Balance Zero

Arthur walked to the heavy steel door of the meat locker. He paused, looking back at the paralyzed giant on the floor.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell above. The Don’s men. The cleanup crew.

Arthur opened the back exit door. The rain of the Chicago night hit him, cold and cleansing.

He looked back at Luca one last time.

"You know," Arthur said thoughtfully. "You were right about one thing."

Luca’s eyes pleaded for mercy.

"I really do have a terrible laugh."

Arthur threw his head back. But this time, the laugh wasn't a squeak. It wasn't a nervous tic. It was a rich, deep, baritone peeling of genuine amusement that bounced off the tiled walls.

* Ha. Ha. Ha.*

He stepped out into the alleyway.

He walked past the black SUVs idling at the curb. The enforcers ignored the nondescript man in the cheap suit walking away; they were focused on the meat locker.

Arthur Penhaligon turned the corner, merging into the Friday night crowd. He tossed the inhaler into a sewer grate. He wouldn't need it for the next job. He took out his phone and dialed a number.

"This is Audit," he said into the phone. "The account is closed. Send the invoice."

He hung up and disappeared into the city, just another face in the crowd, leaving the Gilded Cage behind him to rot.