"One of the most expensive diamonds in the world, can you believe it? That thing's worth more than everyone who drank here tonight will make in a goddamn lifetime- combined! It just makes you think, don't it? A jewel like THAT?"

It certainly did make one think. Keats, in particular. He'd been trying to visit local watering holes lately and make connections. Yea, we'll say that was the reason. All the drinks weren't a bad perk of the business investment, of course. Usually around this time of night he'd been walking out the door, preferably with company. Tonight, though, he'd ignored the blonde that had furtively been making eye contact with him to focus on his real conquest: Jeff Todd, United States Postman. Jeff had probably been in good shape once, but now he was built like a pumpkin with legs- and with this many drinks he almost had the color to match. Keats, as he had made his way up the ranks in Detroit, had been chatting with as many people as he could for the last couple weeks. Newspapermen, carpenters, hairdressers... mailmen... they all had their ears to the ground. And listening to Jeff Todd had paid off big time. Keats took a long drink from his beer to cover his grin as he continued to listen.

"And how do you think they're going to send this wonder of the world to the Detroit Institute of the Arts? Private armored truck? Government escort? Nope. No way! It'd draw WAY too much attention. Every goomba with a gun between here and New York would be lining up to take their shot at it. So they just insured the crap out of the necklace and dropped it in the mail. Damned smart, if you think about it. Safety in anonymity."

Jeff suddenly went quiet as he looked around the nearly empty bar.

"Now Johnny this has to stay strictly between us, ya hear? You'll not say nothing that'll get your favorite drinking buddy in trouble? Hell, you can tell the whole world about it tomorrow night; once it gets here tomorrow the papers'll be sure to have it on the front page the next morning. Such great publicity for our profession. But you gotta keep it to yourself until then."

Keats leaned in and raised an eyebrow before flashing a reassuring smile.

"Jeff, I'm a poet. I'd be happy to write a verse or two about this necklace when it's on display, but who am I going to tell? You worry too much."

Jeff nodded, reassured, as Keats adroitly changed the subject to the noble history of the mail deliverer's profession. 

***

The next day Keats was standing across the street from the post office, shielding his eyes from the midday sun as he fought off the final vestiges of his hangover. It'd be worth it, though, if he could pull of this score. Maybe even make this jewel a gift to Will Hayes, impress him, and become a full member of the family. One step at a time, though. 

Keats saw the transfer truck, traveling from the depot that handled all incoming mail from New York, turn the corner down the road. He lightly stepped off the curb, crossed the street, and started casually walking along the sidewalk toward the depot. As the truck pulled into the parking lot and came to a halt in a parking space, Keats memorized the number on the back to make sure he got the right one, which was a good move since the security gatehouse was now blocking his view of the truck.  He then approached the security guard and gave his best impression of a confused civilian.

"Hey, uh, Mister! There's some punks cracking open a mailbox 3 blocks thattaway around the corner? I just, er, thought I should tell someone?"

The security guard immediately started moving in the direction Keats had pointed, yelling about how tampering with the mail was a federal offense. Now there was no left between him and the truck. Walking quickly, as if he was perfectly entitled to be there, Keats strode over to the truck and started it up, backing up and quickly jetting forward into the street, driving down the road as fast as he could without drawing attention. After a few turns, Keats allowed himself to relax. The perfect crime. Huge payoff and no one got hurt. Well, he'd have to go through all these thousands of letters and packages to find the one with the necklace, but a diamond that size was worth the annoyance. Damn, he was good. He'd just cracked his first smile when he heard the banging from the back. 

Keats froze. Well, as much as you can freeze while driving and avoid killing yourself. There was thumping, some shouting- someone was in the rear of the truck with the mail. Must be locked in? What the fuck was he going to do now?

The question, unanswered, stayed on his brain as he drove out into the country, toward the lake where he'd planned on sifting through all the mail.

***

Keats stood a few feet behind the door, listening to the muffled shouting and thumping noises. His clean shoes pressed down tall grass as he briefly observed the woodland scene around him. Deserted. Perfect place to cut open a bunch of mail, find a prize, and dump the truck in the lake. Perfect... other than his unexpected guest. Was there something to cover his face? He could have planned for this, if he'd thought of it. But a man in a mask walking down the sidewalk or inside the parking lot would have been too suspicious. Maybe.... Keats took off his jacket and, using the knife holstered at the small of his back, cut off the sleeve, tying it into a makeshift bandanna that covered his lower face. This was the best he could do. All the fabric was too heavy for him to see through, and he wasn't about to go into this discussion blind. Well, this always worked for the cowboys in the stories. Keats grinned.  He could knock out whoever was back there, retreat in anonymity, dump the truck elsewhere, and call the cops when he got back to Detroit to make sure the poor bastard gets picked up okay. Perfect job. Taking a deep breath, Keats swung open the door.

