《Luther: A Criminal Underworld Odyssey》


 Chapter 1: Another Day in the Office

    The clock was ticking.


    The urban streets of 1940''s Italy shined brighter than any other. The engulfing black cement served as a mirror to the promiscuous air above. A thick atmosphere intoxicated the patrons that walked in and out of La Cabala; a hip nightclub found in the pits of the red lantern district. The only thing found on the minds of those that partook in the establishment was how much sex and alcohol it would take to forget about the problems that encapsulated their day to day lives. War was on the forefront, with Dictator Mussolini on the verge of declaring his siding with the Axis powers.


    Across the street of this cesspool of a nightclub, a car slowly pulls up. Its appearance is nothing more than scrap metal on wheels, but with the right driver, she can blaze her way out of any situation. Both front windows are cracked open and a veil of cigarette smoke rises into the night air.


    In the passenger seat of the vehicle, sat Luther. A mid-forties bounty hunter with the appearance of a fantastical creature. Their nails resemble that of claws; torn and sharpened by the digging and piercing of countless bodies. They have shrapnel wounds on their forehead that have transformed into dark steel horns. Years of dried blood and grime have morphed into a fur-like texture that covers their body from head to toe.


    Luther sat beside their partner Jack. A late thirties, suit wearing, and strait-laced bounty hunter. He''s handsome in that rugged, noire leading man style. Despite the sturdy charm that often serves as a weapon beside his trusted revolver, the man still has an uncharacteristically bright gleam of hope in his eyes for better days ahead. Even if he knows they are too few and far between.


    "Intel says this is the place," Jack said as he exhaled another cloud of smoke from his lungs.


    "Place like this? You sure?" Luther replied.


    "Why do you always have to second guess the intel?"


    "Why do you always have to follow it?"


    The two hunters glanced at each other with a mix of playful frustration and slight agitation. Luther began to load their revolver as Jack looked over the dossier. Jack is quick to take notice.


    "What are you doing?" Jack questioned.


    Luther, carrying over their agitation, sarcastically retorted, "The job would be a lot easier if you let me go in and shoot the bastards."


    "The job would be easier if you didn''t bring attention to every room you entered."


    Luther sighed while putting the gun in the glove box, "When you look as good as I do, it tends to bring a bit of attention."


    Jack takes another hit from his cigarette. "It doesn''t matter anyways. Just lay low." Jack and Luther both open their doors to exit the vehicle. Jack reaffirms, "We''ll go in and arrest the guy. Keep it none-lethal because-"


    "Pay is better that way. I know," Luther interrupts while slamming the metal frame shut.


    There is an icy pause as the two partners walk in front of the parked vehicle. Jack stands under the flickering light of a street lamp while Luther remains off to the side, clouded in darkness. Indistinguishable from the environment that surrounds them, Luther resembles a silhouette of a trench coat and fedora. Incognito clothing.


    Luther flicks their cigarette along the sidewalk. As Jack adjusts his suit jacket, he pulls out his own revolver and begins loading it.


    Luther takes notice of their partner''s actions. "What happened to non-lethal?"


    "Just a precaution, in case," Jack states before briefly pausing. "You know."


    "I know?"


    "You do."


    As Jack finished loading his firearm, he spits his cigarette onto the street pavement and extinguishes it with his shoe. The two hunters huddle together as they walk towards the nightclub.


    Inside La Cabala live music can be heard from across the room. Men and women take to the dance floor to drown out their worries in a flurry of passion and rhythm. The layout of the bar is simple, but effective, in serving guests. Along the right side of the building, a bar stretches out; serving people a mixture of bottles and cocktails. On the left side of the room are a couple of booths, with tables that surround the dance floor, and a stage that encompasses the far end of the establishment.


    On that stage is a jazz band. A trumpet player, no older than 18, centers the stage in a wild solo. His talent on the brass far outweighs that of his older peers, and the swagger he enchants brings the room to life. In the trumpet''s reflection, two figures can be seen entering through the front doors.


    The two bounty hunters look at the entertainment ahead. As they trench forward in unison, Jack begins to loosen up his step and break left towards the dance floor. Luther, leaving their disguise intact, slums towards the bar on the right.


    Luther pulls up a stool besides a crowd of guests. They try to act small besides the loud crowd, hoping perhaps nobody would take notice to them. As they adjust in their seat, the allure of the liquor ridden bar back begins to entrance them.


    Luther looks towards the Bartender and orders for a whiskey. The Bartender, a midlife geezer and owner of La Cabala, who remains nostalgic for the simpler times of his decade turning youth, glances at his new patron.


    "Humid summer night like this. Want me to take your coat," The Bartender paused momentarily while deciphering his new customer. "Sir?"


    Luther smirked at the Bartender''s attempt at hospitality.


    "The coat stays on. I''m looking for a friend. Do you think you can help?" Luther asked.


    "Does the whiskey come with a tip?" The Bartender responded.


    On the other side of the room, Jack has mingled his body halfway across the dance floor. Sliding his feet to the beat, Jack moves from one dancing partner to the next; all the while scoping the tables and booths for his target.


    That target is Giuseppe Camorra; a middle-aged kingpin that runs a couple of shady practices in Italy''s underworld. His thinning hair and sunken ghoulish eyes exfoliate a life of stress and constant looking over one''s shoulder. Though he''s always known that those in his profession rarely see retirement, it doesn''t lighten the load on him mentally. To compensate, he hires the strongest, youngest, talent he can find to help prop himself up.


    Jack locates his target from across the room. At a corner booth, Camorra sits surrounded by a small population of goons and women. Everyone at the table is relaxed and enjoying glasses of champaign, save for the clear muscle that sits at the end. There to lighten any potential burdens that might come in Mr. Camorra''s path. One such burden begins to make his way towards the table. Yet as Jack began to exit the dance floor, a hand grips onto his shoulder and pulls him back.


    At the bar, Luther is continuing their conversation with the bartender. The bartender continues their relay of information, "Yeah, Mr. Camorra is here often. Has a soft spot for the women. Lately though, he''s been bringing in a little extra heat. He''s been a bit on edge.


    "What for?" Luther questioned.


