I was trying desperately to put Wales behind me, partly because that was what I had heard was the best thing to do when someone important to you dies and partly because it was the arse-end of the world and I never had any intention of ever going back there. I looked out across the ocean, lost in my own thoughts as I sailed back towards the States. I wasn’t quite ready for Chicago yet, but America certainly hadn’t lost its allure. A few weeks looking at sheep and dumb fucking rocks will do that to a person, and I was slowly reconciling myself to the fact that business couldn’t wait forever. Eventually I would have to return to the helm of the Gang and see what state OctopusLegs’ “it’ll be alright” management style had left it in. Fortunately, not today though, today was just going to be me, the ocean, and my thoughts.

“Would you look at that water? So freaking beautiful.”

I looked to my left and a well-dressed man in his late 40s had joined me out on the deck, uninvited. He had shoulder length blonde hair, a gaudy earring which screamed over-compensation and a fancy black cotton suit. I didn’t really want to get involved in small talk so I politely asked him if he would leave me alone.

“Listen here, you little gobshite. Get the fuck back inside before I pull that stupid piece of shit out of your ear and shove it down your throat,” I said, giving him my most sincere ‘I hate you’ smile.

That was when something amazing happened. The weedy little show-off didn’t back down at all, he wasn’t a quivering sack of piss as expected and he was, in fact, laughing in my face. “Shit-for-brains, did you hear what I just said?” I snapped, white knuckled fists gleaming in the afternoon sun, as they impatiently tried to claw a hole in the handrail.  

This ballsy bastard didn’t miss a beat though and he looked me dead in the eye. “I heard you, but clearly you don’t know who I am,” he said with the self-satisfied smirk reserved for only the truly deplorable. “This is my ship.”

“You’re the Captain, eh? You don’t look like much of a sailor. Let’s see how well you swim,” and I grabbed Smugly by the lapels on his expensively boring suit and eased him towards the rail.

“Unhand me, you buffoon! I'm the owner!” He wailed desperately. It was the type of piteous whining I’d often heard come from FrankCastle’s idiot mouth and the parallel was jarring. As Frank was such a dolt, that whining was a common occurrence, almost always when he was unintentionally making a fool of himself without even realising it, which was pretty much whenever he opened his dumb mouth. Like only yesterday when he was failing to understand the basic premise of the topic. For a guy who prides himself on being such a champion in the Streets, you would think he could understand the simple things like the scene, right? Wrong. That fucking dummy shouts at the sky, thinking it is some sort a debate and for some weird reason the humans want to hear the monkey have his say today. We don’t. At best, he's an attraction at the zoo, enjoyed from a distance, as we watch him smear his own shit on the wall, thinking it is art. It doesn't surprise me anymore though, sadly. He'd lost a few brain cells each time he made a clone to praise his own work (because nobody else would) and now he was nearly all out.

“Are you going to let go?” Smugly asked, reminding me that I’d been holding him for about 15 seconds without saying anything whilst I processed the latest FrankCastle calamity. “Is it a question of money?” He added.

I snorted at that; a great man I knew used to pose that same question. “Why, you got some?”

“Of course. I ran a very successful investment fund once up a time. If you would unhand me,” his limp wrist actually closed around mine at this point. “Perhaps we could make some arrangement?”

“An investment fund?” I asked, the smile dropping so far off my face it was into the foaming waves below. “You some sort of fucking scammer?”

Future-flotsam had a snort of his own. “So you have heard of me!” He laughed like we were best friends and I was so disarmed, I actually did let go of him. He brushed himself down and straightened his jacket. “Lordian,” he said before extending his perfectly manicured hand towards me. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot Mr…?”

No fucking way. No fucking way. “Lordian?” I asked, the name tasting funny in my mouth saying it out loud. “You’re Lordian?”

Lordian nodded, shit-eating grin etched on his chiselled cheekbones. “Unless there are two of me,” he added with a wink. “The old Billy_Russo special, eh. Ha, sadly no. Just little old me, I’m afraid.”

“You’re shitting me.” Magma rage had seemed to be running through my veins for days now but this, this was something truly special. My hands were back on Lordian now. “Who put you up to this, you sack of shit?” I snarled at him, barrellng him back over the side.

“Wait! Wait! I’m really, Lordian! I am! I am! Ahhhhhh!” he cried teetering over backwards, one white-socked and sandaled foot all that was keeping him from going overboard. “I can prove it, I can prove it!”

 “Prove it then, arsehole.” Etna didn’t have shit on me.

“Th-the mutual fund! The mutual fund!” he wailed. “It was a sham. It was never real, all just an angle. I used the cash from new investors to pay out old ones! I diced all night sometime on their money! Put me down, please!! I have some cash still and this ring. This ring is worth a fortune! Just put me down!!”

I pulled him back from the brink, the edges of my vision had gone red. All I could think was of the $50,000,000 which was meant to have secured me a better future, only to have been snatched off in the dainty hands of this Ponzi 2.0 motherfucker.

“Th-thank you, thank you,” Lordian mumbled, tears running out of the corners of his eyes. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement here, friend, truly. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

$50,000,000. An arrangement. $50,000,000. Friend. $50,000,000. I’d gone to better myself, to come back to the business with a clearer head, able to make the right kind of decisions to secure my family’s future, only I was starting to realise that a man can’t outrun his problems. They are all just waiting for him when he gets back.

Except for this one.

I’d like to say I came up with a witty line or a funny little quip as I sent that fraudster over the rail of the ship, but I didn’t. I was consumed by the fire and burning this oaf was the easiest thing in the world. One swift punch to the jaw and he slipped over the edge of the rail and down into the depths below, gaudy right-eared earring pirouetting down to land on the deck right beside me.

I picked it up and put it into my pocket. I didn't spare Lordian another glance; dirty robbing bastard. 

In his passing, Gunsmith slipped a letter of correspondence into Grin-08's pocket.  Addressed to a name with random syllables and vowels lumped together, the document contained information pertaining to investment opportunities in a far away land.  

"Dear beloved friend,

I know this letter will come as surprise but permit me to go into business relationship with you.  I am Sir Gunsmith husband of late Queen Cleopatra the third whom was murdered in our civil war.  I have escaped my enemies however the sum of $4,200,000  deposited in Delaware City remains.  I am here now seeking an avenue to transfer funds to you as you're the only reliable and trustworthy person with Investment in Fund.  Please I will offer you 20% of the total revenue for permission to transfer with enclosed $150,000 wiring fee from you this can be accomplished.  Your immediate response is appreciated,

Best Regards, Gunsmith

Heading to his cabin, Grin reached into his pocket for his key, fingers brushing upon a piece of paper in the process. 'Odd,' he thought to himself taking it out. He didn't recognise the writing on the front so scrunched it into a ball without reading it and tossed it over his shoulder like yesterday's garbage. Which in this instance, you could call Lordian.