Thread:Rocketlauncher22/@comment-29711200-20160922031821/@comment-30105631-20161102104912

They say that there is a God. That in heaven, He awaits us with open, loving arms. Ready to accept us and let us take our place among His children.

In reality, the old man knows, there is no such thing as God. The only force higher than men is money. And money, oh it works wonders. Money can make a good man evil, and a bad man worse. It can weed out the broken and fix it, restore that broken soul with a dark one, corrupting all who fall to it's devastating wake.

The man smokes his cigar and steps outside, the cool air chilling his bones. He is early into his sixties, his hair grey and his beard long and untamed. He is overweight, as he has not been able to excersize because of the strange affliction in his leg and the cancer in his lungs, and he is slowly, steadily, dying. But despite all of this, his mind is just as sharp as it was before. Just as sharp as it has ever been and will ever be.

He walks down the quiet street, the dead darkness of the night stretching towards the horizon as he nears the meet. A small gathering where only the most trusted members of the mafia are invited, brought in to share meals and laughs and decide who to kill, and who to clean, who to distract, and who to blackmail. A circle of only ten people: the Godfather, the mafioso, the janitor, the consort, the consigliere, the disguiser, the blackmailer, the forger, and the framer.

And the spy.

The godfather trusted this old man with absolute certainty. He believed that he would never turn his back on the mafia, that he would stick with them right till the day the cancer ate out his lungs and he choked in his own blood.

This much was not true.

The spy hears snippets of conversations, the godfather talking about who to kill, who to clean, and then a name slips out.

"James Russel."

The conversation stops, and everyone looks at the consort, who appears to be wanting to shrink into herself from embarresment and fear. The godfather looks at her, takes a single step towards her, and then hits her across the face. "You stupid ****." He says, regarding her with a look of scorn. "Get out of my sight!"

The mafia resume talking, but the conversation is subdued. As always, the old man blends in perfectly, but secretly he is smiling inwards. His job is done.

The next day, an old man lumbers into town, everyone's eyes on him as he makes his way to the stand to speak.

"Now, I know that the mafia will have my head tonight," He begins. "But I have found you someone to hang."

End of Spy story.