    The Bartender goes cold and begins to clean a glass on the counter. They clear their throat to highlight the need for additional compensation. Luther begrudgingly placed another bill on the table and slid it over.


    The Bartender pours another drink for Luther and continues, "Whispers from the walls say he''s been moving livestock."


    Luther''s ears prick up, "Bulls or cattle?"


    Raising an eyebrow, the bartender responds, "The one that actually pays." As Luther''s demeanor begins to show disdain, he continues, "Some say he''s also been moving crops into Italy. Illegally of course."If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "I don''t recall Italy being in season right now."


    "Times are changing."


    "That so..." Luther says finishing their second glass.


    As the bartender is placing the whiskey back on the bar back, he gives Luther some final advice, "You better act quick though. You''re not the first to ask for him tonight."


    Luther subtly adjusts in their chair to catch a glimpse at the dance floor.


    Back in the crowd, Jack is pulled back into another dance by a familiar face. Simone Jackson, a 27-year-old, African American, bounty hunter from New Orleans gives him a smirk. The two lock hands with each other and begin a tactical slow dance.


    Simone whispered in Jack''s ear, "What brings you out here tonight handsome."


    Jack whispered back, "I could ask you the same thing. You''re a long way from home, aren''t you?"


    "Baby my home is where the money is."


    "Looks like we might''ve been double booked."


    "I''m just a contingency. Anderson needed someone a little more, subtle, in case you caused a commotion."


    "Please, I''d never start something I couldn''t finish." Jack said smirking.


    The music begins to hit a faster tempo. The couple move from a slow dance and enter a tango.


    "We''ll see." Simone responds while following Jack''s lead.


    The floor begins to clear out for their dance. Across the room Luther notices that their partner is occupied and walks away from the bar. "Should''ve known he''d get distracted," Luther mutters to themselves.


    Luther, having enough of the subtleties, begins to head over to Camorra''s table. The kingpin takes notice of the looming shadow making its way over and snaps for the muscled goon at the end to handle it. As the goon walks over and places a hand on Luther''s shoulder, Luther deflects and slams the man through a nearby table.


    A brief silence from the commotion breaks through the room. Simone is being held in an off-axis move, "I was wondering where your partner was," she subtly laughs.


    Jack lifts her up and replies while loosening his tie, "Yeah, me too."


    Onlookers begin to gaze in the direction of the violence before thinking critically. Not to be upstaged by this moment, the trumpet player and band hit a quicker tempo as all hell breaks loose.


    Camorra''s men break from the table and begin their offense. Some charge towards Luther while others ready their weapons. Jack is quick to draw out his firearm and shoot out those with guns.


    Luther dodges an oncoming fist and throws a guard over their shoulder. As the muscled goon lands on the ground, Jack runs up and stomps on his face. Jack looks towards his partner as they fight off another guard, "What happened to laying low?"


    "I got bored," Luther replied as they gave a hook across their opponents'' jaw.


    Jack gets socked across the mouth. He hawks out a sputum of blood on his opponent to temporarily blind them and knees them in the midsection. Luther comes from the side to give a crossover blow.


    Simone, watching as the chaos continues to ensue, steps back into the crowd as they begin rushing out of the nightclub.


    "Have fun you two," she said nonchalantly while leaving the establishment.


    Meanwhile. over at the bar, the bartender is already on the phone with the police.


    Luther lunges forward and hits another one of Camorra''s goons. The bodyguard is rocked backwards. A woman, who was previously partying at Camorra''s table, is knocked over in the commotion. Taking notice of this, Luther dodges their next opponent in order to slide over and help the woman to their feet.


    "Sorry about that," Luther apologized, reaching out their hand.


    As the woman is helped up to her feet, Luther is stricken in the back by another thug. Jack grabs the man in retaliation and charges him into another booth. The thug flips Jack over and the two fall onto the booth seat. As the thug begins to overpower Jack, he reaches onto the table for anything to grab. He feels the rim of a bottle and uses it to hit the thug on the temple. Despite the bottle shattering, the thug continues to apply pressure to Jack''s windpipe.


    He reaches up again in desperation. His hands hover over a mild source of heat, as an ashtray holds a recently lit cigar. Jack grips onto the cigar and uses the lit end to jam into the thug''s eye. The thug falls backward out of the booth in pain. Jack takes a moment to regain his breath and composure.


    Luther who was knocked to the floor and has their hat fall off of their head. Camorra, who had remained confident behind his bodyguards is suddenly stricken with fear. He instantly recognizes the creature who is coming after him and he begins to push his men away as he retreats towards the emergency exit.


    Luther realigns themself back up and catches their breath. They turn to Jack.


    "Target is getting away," Luther informed.


    Jack socks another goon on the nose before replying, "You better get moving then!"


    Jack tosses Luther his pistol as Luther dashes towards the emergency exit to give chase. The emergency door slams open, gusting away the summer night fog. Luther breaks through and scopes out both directions before locking onto their target. Camorra, not far ahead is breathing heavily as panic begins to set in. He turns a sharp corner before coming face to face with a dead end. The footsteps behind him ring louder by the second. A deafening sound of terror.


    Camorra attempts to climb over the fence blocking his path, but he is immediately thrown down by his pursuer.


    "Where the hell do you think you''re going Giuseppe?" Luther exclaimed as they tower over their mark.


    Upon slamming on the alleyway cement, Camorra makes an immediate attempt to unholster his weapon and shoot Luther. This would be the first in a chain of mistakes.


    Upon removal of his firearm, before he could pull on the hammer back, the gun is shot out of his hand. The smoking barrel is raised along Luther''s side as they raise it further to take aim at the trembling target.


    Camorra grasped at his blood-soaked hand in a moment of agony. The gun wasn''t the only collateral of his actions, with his index and middle finger being consequently blown away. Camorra looks up at the creature that stands before him.


    "I know who you are demon! There''s no point in reasoning with the Witch of Verdun." Camorra stated in a concoction of anger and torment.


    Luther paces forward into the light of an alleyway lamppost. Hat removed; they can finally be seen in full view. They exfoliate power, intimidation, and a daunting capability provoked by the whispers of urban legend. They''re chilling, but not haunting; calculating, but not manipulative. The definition of a beautiful egg wrapped in a nightmarish shell.