"What the-?! I've been banging fer hours, you lunatic.... Johnny? Is that you?"

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

FUCK!

Keats tried to lower his voice into a growl.

"I don't know who Johnny-"

"Johnny, I know it's you. I've seen those green peepers of yours over too many beers. What the hell's going on?.... ... You robbing me, Johnny? Robbing the mail? But you..."

Heart thumping, Keats slowly removed the bandanna with his left hand. His right hand reached around his back, where it rested on the hilt of his knife. 

"Listen to me, Jeff. I need the necklace in this truck. It's my ticket to the big time- to really make it into this... organization. I need this. But you promise me you'll walk away, and I'll give you a cut. 10%?"

Jeff Todd shook his head, bewildered.

"Fine. 20%. But that's it. I need the rest."

"Johnny it's not about money. I can't let you do this. I thought you were my friend. You'd just- use me to get this thing? I mean, I wanted to take a look at the package, which is why I snuck back there, just to hold it in my hands before it got processed, to say I was a part of history... but to steal it for yourself? And whoever you're working for? That's not right, John. Listen. You come back with me, we go to the police. I'll do whatever I can to help you, and if you didn't actually steal anything they can't throw you in jail too long. You do your time... and I'll get you a job driving a route when you get out of the can in a few years. It'll be an honest life: wife, kids, a house, everything. We just need to drive back. It's that easy."

Keats stared at the man, choking down his emotional turmoil as the world became blurry. After a long pause, Keats nodded slowly.

As Jeff turned around to walk toward the driver's seat, the first blow from the knife struck him in the back. So did the second. And the third, as Keats struck with a desperate fury. The fourth one dropped the older man to his knees. Keats screamed his throat ragged with his eyes clenched shut as he drew the knife across Jeff's throat. Perhaps he screamed because he felt his soul leaving his body forever. Perhaps he screamed for his dead mother and her Christian faith, the only thing she'd left him with. Perhaps he just screamed to cover up the sickening gurgles of Jeff's last moments. If so, it didn't work. He heard them regularly in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Keats kicked the body away and threw the knife on the ground. He made it four steps toward the lake before he vomited and collapsed.

***

The next night, a man walked into Detroit like he was already dead. His pants, once part of a suit, were now caked with dirt- just like the mismatched postman's jacket he'd found in the back of the truck. His shoes were streaked with some sort of dried liquid and he, strangely, wasn't wearing a shirt under the jacket, although he kept it wrapped close enough around himself that it wasn't noticeable. His feet barely elevated from the pavement as he wearily slouched into the Black Rock headquarters. Trying to compose himself, he questioned a couple gangsters and eventually made his way to where Via Parile was in a conversation with Ewiv. He pulled a package out of his jacket pocket and extended it, trembling, toward the duo.

"Could- could you make sure the Boss gets this? As a special gift, from Keats."

Via noticed the barest hint of a bloody thumbprint on the package, and he could hear her asking a question. Could hear Ewiv's voice starting to speak as well, but Keats bowed his head politely and walked as briskly as he could manage on his blistered feet. He'd been an impeccable associate so far. He'd done everything they'd asked him to. So much more than he'd been asked to do. They must forgive him this brief moment of rudeness. Surely.

He was running as soon as he was around the corner, down the steps and out into the street. A car swerved, barely missing him. He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. Returning to the sidewalk, he trudged down the street toward his small, spare apartment. He never spent time there- always working.

In a blink, he was in the shower, trying to scrub the last traces of blood away. Images kept flashing into his mind against his will. Bloodstained letters, searching for the necklace. Ripping off his bloody shirt and throwing it into the truck. Dragging Jeff's body into the truck with his eyes closed, Jeff's eyes open. Finding the spare coat in the back, before putting the truck in neutral and sending it over the cliff and into the depths of a lake. Picking up the package with the necklace and his knife, starting the long trek back to Detroit. 

His knife. It was still behind him. Keats, realizing he still had his pants on in the shower, stopped scrubbing his hands raw and removed the knife from its scabbard. He listened to the stream from the shower strike the blade, making twisted music. He saw his own reflection looking back at him, empty green eyes. He looked at the knife. 

He could end it. He'd given Will the package. The job was done.

He stood there in the shower, looking down at the knife, for a long time.

***

Two hours later he was thrown out of a bar. Stumbling and maintaining his balance with his hand against the wall, Keats staggered once again through the streets of Detroit. He moved in and out of time as only drunks, babies, idiots, and the elderly can. In a flash, he was on a bridge, looking down at the river far below and up at the lights of the city. He could jump. End it. The water murmured seductively below him as his tears fell to join the river. He couldn't jump. Or he wouldn't. Same difference. Same God Damned difference. He slumped with his back safely against the wall of the bridge and fell asleep on the sidewalk looking up at the stars, still hearing the siren's song of the river below. 

