From the Downtown Detroit apartment, Christian could see out over Woodward Avenue and a little out over the river. The streets were busy, though grey and emotionless. Long coats and fedora hats a common sight, while motorcars chuntered back and forth, kicking up dust and smog while the winds circled it down the street.

He missed Detroit. Running the streets in his youth while Charlie was out doing whatever he did.

The streets captured his attention for a while longer, before he invested back into clearing out the old boxes and paperwork left behind. In the wake of the Detroit take down, the authorities had realised that Charlie's old apartment was empty, so called me up to clear it. My old room was pretty much empty though, it had been stripped and replaced with four mattresses, each with a box of personal belongings beside it.

Christian tossed the first one aside, lifting a stack of papers from the next and brushing through them.

He came out of Via's office with purpose, that was clear. We knew when Charlie had a job to do, the way the fire ignited in his eyes and the corner of his mouth would curl, ever so slightly. His face spoke more than he ever needed to and he was always at his best when he had something to do. The other bodyguards and I picked our selves up, promptly, and marched after him. I'm pretty sure he often forgot we were there, he was going to finish the task regardless of our help. 

We climbed into his car, Charlie, Enzo, Maurice and myself, and he tore off down the street.

"So Charlie, you gonna tell us about it?" Maurice made the same moronic comment he always made, every damn time.

Charlie remained silent.

We were headed out of the city, I already figured we were going to take a flight. The guys chatted between themselves in the back, I took a leaf out of Charlies book and just shut up.

Before long we were out west, tailing some has been I recognised from around the HQ. Must have gone MIA, which explained what we were here to do. He lead us through LA, before finally he ducked into an old bakery. We waited in the car, Enzo vocalized his disdain for the west coast and everything in it, between us we poked fun at his wife and the standard of the broads out here. Except Charlie, of course. Charlie remained silent.

The target left the bakery with something in his arms, looked like a whole lot of bread. The vehicle went silent as we watched him unwrap the package and lift it in the air, before bringing it to his face and landing a kiss on the forehead of his child.

Maurice and Enzo looked at Charlie, who was pulling a face I would associate with disgruntlement and frustration. He was a little hard to read.

We checked into a hotel, the guys got hold of some cards and dealt up in the kitchen, I however was watching Charlie. His gun was in pieces before him on an old piece of cloth, he would meticulously clean it every day, even checking his rounds for imperfections. As he stood up I walked away, my mind ticking over how the events of tomorrow would unfold. The cylinder span and clicked into place.

We approached the target as he made his way to the bakery the next day. A convenient alley made a perfect location for some privacy. Maurice and Enzo kept the motor running and kept lookout, the two of us confronted the mark, while he stared down Charlies revolver. I'm not sure what it was, but I sensed an air of uncertainty. With what we saw yesterday, I wasn't sure that Charlie would follow through with the job.

In between the bustle of the city, the life on the streets and the whimpering, desperate please for mercy, I heard the hammer cock.

And click. Something was wrong. A second click. Charlie didn't move a muscle, however the target was watching him intently. My gaze darted to Charlie, in time to catch him mouth something. The target fled. Charlie fired two shots into the dark, empty alley, and we left.

On the flight home the atmosphere was normal. Enzo complained further about the trip and how he couldn't wait to get some real food, and Maurice continued to berate him about his attachment to his mother. I continued to watch Charlie. I understood his reasons, there was little chance of ever finding that target again. He had got the message, and that was probably Charlies intention all along. It was very unlikely he overlooked to load two rounds in his gun. Now he was silent and still, with his head back and eyes open.

Actions speak louder than words, and as far as Big Charlie goes, there was more to him than meets the eye.