    "So, you know my reputation then," Luther asserts.


    "And you know mine," Camorra replies as Luther begins to tread around their prey. Camorra crawls himself up against a light post, "Are you going to do it or what?"


    The offer to end the life of another lowlife is tempting. Luther even ponders on it before remembering what Jack said.


    "Bounty is larger if I bring you in alive. You''ve made your bed, so now it''s time for you to lay in it," Luther decided.


    "Take me in alive and I''ll be out within a week."


    "Not my problem."


    "It''ll be just a small inconvenience for my business... You know what I do, right?"


    Camorra, who has become numb to the pain in his hand, looks up into the light above him. The low hum of electricity is angelic. The warmth of the summer night air reassures him.


    "I''ve heard a bit about your weapons dealing."


    Camorra laughs, "Please. That shit just pays for my nights out. Guns have always been good business, but since the war began, there has been a new stream. Ammunition is great, but do you know what pays better for those lonely soldiers in the cold of the night?"


    "Humor me," Luther responds as they readjust their aim.


    Camorra smiles. The grin of the devil himself. As he continued to speak, his words became drowned out by Luther. The ringing in their ear growed ever more piercing. Their face went from cool and collected, to a fury of rage and disgust.


    Meanwhile, Jack rams through the emergency exit of the bar. He''s short of breath and alarmed by the sudden bang of a gunshot in the distance. Jack takes a full sprint in the direction of Luther and their target. As he approaches their location, Jack''s sprint begins to slow until it becomes a complete stop.


    Luther approaches and passes by him. They hand back the revolver and mumble to Jack, "Couldn''t help myself. You can have this one."


    Jack slowly walks over to the dying man. Camorra, still momentarily breathing and sitting upright, tips over to his side. Blood begins to spill out of his mouth and sputter with the force of a cough. He looks upwards at Jack as he stepped in front of him.


    Camorra whimpered out, "What did that thing do to me?"


    Jack bends down and examines the target.


    "Damn," Jack said


    "What do you mean, damn!?" Camorra yelled out in agony.


    Jack raised himself back above Camorra. Far off in the distance, sirens for both ambulances and police could be heard approaching.


    "Long story short, you''re dead. No way around it. If I leave you as you are it will be slow and painful."


    Shock began to set into Camorra''s eyes. Grief and hysteria are on the verge of breaking through. If he was going to die, he was hoping for something quick. Not a slow bleeding out, withering in pain.


    Jack continued, "Your organs will fail as you continue to bleed out. Paramedics might arrive quick enough to keep you alive for longer than a few minutes, but the outcome won''t change within the hour. Your fate''s sealed."


    Camorra violently continued to cough. Clinging onto what ounce of life he had; Camorra clawed his way to Jack and raised his arm for help, or perhaps mercy.


    "Please," Camorra pleads.


    Jack holsters his weapon once again. He looks off to his side and notices Camorra''s firearm, and couple of lost fingers. Jack moves away from the man.


    "You aren''t worth one of my bullets, but I can see some justice, and maybe even irony, within your own."


    Jack picks up the revolver and looks it over. The steel is scratched and stained with a light hue of red. There''s an engraving on the handle. It reads: Stay safe, Ramona.


    Jack winces a bit as he reads out loud the engraving. He lets out a sigh as he reapproaches the beating corpse. As he stands over Camorra, he uses his free hand to pull out a cigarette from his pocket.


    "I hope it was all worth it man. We only get one shot at all of this, and only the selected few seem to make it count." Jack says as he lights his smoke.


    With a quick puff, Jack bends down again besides camorra. The coughing has subsided and his grip on his abdominal wound had lessened. Jack places the cigarette in Camorra''s mouth. He lets out a final inhale as Jack rises back up. Jack aims at the main below him as Camorra exhales.


    "Arrivederci," Jack says as he pulls the trigger. Firing a round into the head of his target and putting the man out of his misery.


    Jack goes to toss the gun away, but he hesitates. Instead, he places it in Giuseppe''s hand, and bends his arm so it laid next to his chest. Something for his soul to part with as it begins its long journey to what lies ahead.


    Jack turns back down the alleyway to look at his partner, but they''ve already vanished into the night. Sirens grow louder and a mixture of paramedics and police officers make their way into both the alleyway, and La Cabala.

 Chapter 2: A New Day

    A muted commotion can be heard beyond the exterior of the four walls that make up Luther''s apartment. Luther lays in bed, motionless. Their dresser is littered with a mixture of bottles and trash, save for a single photo in a frame. The photograph contains three soldiers and the lower body of what appears to be a nurse; but the photo had been burned to remove a portion of the picture.


    Suddenly, a loud knock jolts Luther awake. Their sweat stings the eyelids as the summer humidity remains unbearable. They rub their red-stained eyes, unrested from another sleepless night.


    The knock rings out again as Luther groans. Jack can be heard from the other side of the door. His voice slightly muffled, "Luther... Come on! It''s half past noon. We have to get going."


    The knock rings out for a third time as Luther is slow to rise from their bed. As they shuffle across the room, they head into the kitchen rather than letting Jack in. As Luther opens the fridge to grab a beverage, the knocking subsides. A tinkering noise takes its place, followed by a click from the lock.


    "Don''t pick my lock, asshole." Luther says cracking open a beer as Jack enters the room.


    Jack''s appearance is almost the exact opposite of his partner''s. His hair has been combed back, he''s wearing a freshly pressed suit, and while the duo might both smell like bourbon; his is pleasantly from a spritz of cologne, whereas Luther''s originates from the swig of a bottle.


    Jack flicks a pin across the room into the trashcan. As he walks over to the chair, he sets an envelope on Luther''s counter.


    "Here''s for last night, subtract the cremation fee," Jack says.


    Luther appears slightly agitated, but continues to drink through the beer bottle. They finish it and set it on top of the envelope. The bottle leaves a condensation ring on the envelope, wetting the cash inside.


    "You can keep it Jack," Luther remarks.


    "No. You need the income too. I mean..." Jack responded, taking a brief moment to pause and look around at the disheveled apartment. It''s on the verge of falling apart. Jack continues speaking to his partner, who has returned to the solitude of their spring mattress, "Anyways. We have work to do."


    "Who''s the handler?" Luther asked.


