What did it feel like to be on a business trip?
William found it incredibly troublesome.
The suitcase was packed by the Smuggling King.
William never opened it.
The less he knew, the safer he’d be.
That was just common sense.
Still, he quietly contacted Annabelle for a favor.
An arms dealer in Europe.
He’d get help at the airport.
William picked his gear on the plane.
Payment would be settled in cash after landing.
Six gold coins.
It hurt.
But the gear would be useful later.
He swallowed his pride.
No bulletproof suits here.
Not yet.
He’d make do with a vest.
After landing, William ducked into the bathroom.
He looked like a tourist.
Sunglasses.
Casual clothes.
Blended right in.
He paid the dealer and loaded up.
The Smuggling King’s papers worked like magic.
One flash at a staff member, and he was escorted out.
Taxi.
Straight to the Continental Hotel.
Ah, France.
The streets had more black people than white.
William hadn’t expected that.
The Hotel sat near the Arc de Triomphe.
William had done his homework.
If there wasn’t a noble backing this place, he’d eat the Arc himself.
Inside, the layout was different.
The lobby was in the center.
Elevators on both sides.
A black guy at the front desk checked him in.
Room on the third floor.
The decor was…
vintage.
It probably looked great decades ago.
Now it was just old.
William wasn’t here to sightsee.
He had work.
He strapped on the vest.
It made him look bulkier.
He checked his bag.
Glock 17 with 19-round mags.
9mm.
Not the most powerful, but reliable.
Light.
Good grip.
No manual safety.
You could fire first.
His backup was better.
A sawed-off Remington 870.
The “Super Shorty.” His insurance policy.
Two knives.
Two grenades.
The sellers here had no conscience.
William wasn’t complaining.
He laid everything out on the bed.
Lined up next to the suitcase.
Frustrating, but the pay was good.
He rested briefly, then headed out.
Time to scout the meet.
The location was a public park.
Too open.
Too exposed.
William hated it.
People like them belonged in the shadows.
But this organization keeps acting like James Bond.
Loud and proud.
At the agreed time, William brought out the token.
A playing card.
Eight of Clubs.
Soon, a man in a black coat and hat sat across from him.
Scars marked his face.
White hair, but still handsome.
William stayed calm on the outside.
Inside, he was screaming.
It wasn’t the old man that scared him.
It was his identity.
The Harbinger.
The High Table’s envoy.
The old man who embodied their will.
He was here.
In person.
That meant something big was happening.
The Harbinger looked at William.
Then at the suitcase.
Then at the card clipped to it.
Slowly, he removed his gloves and reached inside his coat.
William tensed.
The cloth over his lap shifted slightly.
“Relax, young man.” The old man’s eyes were sharp.
“I’m not that reckless.” Even for a legend, this distance was dangerous.
A young gun could still get lucky.
He pulled out a card.
The Joker.
William saw the familiar back design and relaxed.
Behind him, figures emerged from the trees.
Black suits.
Guns visible.
The park-goers filed out like clockwork.
The open space was suddenly empty.
Like the crowd had never existed.
William pushed the suitcase forward.
He was safe now.
The Harbinger followed rules.
He’d send notice before any attack.
“You know, you joining up was partly my doing.” The Harbinger smiled as he took the suitcase.
“Well done, son.
Here’s your pay.” He fanned out several cards.
“Pick one.” Two of Spades.
Two of Clubs.
Three of Hearts.
Ace of Hearts.
Seven of Diamonds.
Nine of Diamonds.
William studied them.
The Harbinger waited patiently.
None of these appealed to him.
But he could reason it out.
The Eight of Clubs was the Smuggling King’s card.
Money, probably.
Or logistics.
He dismissed Hearts immediately.
Red like blood.
And an Ace carried too much weight.
Diamonds looked important.
The Smuggling King wouldn’t be at the bottom tier.
Higher numbers meant higher status.
So Clubs or Spades.
Which one?
William believed in low profiles.
Equal numbers.
He chose the Two of Spades.
The Harbinger nodded.
“One day, someone will find you.
Then you’ll understand.” He left with his men.
William stood alone.
He tucked the card away and finally stood up.
The sawed-off under his jacket had stayed trained on the seat the whole time.