Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

THE HUNTER

Hugo loved it when they ran. The hunt was his favourite part, the kill was just the natural climax. There was something satisfying about knowing he was the most dangerous thing in Tenebrium City. It filled him with a sense of power that couldn’t be matched by money or sex.

Tonight, his unlucky victim was Harvey Demming. A snitch and not a very subtle one. Harvey had made the mistake of double-crossing Samuel Conti, an error that would cost him his life.

Hugo moved like a predator through the rain-battered streets. Quickly and quietly, always in shadow, he was adept at going unnoticed. He couldn’t say the same for his intended prey. Harvey tripped over his feet as he ran, far too focussed on who was behind him to watch where he was going. He was squat, bald and White. Twitchy by default, Harvey was in an all-out panic as he ran through the red-light district, squinting through the yellow rain.

Tenebrium’s Pleasure Quarter wasn’t the ideal place to carry out a contract. Always busy, it was alive with activity despite the harsh weather, yet no one seemed to pay either man any mind, wrapped up as they were in their own desires.

As Harvey ran down alley after snicket, street after byway, Hugo knew it was only a matter of time before he tired himself out, and he was content to wait. The anticipation was what made it fun. They played their cat and mouse game for a few minutes longer before Harvey finally made his fatal mistake. Losing his way, the red-faced snitch found himself in a dead end with towering buildings on three sides. The only other exit would have taken him back past Hugo. He seemed to know he was caught, because he dropped to his knees, all fight gone, and began to sob.

Hugo sauntered almost lazily towards him, taking his time in closing the distance between them. In the depths of the alley, no one would disturb them.

“Please,” Harvey begged, his nose dripping freely into his mouth.

“It’s nothing personal. Not to me anyway. They just give me the names. If it makes you feel any better, Sam doesn’t care enough about you to have you tortured or to make an example. He just wants you dead. Quick and clean.” Hugo pulled his signature revolver from his jacket and inspected the barrel. It was a beautiful antique from 1836, remodelled to take bullets instead of balls. A Colt Paterson, still as deadly as the day it was made. The handle had been inlaid with obsidian and the barrel was a gleaming black metal.

“Please. I’ll do anything. What do you want?” Harvey crawled closer on his knees, his hands reaching for Hugo’s shoes. “You want money? I can get you credits. You want girls? I could get you broads like you wouldn’t believe.” He grasped at Hugo’s suit trousers like a lost child.

Hugo laughed unkindly. “You’re barking up the wrong tree on both counts.”

“You want johns? I could get you guys.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“They’d be handsome. Young. Fit. Willing. Good at taking orders. Supple.”

“Now you’re just being vulgar.” Hugo pulled six bullets from his pocket and loaded each one into the Colt.

“Come on, please! If I’m so unimportant to Samuel, why don’t you just tell him you killed me and let me go. You’ll never see me again. I swear it.”

“Where would be the fun in that?”

“You really are as cold as they say, you son of a bitch.” Harvey’s impending death was making him bold. He spat the words. “I hope you rot in hell.”

“I’ll see you there, Harvey.” Hugo took careful aim at the snitch and pulled back the hammer.

“You’re not gonna tell me to turn around?” He was playing for time. Trying to extend his pitiful little life by mere seconds.

“That’s for those who can’t stomach looking death in the eyes.” And he pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck Harvey squarely in the left eye, shattering the socket. The force of the shot blew out the back of his head, splattering the cobbles with the contents of his skull and killing him instantly. He slumped sideways, a pool of crimson quickly forming around him. Hugo stepped back to avoid the blood touching his shiny shoes. He replaced the gun inside his suit jacket, then pulled a pair of latex gloves and small penknife from his pocket.

Careful not to get any gore on his clothes, Hugo moved around Harvey so he could crouch next to him without touching the blood. He slipped on the gloves, and taking hold of what was left of the snitch’s head, used the pen knife to extract the bullet.

A concealed door flickered into existence midway down the alley. This was why Hugo hated taking contracts in the red-light district—there were hidey-holes and secret exits everywhere, all in the aid of discretion. His head snapped up to see a man in pink scrubs and a raincoat step out into the alley. The man was bathed in the glare of a thousand neon lights as he peered down into the gloom, curiosity on his face.

“Sorry, think I got turned around in there.” The man was slightly drunk. “This isn’t really my scene.” He nodded to the club behind him.

He was beautiful as the rain caressed his skin. He was beautiful? What a strange and out of place thought. It was so odd that it stopped Hugo in his tracks. He didn’t notice things like that. But it was undeniable—the man was beautiful. He was biracial, with light brown skin, and thick, dark coiled hair that was curly on top and faded at the sides. His lips were full and his cheek bones sharp, but it was the eyes, it was the eyes that stopped Hugo cold. They were the most startling green as they reflected the city back at him.

“Are you okay? Do you need some help?” the beautiful man called, taking a few steps closer.

Hugo straightened up, quickly putting the bullet in his pocket and removing his gloves.

“What are you doing down there?” the man asked casually, any foreboding he might have felt silenced by alcohol.

“This is the Pleasure Quarter—I don’t think you should be asking questions like that. It’s impolite.”

As if he wanted to die, the man took another tentative step forward. “Is he okay?” The poor light was obscuring the truth of the scene, but any closer and the beautiful man would see Harvey’s body for what it was.

“Don’t make this your problem,” Hugo warned.

A transporter passed overhead at the exact same moment illuminating the scene for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. The beautiful man had seen Harvey’s body in all its gory glory. He turned and ran before Hugo even had a chance to reach for his gun.

“Fuck.”

It looked like Harvey wasn’t going to be Hugo’s only kill tonight.