    "Anderson," Jack answered with a light hesitation.


    "Fuck Anderson. Where''s Hernandez been?"


    "Vacation. Besides, Anderson has always brought us solid work that pays out."


    In Luther and Jack''s line of work, there are middlemen known as handlers. Typically, they''re counter intelligence agents that work for and represent different countries of interest. They handle information and dossiers for different jobs tasked to the hunters.


    Anderson is known for his conservative, derivative tone when speaking with Luther. While he respects and values their skills and capability, there''s always been an aura of hostility between the two. The fact that their alternate handler Hernandez had been on vacation for four assignments straight irritated them.


    Luther rolled over on the bed, no longer facing Jack but instead the water-stained wall. There was an elongated pause between the two. Luther could sense there was further news they weren''t going to enjoy.


    "Spit it," Luther said.


    Jack stretched out his body in the chair with a bit of a sigh. "I have some provisions, that are well past due."


    "Meaning?"


    "I''m going to need you to handle this one on your own. Ride solo."


    Luther burrowed into their pillow a little further, cementing their unwillingness to get up. Between the hangover, meeting with their favorite handler, and having to do double the work, today wasn''t off to the strongest start. Jack lifted himself out of the chair and scanned out the room. He began to grab trash from the countertop and throw it into the garbage. It might not be his apartment, but he couldn''t stand how disorganized Luther had left it.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The sounds of bottles clinging and valuables being sorted lifted Luther''s ears from the depth of their recently diagnosed comatose.


    "Don''t clean my stuff Jack¡ª" Luther began.


    "¡ªIt''s a mess." Jack retorted before Luther could finish.


    "But it''s my mess. Organized chaos. When you start moving things around, I can never find what I''m looking for."


    Jack set what he had in his hands back on the nearby dresser. He tied off the trash that he had picked up and threw the bag over his shoulder.


    "Come on. You know he doesn''t like to wait." Jack said as he began to head to the door.


    Luther rose to their feet and threw on a new shirt. The two headed out of the apartment entrance. As they stepped down the stairs of the damp and grungy complex, the commotion from outside began to grow in volume.


    Jack opened the exit to the building''s front door. The daylight sun blinded Luther in a sudden white flash.


    The noise from outside was originating from another military parade. Crowds haad gathered around in support of their troops and Italian dictator Mussolini. Children sat on their father''s shoulders waving Italian flags, as vehicles in rows slowly drove by with the dictator''s face plastered on the side. On the sidewalk there was a recruitment booth, where men eagerly awaited to sign their lives away proudly.


    At least that''s how Luther felt about it all; they glanced over at the sideshow and grumbled to themselves. The two hunters continued walking for a few blocks, parting their way through crowds and festivities. Jack took in a little bit of fun, giving complete strangers high fives and walking with a bit of a shuffle.


    As the two approach a nearby caf¨¦, Jack broke away from Luther and headed towards his parked vehicle. As he opened the driver''s door, he turned back and yelled, "Don''t go off dying while I''m away."


    "No promises," Luther said as a small smirk breaks through their mask.


    Jack enters his vehicle and begins to drive off, meanwhile, Luther enters the caf¨¦. As the door opens, a small bell is rung to signify the entrance of another customer. Inside, the sun shined brightly through the panel windows. Coffee is being pressed and brewed at a steady steam. The dark, rich aroma called Luther to the register.


    On the other side of the room in the corner sits Anderson. He sports a pair of sunglasses and a thick wool coat. His cappuccino serving as nothing more than a mere prop to blend in with the crowd. As Luther orders their dark roast, Anderson continues to casually look down at the newspaper in front of him. The headline of the newspaper reads, ''Germany breaks through French borders! When will Mussolini join the warfront?''


    Luther approached the table and took a seat.


    "Morning," Luther said taking a sip of their coffee.


    "It''s past noon... you look like hell." Anderson replied.


    "Yeah, well, you know only jackasses wear sunglasses while indoors."


    Anderson doesn''t respond. He just stares at the being sitting across from him, judging and unamused.


    Luther breaks the silence first, "Jack says you have a present for me."


    "Only because I need you."


    Luther gives a sarcastic smile as they pour cream into their coffee, "Awe, you need me? Do you really mean that?


    Anderson''s demeanor doesn''t budge. He slides the newspaper over to Luther.


    "I need you to pick up some groceries."


    "Will the store be busy?" Luther asked as they stirred their beverage.


    "It''ll be rush hour," Anderson warned.


    "And who will I be picking up for help with all these, heavy, groceries?"


    "Luca Balero." Anderson stated.


    There is another brief silence between the two. Luther is attempting the mental gymnastics to make sure they heard everything correctly.


    "Is there a problem?" Anderson asked.


    "No... I just don''t usually get kids to help," Luther hesitantly said.


    Anderson taps the newspaper with his index finger, "Haven''t you read the headlines. Matter of time before Mussolini pushes Italy to war. Then no more groceries."


    "And Balero?"


    "Kid''s father is a top Marshall under the courageous dictator. If put to the task, he''ll step down from his position to not risk the life of his son. That kind of setback can delay Italy''s involvement in the warfront. At least that''s what the National Liberation Committee thinks."


    "And it won''t?"


    "All of this is inevitable. But their checks clear for you and the US government approves of their tactics, at least off the record."


    Luther continued to drink their coffee, "What''s my budget and timeframe for this errand?"


    "You can find more of that information in your paperwork, but it''s an urgent task; and after work, I''d consider a change of scenery."


    "I''ve heard Spain is nice this time of year. Or maybe we could be neighbors."


    Anderson looks at his watch and gets up from his seat. Pushing his chair in, he asks for confirmation, "Are you in or out?"


    Reaching down for the newspaper and hidden dossier, Luther places their hand over it first and responds "I was getting tired of this place anyways. Food is overrated."


    Anderson wiped his hand on the side of his coat, readjusted himself, gave a slight nod to Luther, and begins to walk away. Continuing to the front door, he remained stone-faced; his deadpan mask becoming indistinguishable from his actual anatomy.


    The bell attached to the entryway rang out to signal Anderson''s departure. Luther leaned back in the chair and finished their coffee. They tossed the cup into the garbage behind them and stood up. As they pushed their chair in, they noticed that Anderson had left behind his cappuccino, still untouched.


