…"

"But I hope that Brooklyn comes through."

"Why Brooklyn?"

"They are the home team. Naturally I would favor them even if the numbers suggest they won't beat Cleveland."

The cat smiled, confident that he had all the information he needed. "Intelligence and loyalty, two qualities which will take you far in life no matter where you end up. How would you like a job? A real job, not this silly business I've had you doing today. It will pay well and you will have a home in my operations for as long as you desire it."

Mordecai thought it over, but the choice was clear. It was either try to make it in a different city or take the offer he was being given right now. "I would be very glad to work for you, sir."

"Excellent. My name is Atlas May. On our way to St. Louis I will describe my operations and how you'll fit in. But first, it is time to teach you rule two of being a man."

"Rule two?"

"Dress to impress, young one."

Atlas put his arm around Mordecai as they walked to the department store. It was an odd feeling for the young cat but comforting in a way. It was almost like his father was guiding him now. A man giving him time and attention he sorely missed.

The morning sun shone on Mordecai's face. Despite the movement of the train, it was like he had gotten a week's worth of sleep all at once. Looking in the mirror, Mordecai saw that his hair was a mess from tossing about. He'd have to correct this before going to the dining car for breakfast. His shoulder brushed up against the gun holster and caused it to swing about. Mordecai instinctively reached for the holster and stopped it from making unnecessary noise. As he did so, he saw the engraved initials at the bottom of the Colt's magazine. Atlas had taken the time to give Mordecai a custom gun, and even now it was one of his most prized possessions. As he opened the cabinet door to find his personal affects, his lips formed a small smile. He might be starting again or reclaiming his old life, but part of Atlas still remained.