It was a temperate October afternoon in Chicago sitting comfortably at sixteen degrees, or 60 Fahrenheit as he should really get used to saying, Benny thought. He still didn't fully understand that system, and to be honest he didn't really care to. It was still cool enough to warrant a light coat however, especially with that famous Chicago wind adding a certain chill when it caught you the right way. Thankfully the high walls of the compound provided some shelter from the stronger gusts. Benny had sat himself on a bench just outside the front entrance Mobster's Mansion on the Southside. He needed a bit of fresh air and a think. He took a look around the compound, at the people moving about, every last one of them gangsters. His new family, his new home. He took a drag on his cigarette and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and take a look at his shoes.

He had never had a real home before. When he was fifteen he left his family in Central Europe to wander the streets of cities like Prague, Nuremburg, Milan, Budapest, and Paris. He lived as a vagabond and a petty swindler for the most part, but then he got into the business of dealing opium to the upper-middle echelons of urban socialites. He developed a reputation in certain circles of social outliers like artists, ramblers, swingers and Euro flappers. He was the guy who could get you whatever you needed to make your party stand out. The longest he stayed anywhere however was his stint in London where he lived in an attic loft room for four years, yet despite his modest lodgings he ran a burgeoning party drug network across the city. Those were at the same time some of the best and some of the worst nights of his life. He thought about all those past lives now and as he felt the difference of the American air filling his nostrils, those past lives seemed world and an eternity away.

"What's wrong Benny boy?" he heard from beside him. Emerson had come out from the front door of the mansion and lit his own cigarette. He was looking down at Benny with a half concerned look across his face. "You look depressed," he laughed, "are we really that bad?"

Benny laughed in return and sat back up straight to ease the mood. "Not depressed, just thinking about old bygones. You know you really should quit that," he said nodding at Emerson's cigarette, "they're really not good for you." He took a drag of his own for effect and let out a half smile at the confusion on Emerson's face.

"Don't preach to the devil." He quipped back. Letting the jokes slide Emerson then got down to business. "Boss has a job for us, you know. We gotta do it in about," he checks his wristwatch, "about two hours. We think he should be home by then."

"And who's 'he' then?" Benny asked puzzled.

"You remember that little punk I told you about running the stolen cars? Him. We let him off with a warning and a fat lip the first time round, and the second we, no, I broke his leg." Emerson had a little chuckle to himself at the memory. "He got the cast off about a week ago and the little prick is at it again. Enough is enough so we gotta end him."

Benny nodded his head, he couldn't argue with that. Too much high value theft too close to home, it brought the heat in and that was unacceptable for the family. It was made even worse by the fact that the guy wasn't even an associate of the family at all, nor any other family for that matter. He was too wild, too reckless, no one wanted him within a mile of them.

"And make sure you take a piece with you. This is your hit, new guy." Emerson added just before tossing his cigarette and heading back inside. Benny didn't have time to respond before he was through the door. He didn't have time to say he had never killed before. Should he even say that? Did they know? He tried not to think about it too much but he noticed his hand was shaking a bit as he lifted his cigarette for another drag.

About an hour and half later and the guys were set to go. Benny was carrying a .357 Smith and Wesson model 19. He weighed it in his hand and gave it a look over. Nothing fancy, grey-black gunmetal with a dark wooden handle. It was noticeably heavy for all its size, with six rounds in the cylinder. He wrapped his hand around the grip and could feel the power of it. It felt good in his hand, it felt right, but when he thought of what he was about to do with it a feeling of unease caused a light shudder to pass through him. Quickly he bundled it back into his pocket and looked out at the road. Emerson was driving the Plymouth Model Q, so Benny had all the time to watch the buildings passing and think over what he was about to do. His partner was chatting away the whole time, but Benny didn't hear a word. 

"You don't think we can run him off at all?" Benny asked suddenly.

"What?"

"The guy, the guy we're going to. We can't just, I don't know, run him outta town or something?"

"Are you fuckin' nuts? If Dawn found out we didn't do the job it would be our heads on the block. We have to do the job."

"Yeah ... yeah, you're right. Just, I, nevermind."

There was a brief silence as the pair thought and processed what just happened.

"You've never done this before, have you?"

Benny looked at him before he answered. "No, I haven't."

"You can't think that way in this line of work kid. It's not personal, it's not for pleasure. This is business, this is the law, this is our law. This punk's been warned, he's been put in the hospital, but he doesn't listen. It's his own fault."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

There was another brief pause.

"Is it still a murder if we give him a heads up?" Benny asked half jokingly.

Emerson chuckled his reply, "I think that's called a threat."

Benny laughed openly now. "Damn."

Just a few short minutes later they arrived at the apartment building on the inner South Side. Their target lived on the fourth floor, so there was some climbing required. The block was wedged between two other buildings with only one main entrance door. Taking a quick look up the building there were clothes hanging out windows to dry, people shouting at passers on the street, the sound of kids crying and abusive neighbours shouting through walls. Christ, what a shithole Benny thought to himself.

"You go do the deed. I'll stay here and keep the engine going. In and out okay? Bang on the door, when he opens just do it quick, and come back down. We'll be outta here in a squeal."

"Sure." Benny put on his flat cap and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he opened the door and got out. The climb to the fourth floor was dreadful. He could feel all of the eyes in the hallway on him, every kid and their dog watching him. He was an outsider here and they all knew it. He kept his face stony and walked on, his right hand firmly gripping the smithy in his pocket. The door to the apartment was just the second one down the corridor, just a few steps after the stairs and he was there.

Bang bang bang, he rapped on the door. 

His hand enclosed with purpose now around the handle. With a thumb he worked the hammer. Click. Cocked. The door opened and a man stood there that couldn't be any older than twenty-one. He was wearing nothing but a stained white vest and a pair of beaten trousers that were a size too big, his face scruffy and unwashed.

"Pauly Anders?" Benny asked.

"Yeah, what d-"

Bang. He didn't even have time to finish his sentence before Benny squeezed the trigger. He felt the specs of warm liquid splatter on his face, and he heard the tremendous thump as Pauly's body his the floor. Then the screams. Blood-curdling screams. And the footsteps. Benny pushed open the door of the apartment further and instantly wished he hadn't. A woman was running towards him, he raised his gun but didn't fire. She wasn't looking at him. She fell to her knees by the body and grabbed at the blood-soaked mess, sobbing uncontrollably with that blood curdling wail. Benny made the gun safe and stuffed it in his pocket and turned to leave, but a second figure caught his attention as it came into view in the doorway of the bedroom. A child, no older than three, stood there with wide eyes, unable to comprehend what was happening. 

"Fuck," is all Benny could manage to say. He turned and ran. People were gathering now, poking heads out of doorways, then immediately hiding again at the sight of the stranger in longcoat and cap barreling down the corridor. But still others already in the halls and on the stairway got in his way. He pushed and shoved and jumped the railings to get past them and down. Racing out of the front door he bundled into the car with complete carelessness, his heart and mind going wild.

"What took you so long?" Emerson asked with a half smile.

"Drive, just fucking drive" Benny snapped a bit too sharply.

"Alright alright, going, relax, Jesus." When they were a couple of streets clear he pressed Benny for an answer. "So are you gunna tell me or what? What happened in there?"

"There was a fuckin' child is what happened. Standing in the bedroom doorway. Eyes wide it fuckin' watched me splatter their dad's brain all over the apartment," tears were welling up in his eyes, his throat closing and sore. He slammed a closed fist against the dash. "FUCK!"

The rest of the drive home was silent.