    Luther grabbed the drink for themselves and headed for the exit.


    "Wasteful knob," Luther murmured as the caf¨¦ bell rings out.

 Chapter 3: Groceries

    Luca was a ten-year-old, spry, quick-witted son of an Italian Marshall. His bedroom was decorated similar to his social peers, with posters of military and fascism propaganda littered around. He had a pristine case of medals that sat alone on a dresser, and a photo of himself with his father in military uniforms that was placed on his nightstand. The photo is of one of his favorite memories, his first day of academy; it was one of the few days his father set aside work to see him off personally.


    Jumping out of bed, Luca sprinted to the bathroom and wets his toothbrush while swishing away at a capful of mouthwash. He got dressed in his school uniform and headed out of his bedroom.


    The hallways of the Balero manor were filled with paintings, artwork, vases, displayed weapons, and a singular bust of Mussolini that sat at the end of the hallway, watching over everything in its view. Luca dashes by in a full sprint. It''s nearing the end of the school year, and he can''t wait for summer. Going to camp with his friends, having time with no homework, and maybe, just maybe, he can finally go to work with his dad.


    As Luca is playfully roaming around the estate, Luther approaches the building. They are wearing the uniform of the help, and Anderson''s dossier included a fake I.D. card that should get them past any brief security. Blending in with the morning staff who are entering to start their shift of work, Luther doesn''t run into any trouble getting in.


    Luther begins to move around the estate, observing for their best opportunity to capture Luca and escape without setting the building on a high alert. The easiest opportunities would be to either drug the boy while he was still asleep and take him out in a laundry sack, or perhaps take the role of chauffer for the boy''s trip to school.


    As Luther began to head to the target''s bedroom, Luca turns a corner in the hallway and accidently runs into Luther. Luca is knocked to the ground.


    "Oh, my goodness. Master Luca, I''m so sorry. Are you quite alright?" Luther asked helping Luca up to his feet.


    "Yeah, I''m okay¡ª." Luca said dusting himself off. He looks at Luther''s nametag to see who he is addressing. "Mrs. Kyle."


    Luther winces for a split second, but quickly responds, "Please, call me Val."


    Luca gives a quick nod and continues to run down the hallway towards the kitchen and dining room. Seeing that the boy is already awake and moving around the house, Luther pivots and follows him back.


    As the two pass by the kitchen, the head chef grabs Luther by the shoulder and pulls them in.


    "You''re the new help, right? You''re late. Sir Balero is nearly done with his first cup of coffee and nobody is out there to top him off," The chef informed as he placed a cannister with a pouring spout into Luther''s hands. "Now hurry before he gets mad. I don''t want to start the morning with another execution."


    Luther glances at the chef with a sense of doubt, "You''re kidding?"


    The chef slams their knife into the nearby cutting board and begins to push Luther out of the kitchen.


    "Clearly you are new," he said pushing Luther back into the hallway.


    Luther begins to head to the dining room. As they pass by an office, they notice Luca inside. Luca is glancing over his father''s medals, photos, and achievements with a sense of awe. In the dining room, Luther takes a spot behind Marshall Balero.


    The room is large in size, but mostly empty. An elongated table contains a chair on each end, with candles lined across the center; creating a barrier between the two halves.


    Sitting on one end of the table is Marshall Balero. He sits upright with immaculate posture. Taking calculated sips at nearly identical intervals, he reads the morning newspaper. Bodyguards stand attentively on both his left and right should he need anything at the snap of a finger. Luca''s footsteps can be heard echoing down the hallway. Marshall Balero makes a slight noise clearing his throat and snapping his newspaper straight. Luther moves in to refill the coffee cup that had just run empty.


    As Luca makes his way to the dinning room, his previous run slows to a mild walk. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table. His mood subtly changes as he scoots his chair in.


    "Good morning, Dad," said Luca.


    Marshall Balero pauses before lowering the paper to acknowledge the greeting. His eyes pierce over the top edge of the newspaper, "Luca."


    Another servant walks into the room. An elderly man in his late 50''s or early 60''s. Distinguishable amongst the rest of the help, he had an aura of authority around him; masked away by his gentle charm. The butler laid a plate in front of the suddenly starved boy.


    Luca looked up to thank his favorite butler, "Thank you Maurice!"


    Maurice doesn''t break form or give acknowledgement as he takes a step back. He looks towards Balero for permission to speak, which he is given with a small hand gesture.


    "My pleasure sir" Maurice stated with a sense of warmth.


    Maurice gave a slight bow before exiting the room again. Luca began to eat his breakfast. With his mouth full, his attention is redirected again to his stoic father.


    "Some of the kids were saying that school might be suspended. Is that true?" Luca asked.


    Balero pauses again, as though he had lost his place on the page. He gives a slight sigh before answering, "You know I can''t speak on work."


    Balero finds his place and continues to read.


    "If school is suspended though, does that mean I can go to work with you?"


    Balero doesn''t give the question a response.


    Luca continued the one-sided conversation with his father, "It wouldn''t be good for me to be kept indoors all summer. If school gets suspended, camp would be suspended too. And if I could watch what you do. I could learn even more and become a great leader; just like you."


    Balero turns the page of the newspaper. His demeanor remains unfazed. Luca takes another bite. He doesn''t want the conversation to die out.


    "I know I can do it. All the best Marshalls are older, but with your help, I can become the youngest in history. Wouldn''t that make you proud. You and grandpa."Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Balero gives a momentary fidget at the utterance of his own father. But he is quick to regain composure.


    "My work has no need for a nine¡ª"


    "¡ªTen," Luca corrects.


    "As I was saying, there is no need for you to come Luca. You will go to school. You will go to camp. You will do well in your studies, and maybe when you are old enough, we will look into what placement you can be given."


    Balero sets his coffee down; and Luther moves in to top it off. Balero takes another sip before speaking again. "But until that day arrives, I don''t want to hear about you wanting to see my work. Am I clear?"


    There is a tense silence in the air. Luca wants to say more, but he knows when his father has heard enough.


    "Clear."