Strolling down the street listening to the  music of the night. Cars beeping, children crying they are hungry as they are tucked into bed, dogs barking at shadows that flutter by to stay away from their empty bowls. Brigid was going over in her mind, the new route for her next shine delivery. She had bounced back  from the loss of Delilah's Delight's , her underground Speakeasy which was her cover for a  more lucrative business in the basement. She had managed to replace her copper still she had  lost in the explosion of her country home. She  had a new hot batch made up and the new route she  was planning was a little longer,  but safer from discovery.

Lost in thought as she could be often found her boots clicking clacking along the concrete with each step change tone as she stepped on the bridge walkway Clack clack. The air temperature seemed to lower as she crossed the bridge, the moon kissing the river caught her attention as she continued on her walk.  As she   pulled her coat tighter around herself as she notice a frump of a man slunched up against the wall of the bridge. First she noticed the stale musty odor of liquor lingeringin the air mixing with the sweet oil  jasmine she wore. Scrunching her nose as she got closer the smell grew stronger. She reached out with a steady hand and shook his shoulder firmly.Her voice was firm yet sweet."Hey you , you okay ." The gentleman did not respond ,but as she shook his shoulder a bit more firmly  his head lolled to the side a bit. Instant recognition crossed her pale icy blue eyes."Keats,Keats."She raised her voice realizing he was in a drunken sleep.

The smell of jasmine filled his nostrils and he heard the low hum of night from the bushes and trees in the vicinity. Blinking, Keats opened his eyes and squinted into the moonlit night. Someone was standing in front of him- Brigid, a member of the family. He clenched his eyes shut and moved his hand to try to rebutton the top of his shirt, his tie hanging hapzardly and half covered by his now rumpled suit coat. 

His mouth felt like he'd been drinking sandpaper and tasted like spoiled meat. His mind was foggy, as his thoughts skipped along from second to second without any long term reflection. Groaning, he leaned against the bridge and forced himself to his feet.

"Bri-Brigid? Lets get a drink, huh?"

She swished her hand in front of her face to dissipate the stench that assaulted her nose. She never understood why people would drink themselves into such a stupor. To take control away from themselves due to over indulgence. It was common destructive human behavior. She shook her head,  black tendrils of hair floating here and there more, in pity at his condition than anything else. 

With a practice quick flick of her hand she materialized a flask from her black garter belt. She shoved at Keats." Here this will better for you than that  rot gut  you have probably been drinking."  A smiled brightened her face and something  akin to a laugh crossed over her pale eyes. She was not going to tell him it was her last batch of shine, he would find that out soon enough this was a good hot batch of 180 proof. "That  should help you get some sense back. If it doesn't at least it will entertain me"  She let out a snicker .

Keats, blinking into Brigid's pale blue eyes, raised the flask in a toast to her and downed a substantial gulp. Exhaling, he examined the flask.

"Little strong, there. Glad I can't feel it too much."

Staring off into space for a moment, he takes another slug from the flask. He's obviously intoxicated, but he still carefully looks around to assure they won't be heard. Speaking quietly, he addresses the older family member.

"Ever kill anyone, Brigid?"

"Strong enough to bring you some wits back." Her tone was sarcastic,her face was lit up with mirth.

She was slightly taken back with his question, it was not the usual conversational piece. She bit her lip in thought, she had killed many people. Some quick from a distance and well others were face to face. Her favorite the face to face kills she enjoyed watching the life vacate their eyes.

"Yes, why do you ask Keats?" She was perceptive enough to know he was in this drunken state due to killing someone.

"Oh... no reason."

Keats took a deep breath and followed it up with a deep pull from the flask. He could still see the blood. Closing his eyes, he tried to drive the image from his mind. After a moment Keats stared up at the stars, feeling the alcohol disperse warmth through his body. 

"Just out of curiosity... how do you deal with... it? How do you move past it?"

She squinted her icy blue eyes reflecting the street lights causing her orbs to appear white. He avoided her question,with a half truth, half truths irritated her. Chiding herself mentally he has his reasons , all things in time.

She laughed heartily as if he had just told her a joke. "Survival of the fittest hon.  I am just an instrument of someones idea of justice.  Put it in perspective of what it is. Survival. " She  reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. " As for moving past it , some kills  you never forget." The corner of her  lip twitched slightly as memories flashed through her mind.

Keats nods slowly as he listens to Brigid.

"That's... what I thought."

Standing, he hands her flask back to her.

"This is great, but I don't want to empty you out. Think I'll find another bar down the road with a less enthusiastic bouncer... Thank you, Brigid. I appreciate it.

Mustering a weak smile, Keats ambles off down the sidewalk, only slightly stumbling.

She takes the flask shaking it slosh slish, he had drank a substantial amount. She laughed lightly,"My flask maybe, I never run out of moonshine.  My pleasure. " She continued on her way in the direction she was already headed,back to planning her next moonshine delivery route.