Skeletons in the Cupboard

Neither Judge nor Executioner

January 2018

Eric was deaf and mute, but he wasn’t blind. He saw when it happened, when the man raised his fist, when he was ready to bring it down, and when the smaller man grabbed the knife and pushed it into his stomach. Everyone said there were no screams, there was only the thunder crackling, the storm clouding their hearing. But Eric heard no thunder. He only saw the man’s eye bulging wide open, the blood dripping from the wound. A thunder flashed in a distance, and the smaller man, the one whose eyes seemed like they had seen Death as well, he used the blinding light to kick his dying assailant and ran further into the darkness.

Eric saw all this from the roof above the two. He did nothing, because what else was there to do? He saw what they had done, both. He would not be the judge, neither would he be the executioner. He saw the big man, the one who used to be at the top of his food chain, crawling on the ground. He saw him pulling the knife out from his body, saw how he opened his mouth wide and stared at the sky with what strength he had left. He knew at the moment then that the man had seen him, a thief lurking. Maybe the man was pleading at him. He didn’t know. There was nothing to it but watching him die.

You know who did it, Erika gestured at him. An hour ago she heard a rumour going around town, that Big Bruno is dead, that the Clan would pay a heavy sum to see the same happen to his killer. The two of them were thieves, safebreakers, picklockers. At best, Robin Hoods, but no assassins. Still, the brokering of information was just as lucrative a trade as stolen artefacts.

Eric nodded, but made no effort to elaborate.

Is it for a friend? Erika gestured again. Are you protecting them?

Eric made a sideway smile, the sort that was never honest, then he gestured with his hand, The big man got what was coming to him.

“Morality, then,” Erika said, exasperated. Eric wouldn’t be able to hear it, but she knew he could read enough from her lips. Fine. I’ll take your word for it.

She got up and walked to the edge of the building. Below, three of the Clan’s men were walking the streets, their dark glasses hiding their hideous eyes. They were holding up pamphlets with the thousands of dollars in prints so bold, Erika could see it from high up. It was money she could use, it was money anybody could use. Or she could earn the same breaking into the Clan’s vault. It was never about sides, it was just money.

She turned around. Eric was still feeling the breeze on his face. It wasn’t raining, but neither was it too hot to sit on the roof of a three-storeys building, a rare occasion. Let the boy rest, perhaps. No heist today, just let him tell a story.

Erika had to wave at him to gain his attention. She asked with her hands, Do you want to talk about last night?

Eric closed his eyes for a second, then he opened them and smiled widely. He nodded.

Erika was out with Hilbert again that night, having the time of her life. She would maintain that she had never fallen in love with anyone, but if this was what love is, she didn’t mind terribly. Hilbert is a sweet boy, so easy to tease, so innocent to all the dark faces of the town. But he learns quickly. He knew Erika was bad news and still he hung around with her anyway. It made her feel less alone.

She had her violin with her. Hilbert had her guitar with her. The only place that allowed Hilbert in won’t allow Erika in on account of her occasional pickpocketing. And, vice versa, Hilbert would not survive an hour in the places that would accept Erika’s vagrancy. So they took to the park, a guitarist and a violinist. They found a spot, put their opened cases in front of them. Their eyes met and Erika smiled at him first. It was a teasing smile, an I’m-gonna-play-better-than-you smile, but the smile he gave back was sincere, so typically him, that she couldn’t help smiling that way too.

He started the first note. She followed suit after a verse or two, her shrill melody complimenting his softer playing. (Erika was careful to not put much attention to the music. Eric couldn’t imagine what it was like even if he wanted to). They had praticed it only once, but the night won’t wait for them do they were quick to deem it good enough. It wasn’t perhaps their best performance, but it was an experience. And the money they earned, well, once they were done and had given their bows to their modest audiences, it was enough to set them for the night.

It was when Erika was playing that she noticed the small timid man. He was wearing a jacket much too large for himself, sitting on a bench in a posture too awkward for a little weekend jaunt. She wasn’t paying attention, she was playing after all. When next she looked at his direction, the small man was gone. He left his jacket behind, ragged and torn as if it’s been forcibly left behind.

She filed it down in her mind, but otherwise didn’t think much of it. The city has too much things going on in it, as it is.

And Hilbert, well, he was terribly sweet.

Eric was doing harmless thieveries, sneaking into lions’ dens, reading through their files, finding out where they hide their valuables, and then leaving everything intact except maybe a loose change gone here and there. He was good at that, even though his ears were useless to him. He wouldn’t survive in this line of work if he wasn’t.

Right after leaving one of the flats he broke into, while he was locking the fire escape door back again, he saw him. The corpse-to-be, Big Bruno, tormenting a small timid man. Perhaps there were quiet screams and stifled cries, but Eric wouldn’t have known that. He knew enough to tell that the little man was in pain.

Big Bruno dragged the man as he clawed for the pavement, trying to pull himself away from him. Eric followed them quietly from above. He climbed up the fire escape, climbed up the ledges he could reach at and jumped to the next building over. He was careful not to make a sound, and either way, Big Bruno seemed concerned enough with the man he was torturing.

They went to a smaller alley, where one could find all sorts of junk and trash strewn about. Wasted bullets, glass shards, broken tools, rusted knives apparently. That was when Eric saw Big Bruno, hitting the beaten man again and again. They seemed to be screaming something, them both. When the little man was bloodied and weak, when the big man was about to hit a final blow, that was when the knife came to play.

That’s a bit… Erika paused, unsure which gesture would mean the word she was trying to say. You don’t know what’s going on between them.

I know he was suffering, Eric replied. That is enough.

“I suppose,” Erika said out loud. But you can’t judge them by that night alone.

Eric shrugged. That’s why I didn’t.