    Luca continues to eat his breakfast in silence. Marshall Balero glances at his watch to check the time. He then sets the paper down and takes a final sip of his coffee. As he gets up from his chair, Luca takes notice.


    "Time to go?" Luca asked with an air of disappointment in his voice.


    Balero readjusts his suit jacket and begins to head out of the room.


    "It''s a busy time we live in my son." Balero pauses in the doorway. "One day you will understand."


    Marshall Balero left the dining room with his security following behind him. As Luca finished his plate, another butler enters the room. The butler tells Luca to finish getting ready, and reaffirmed that Maurice will be out front soon to drive him to school.


    Listening in on the information, Luther exited the room and headed back to the kitchen. They set the coffee pot down on the counter. The chef is multitasking between preparing a soup and yelling at his subordinates.


    Luther cautiously approached, "Excuse me ¨C I''m trying to find Maurice. Sir Balero requested that I give him some news in regards to master Luca and his school."


    The chef pauses in his craft and aims his sights at Luther.


    "Maurice takes Luca to school. So he is obviously in the..." The chef said, trying to lead Luther to the answer.


    There is an awkward silence as the soup continues to boil.


    "The..." Luther said trying to lead the chef to give the answer.


    "The garage! I swear you servants are going to be the end of me." The chef yelled grabbing a stock of celery and furiously chopping it for his dish.


    Luther slowly backs away from the fiery cook and leaves the kitchen. Walking through the halls of the manor, they eventually reach the garage door. Upon approaching the door, they notice that it is locked, requiring a key to open.


    Luther reaches into their pocket to pull out a ring of keys that Anderson included in the dossier.


    "Don''t let me down Anderson." Luther said to themselves under their breath.


    After going through the first two keys, they don''t work in unlocking the door. Flipping to the third key, a pair of footsteps approach from behind Luther.


    "Is there something you need from the garage? Maurice asked looking over Luther''s shoulder.


    Luther had to think of something quick before he could draw more attention. "Yeah, I was just asked to fix Master Luca''s bike before he get''s home from school today."


    Maurice glances over Luther, looking at the ring of keys in their hand and examining their uniform.


    "You know, I hate hounding on the new workers, but do you mind if I see your ID card really quick?"


    Luther reached into their pocket and handed the ID card over to the protective butler. Maurice quickly examined it before handing it back. He raised an eyebrow as Luther kept their composure. He gave a mild shrug and unlocked the door as Luther stepped aside.


    "I hadn''t realized the bike was broken again. I''ve mention to Master Balero that we need to get the young boy a new one. Let''s head into the garage and get it done." Maurice stated opening the door and gesturing for Luther to head in.


    Luther gave a nod and headed in first. As Luther stepped down the stairs into the garage, Maurice''s friendly smile disintegrated. The two enter the garage; it''s a large open space with two Cadillac vehicles and multiple workbenches for staff and mechanics. Maurice closed the door to the garage and grabbed a hammer off the workbench.


    "With how busy Master Bolero has been in his work, I''m surprised fixing the bike was even a priority so early in the morning." Maurice mentioned as the two of them walk across the garage.


    Luther can now see the set of bikes in the corner of the garage, with all of them in pristine condition.


    "Yeah, mechanics aren''t really my thing so hopefully¡ª" Luther began, seeing Maurice holding the hammer in the reflection of the bicycle. "...this won''t take too long."


    Maurice is the first to take a swing of the hammer towards Luther. Luther is able to easily block the telegraphed attack and kick Maurice back. As Maurice composes himself and charges back at Luther, Luther takes a step back towards the bikes.


    "What do you intend to do assassin?" Maurice questioned as he took a few more swings at Luther.


    "I think you have the wrong idea old man," Luther responded, dodging his attacker.


    Luther reaches back and grabs one of the child-size bikes. They use it as a temporary shield until Maurice''s arm breaks through a few of the spokes on the bike''s tire. Luther spins the wheel to pinch his arm and disarm him. The hammer falls to the floor and Luther kicks it away.


    With Maurice''s arm still temporarily lodged in the bike, Luther throws the bike forward so that Maurice falls back.


    "It''s my job to protect Luca! I can''t allow you to bring him harm." Maurice said as he tosses the bike to the side.


    Luther places his hands out, "Listen."


    Maurice is quick to get back up on his feet and begin attacking Luther. Luther is trying to not injure the elder, but their patience is starting to run thin.


    "I''m not here to hurt the kid." Luther assured as they redirect a jab and counter with a quick punch to the nose.


    Maurice doesn''t slow down, so Luther begins to take a more offensive approach. They land a couple of blows to Maurice''s midsection and knock them back against a workbench. Slumped over on the workbench, Maurice reaches for a nail gun. Luther stared down the barrel of the nail gun and pointed at Maurice the same way an owner would point at their pet dog when they wanted them to drop something.


    "Hey, no!" Luther said as the butler turns around shooting nails across the garage. Luther dives behind one of the Cadillac vehicles as it gets pelted with nails.


    "Why does this job always have to be such a pain in the ass." Luther muttered to themselves.


    Luther sees a Mechanic''s creeper under the Cadillac and grabs it as a shield. They rise back up from behind the vehicle and charge at Maurice. A couple of nails shoot through the wood, nearly stabbing Luther in the hands, but they reach Maurice and bash into them with their body.


    The Nail gun gets knocked back on the workbench and knocks a couple more tools onto the floor. Stumbling to his side, Maurice now reaches for a nearby screwdriver.


    "Look I just need to "borrow" the kid for a bit," said Luther.


    "Over my dead body."


    "Your words."


    Maurice attempts to stab Luther with the screwdriver, but Luther ducks under his attack, grabs him by the torso, and tosses him over their shoulder.


    Maurice slams to the ground. He withers for a moment in pain. Luther turns to face their opponent and suddenly feels a moment of remorse. Yet before they can feel too bad, Maurice takes a quick move to stab Luther in the foot with the screwdriver. Luther jolts in shock.


    Luther exclaims in pain, "You son of a¡ª"


    In a brief lapse caused by anger, pain, and adrenaline, Luther grabs Maurice by the legs and swings him across the room. With no holding back, Maurice''s body is launched into the damaged Cadillac. His body crashes and dents the car even further. The whiplash alone might''ve been enough to cripple his spine, if not outright kill him.


