A youngish-type fellow hobbled up next to Steele, past the secretary's desk and laughed boisterously, sitting down.
"Ho! Forgive my associates melodrama!" he said to the woman at the desk while slapping Steele's back.
"However, he is correct. We have business," growing serious and shifty-eyed and stood up again quickly and abruptly, pacing around the waiting room and moseying slowly towards the front desk.
"I will not waste your time echoing the account of my associate, but I will tell you what I seek.
I wish to eliminate him; his ilk. I wish for there to remain no black plume as a token for the lie his soul hath spoken. 'Criminal'. He shall see no sunny face nor be greeted with silver laughter, for herein lies a man who shall be happy never after. If your cause is as you say, then our goals are similar, I think. The credit is weak where anger and a means are present, so my previous occupation as a merchant will be of little consequence. The Paddy of two days ago is dead for all intents and purposes.
And, if it matters, I no longer hold any worldly possessions. This suits your ideals, yes?"
"I believe the Madame Broch might speak of the account. And vouch for my purity of intent."
He looked up suddenly, quickly gaining a spark of awareness that was previously absent. He inhaled sharply as if to mutter an apology for the tirade before deciding against it and reclaiming his seat next to Steele. He leaned forward and stared absentmindedly at a bloody wall; thoughts of lament haunting the black corners of his mind.