    Luther snapped out of their brief episode of rage and looked over at the motionless body. They let out a sigh, "shit."


    Luther walked over to the body and successfully checked for a pulse. They reach into Maurice''s pockets to get the keys to the cars. Luther opens the trunk to the broken Cadillac and places Maurice''s body gently inside. They write a note that reads ''Please Open,'' and places it on the trunk after closing it.


    Luther enters the nondamaged vehicle and opens the garage door. They put on a face mask just to remain a little inconspicuous, even though the windows are heavily tinted black. So much so that the interior can''t be seen from the outside. Luther drives around to the front entrance where Luca and a servant are waiting. As Luther pulls up the servant opens the door to the back passenger seat.


    Luca, distracted going through his backpack, enters the vehicle. Sorting through his books, the door is closed, and Luther drives off the premises.


    "Jeez Maurice, what took you so long today?" Luca asks before looking back up towards the front of the car.


    Luther doesn''t give a response and continues the drive. Luca is caught off guard by the lack of a response and instantly recognizes that Maurice isn''t the one driving. He slowly begins to reach for the handle of the car. Luther catches this action and places his gun on the armrest of the car.


    "Don''t bother kid," Luther said tapping on his firearm.


    There''s a brief icy pause between the two of them before Luther continues speaking, "You can either sit still and behave, or I can make you go to sleep."

 Chapter 4: The NLC

    Luca''s hands returned to his lap. His nervousness began to set in as the reality of the situation overwhelmed him.


    There is another pause between the two before Luca chose his next words. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.


    Luther looked in the rearview and adjusted the mirror.


    "That old butler of yours is one tough fella. He''s going to be alright though," said Luther.


    Luca repeated his question, "Where are you taking me?"


    Luther tapped their finger on the steering wheel.


    "Not far. Few friends wanted to help your old dad with some career decisions."


    Luther turned at a light and readjusted themselves upward in their seat. Luca''s eyes pierced at them through the mirror. His nervousness and fear were momentarily vanquished, but remnents remained; as if he was wearing a loose-fitted mask.


    "What you''re doing isn''t right," Luca muttered.


    Luther smirks, "Yeah well, let''s just say kidnapping you wasn''t on my bingo card for the week."


    "You''re a coward."


    "Am I now?"


    "You are," Luca reaffirmed


    Luther raised an eyebrow and humored the kid, "What makes you say that."


    "My father says people like you are cowards. Your quicker to fight against your government, rather than enter any conflict to protect the country itself."


    "Look at you. Your big heroic father must''ve taught you so much. You already have everything figured out."


    "Kidnapping me won''t work." Luca''s demeanor changed a bit as he paused between sentances, "His work is his biggest priority."


    Luther comes to a stop at a light. The running vehicle drowned out the silence between the two.


    Luther lets out a small sigh and rolled their eyes, "Look, it really doesn''t matter to me whether it works or not. So, save your sob story for the next kidnapper. I saw how he treated you in the dining room."


    "Then why do this?"


    "Paycheck."


    The light changed to green and Luther drove forward.


    "So, what are you? A thief? Bounty hunter? Assassin?"


    "I''m whatever is asked of me. When you''ve been in the game as long as I have, it all tends to blur together. Wars break out, countries disagree, men strive for power that belongs to no one. The usual schlock. It''s all a cycle."


    Luca looks down at his backpack. The small tank keychain jingled against the movement of a speed bump.


    "You say that like it''s all a bad thing?"


    "They say the pride of the few is the cost for all."


    "People die all the time. At least in war it''s honorable."


    "That a quote from the living?" Luther asked with a hint of sarcasm.


    There is a brief pause again between the two. Luther begins to enter some downtown traffic.


    "You just seem bitter," Luca said, annoyed.


    "I am. Don''t mistake it. I lost everything for people like your father. Spent a whole lifetime thinking my effort could make a difference. Load of shit that was."


    As Luthor spoke, they noticed that Luca was observing different parts of the vehicle. Trying to think of anything that might be useful in escaping


    "Look kid, I know all of this is inconvenient. Just don''t try to cause trouble for the adults and it''ll be over soon. Promise."


    Luca relaxed a bit more in his seat, he didn''t find anything to help him anyways. His glance now turned back to Luther.


    "What''s wrong with your face?" Luca asked.


    Luther gave a slight smile, almost laughing. "You just now noticed?"


    "You look like a monster."


    "That''s because I am one. So don''t piss me off too much." Luther said as they lightly tapped at the tip of their jagged horn.


    "Did you always look like that?"


    This time Luther didn''t respond. They turned into an alleyway. The vehicle came to a slow stop. Luther grabbed the gun and turned around from their chair to face Luca.


    "Look, as lovely as this conversation has been," Luther said aiming the gun at the child. "...and believe me, it''s been lovely."


    Luther pulled the trigger of the gun; a dart shot out and tranquilized Luca in the chest. Luca''s eyelids began to weigh down as though gravity in the vehicle had increased tenfold. What vision he had left started to blur.


    "We''ve reached our stop," Luther said as Luca collapsed over.


    With the boy passed out in the back of the car, Luther turned the engine of the Cadillac off. They stepped out of the front of the vehicle and moved to the door for the back seat. Opening the door, Luther picked Luca up and carried him over their shoulder. The alley was dark and in a mostly abandoned part of the city, so Luther''s guard was low. They approached a steel door which led into one of the buildings in the alley. They gave the steel door eight distinct knocks with a varying number of seconds between each hit. The door cracked open with a set of eyes piercing through.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Password?" The voice grunted through the slight of the door.


    "You want the kid or not?" Luther responded.


    There was a momentary standoff between the two. The voice on the other side of the door asked for the password again, much to Luther''s displeasure.


    Luther''s locked eyes with the NLC soldier and said, "A new march will begin on the red bodies of Rome."


    The door closed again. After a few seconds, a knock came out from the window on the other side of the alley; a nearby scout to signal that the alleyway was clear and it was safe to open the door. The bolted locks on the steel door jolted inwards and the door opened. Two burley members of the National Liberation Committee stood in the doorway before moving aside for Luther.


    Inside the building it was revealed to have previously been a barbershop. Long since abandoned, the chairs, mirrors and tools all have a thick layer of dust and grime on them. The lights flicker on a low dim as Luther is escorted across the room towards the stairs.


    One of the members took a passing glance at Luca as Luther passed by, "Why is the kid asleep?" He asked.


    "Talked too much," Luther responded.


    Heading upstairs Luther is approached by two more members of the committee. They removed Luca from their arms and set the child in a chair; tying him up and placing tape over his mouth so he can''t make too much noise when he wakes up. One of the members opened the door to an office room, where Luther took a seat to wait. The door behind him was shut and locked after entering.


    The office is in poor shape. A makeshift desk is littered in folders, books and maps. A dresser on the side of the room had a cantor of whiskey with a couple of glasses; they''re the only things clean. A nearby bookshelf contained a few oddly stacked books on it. Luther wandered over to take a look. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, and photo albums from a time long lost all caught their eye. Yet their finger landed on a single, out of place, notecard. It was faded with the date November 14th, 1915 on one side and a message from what appeared to be a soldier to his wife on the other side.


    As Luther began reading the message, the office door unlocked and a man entered, "That card was written by my father," said the man.


    Luther turned their attention to the host. He was young, no older than mid to late twenties, with silky, curly, dark brown hair, strong eyebrows and a small but muscular frame.


    "I didn''t mean to pry," Luther responded.


    The man gave a hand gesture to signal that no harm had been committed. He walked by Luther and took a seat at his desk.


    "My father wrote that when he was deployed by the Italian military in the great war. They were undermanned and unprepared for the brutality that awaited them. At the time, I was to be born in the oncoming months. My father was unsure if he''d ever meet me, so he wrote letters to my mother in case he didn''t make it home."


    "And did he make it?" Luther asked.


    "Physically, yes. He returned from war the following spring. Mentally, however, he never left the trenches. Shortly after the birth of my younger brother, he hung himself. My mother would tell us stories of the man he was before he left, but rarely spoke of those final years. Those cards are the latest I know of him."


    "I''m sorry to hear that."


    The man snapped back into place and reached out his hand, "Where are my manners, my name is Ezio Brando. I am in charge of this section of the National Liberation Committee in Rome. I was one of the few to coordinate this assignment."


    Luther reached out to shake Ezio''s hand. As Luther returned to their seat, Ezio walked over to the cantor of whiskey.


    "Care for a drink?" Ezio asked.


    Luther got back onto their feet and moved beside Ezio.


    "Mind if I pour it myself?" Luther replied.


    Ezio shrugged and handed over the cantor, "Not at all."


    "In my line of work, we''re all just loose ends waiting to get tied," Luther said while pouring for two glasses of whiskey.


    They handed Ezio a glass and motioned for a cheer. Luther waited for Ezio to drink first before partaking in the beverage. The two of them returned to their seats to get down to business.


    As Luther took another sip, Ezio began to reach under the table. Luther quickly armed their pistol and took momentary aim. Ezio is quick to put out his other hand.


    "Be calm my friend. This is a safe space."


    Ezio slowly brought out an envelope and Luther holstered their weapon. He tossed the envelope across the table.


    "This is for your hard work today."


    He pointed his hand towards the envelope, signaling Luther to pick it up. They picked up the envelope and began to count the money on the inside.


    Before Luther could finish Ezio leaned back in his chair and said, "The job however, isn''t quite finished."


    "For me it is," Luther informed.


    "What if I paid double the rate?"


    Luther''s ears pricked up at the offer. They knew it was better to walk away with a pocket full of cash; but just like a gambler that hit it big, they weren''t one to walk away with money on the table. Luther set the envelope back down on the desk and leaned in.


    "What did you have in mind?"


    Ezio smiles and opens a drawer in the desk. He removes an expensive bottle of scotch and hands it to Luther to pour.


    "Earlier this morning, we sent our demands to Bolero''s office. During Mussolini''s broadcast tonight, he will take the stage and publicly step down from his position as a Marshall¡ª"


    "¡ªAnd now you need me to return the child?" Luther interrupted.


    "That''s the job."


    "That''s a trap."


    "Which is why I can''t send my own men. If they were killed, it would be one thing; but if they''re captured, that would compromise everything. All this work towards our noble cause would be for nothing."


    "All causes are noble," Luther responded.


    "That might be" Ezio playfully acknowledged.


    Ezio rose from his seat. He moved over to a painting on the wall. Removing it from the hook, a safe was revealed behind it. He spent a moment turning the knob on the front to open it. Upon opening the safe, he removed two additional cards and another envelope. Ezio closed the safe and returned to the desk.


    "This envelope includes double the pay for completing the return. The first card here is for a phone number. You can call this number from anywhere and give the person on the other end of the line your location. They will then connect you with our closest safehouse. This second card with my signature will serve as payment to use the safehouse. These cards are an additional gift for you. To use anywhere across Italy."


    Luther is tempted by the payout, but needs more details on the mission itself.


    "Cash and favors are all good and dandy if I live. So, what''s the plan to make that happen?"


    Ezio set the items aside and began searching through the maps and documents that cover the desk.


    "Someone with your set of talents can make it out easy. Either with violence, or escaping through ¨C other means."


    "And what might be these other means?" Luther inquired.


    Ezio found the map he was looking for and laid it out on the desk.


    "The drop off location we''ve decided on is an old abandoned opera house in east Rome. Should the situation get too big for you to handle, there is a stairway backstage that takes you to a maintenance room. From the maintenance room you can use the access ladder to the sewer system that runs underneath and through the city."


    Luther leans back unconvinced, "What''s to stop them from chasing after me?"


    Ezio reached for a device on his desk and sets it front and center. Luther quickly recognizes it.


    "A detonator? You have explosives?" Luther says mildly surprised. Explosives had become harder to come by since the start of the second world war, and finding any in Italy was a bigger challenge within itself.


    "We''ve set up explosives to create a cave-in to the entryway of the sewers. By the time the soldiers could find another way in to give chase, you''ll be long gone."


    Luther takes a drink from their scotch and pours another glass.


    "Mind if I make a phone call? Luther asked.


    "Not at all," Ezio said.


    The two partners took their glasses of scotch and cheered to the continued collaboration of another assignment.