The police station was warmly lit, the lanterns steadily burning in these early morning hours. Two men sat in a quiet, quaint room. One, a constable, patiently waited with his pen at the ready, watching the other man as he struggled to answer the question. This other fellow sat there, shaking his head, eyes struggling to focus, head in his hands as he thought it over.

  Some time passed.

  The fellow finally sighed, and spoke. "Well, to.. to explain how I ended up here... I need to go back. Way, way back, it seems." He looked up at the constable, finally. "This may take some time, but I promise you.. I swear, you'll understand."

  "I was born Walter Richards," he began, "My father was a printer and my mother a semi-famous author, well, before she passed."

  "You're the son of Millie Richards?" The constable asked, pausing his note taking long enough to look up at the man across from him.

  "Oh, you know her. Yes, she was my mother. I didn't know she was that popular." The sad fellow replied, smiling meekly and caught off-guard.

  "Black Dragon's Reign was my favorite as a child." The constable mused, making a quick note. "Forgive me, please go on."

  Walter nodded and continued, "I was always encouraged to write, or continue father's trade. I had some skill in both, truthfully. I just needed to pursue higher education for either. But, with mother's passing... money became an obstacle. Father's business struggled without new talent, and he was consumed with drinking in his grief."

  "I was good at school, smart. We just couldn't afford university. I had a teacher then, one of my favorites. Mr. Miller. He knew our situation, he knew why I couldn't keep on in the academia. But he said I was great with people, that my classmates always seemed to gather to me. I remember him... I remember him chuckling one day, and saying I could make a *killing* in the service industry. He laughed... that laugh, he laughed and said it might turn our life around. So I listened. I finished school and became a bartender at the first place that would hire me, at Mr. Miller's recommendation. Bill's Public House."

  "I remember Bill." The constable casually mentioned while scrawling notes. "Hearty fellow, larger than life. That man roared when he was having a good time."

  "Yes, Bill. He was.. he was quite the character. Always the center of attention, always the life of a party. And yes, that laugh of his, who could forget." Walter half smiled, but his eyes flicked from side to side and he shook his head once more. "Bill hired me, and within five years, he was ready to retire. He favored me, it seemed. Wanted me to buy the place. I had made good money, sure, but not that good. So I had to take out a loan. It wasn't easy getting financed, no one wanted to give that much money to a man in his early twenties."

  "But you found a way, I assume, otherwise Bill's wouldn't now be called Walter's." The constable stated plainly.

  "True.", Walter replied before continuing. "Bill knew someone. He made the introduction, and helped push it through. He looked me square in the eye when we signed, and roared with laughter in that way he did... told me he knew only good things were ahead of me now."

  Walter sighed, shaking his head. "If I only knew then... I did okay. Some of the regulars hated the name change and left, so we had to bring in new attractions. We dabbled in trying some acts, performances - singers, poets, plays and eventually..." He trailed off, shaking his head again.

  The constable glanced up, noticing the pause. "Eventually?"

  "Eventually I tried the Comedian." Walter said with a sigh.

  "*That Comedian?*" The constable chortled. "King Skarn certainly didn't find him very amusing."

  "The very same." Walter nodded. "His agent, I thought at least, convinced me to book him. He was a quirky guy, weird laugh like he was hissing through his teeth..."

  "The Comedian?" The constable asked, puzzled slightly.

  "No, he was... he was fine. He did bring in business after all. No, the agent. I thought nothing of him at the time," Walter stated, flatly, pausing slightly. "Until today. But I assume the Comedian was being played the same way I was."

  The constable tapped his pen several times to the desk, thinking. "I'm not sure what this has to do with why you're here today."

  "I'm getting there, it is all connected. All of it. I can see that now." Walter replied, slightly frustrated. "Business did better for a time, but began to dwindle again, especially after the Comedian was executed. I'd take business from anywhere, anyone. That's why it didn't take much convincing for me to do business with the Sanguine Claw."

  "You... are entangled with that group too then." The constable asked suddenly coldly, making detailed notes at the mention of that name.

  "Not currently, no. But I supplied his campaign rallies with kegs across the Night Market. His campaign manager approached me with a great deal. I didn't ask questions, I didn't want to know. I'm not proud."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You helped elect a monster, you know. The damage done will take years to heal. If it ever heals." The constable coldly replied again. "So, how are they involved?"

  "I'm not entirely sure. But the campaign manager, he is.. that man certainly is connected." Walter rocked steadily in his chair. "We shook hands, he paid me in advance, and we shared a laugh over drinks. His was.. quiet, contemplative, manipulative. I remember that much." He trailed off again, as if lost in some far off memory.

  "But, that's not where it ends. Not by a long shot. So many others, so many... Do you remember The Red Gryphon?" Walter asked.

  "Yes, of course." The constable replied, curiously. "The only other public house on the same street as your own. They've been closed for quite some time now."

  "Yes, well. I had a hand in that." Walter sighed, reluctantly. "Business slowed down again after the Sanguine Claw, and one night, the Red Gryphon's silent partner came in. He got sloppily drunk, and once I realized who it was, well, we over-served him on purpose. He started telling us their secrets, giggling the entire time, their deals and suppliers, the rates. It didn't take much to outbid Gryphon and steal their suppliers. In no time, we snatched up their cheaper suppliers with exclusive deals. It wasn't ethical, but it was just business I told myself."

  "Hmm." The constable thought, slightly judgmental in tone. "But that isn't illegal."

  "No." Walter replied. "But it felt like another step closer to doing whatever it took to stay in business. I'd ruin a rival just to stay afloat. Put his family on the street to keep my doors open. What kind of man had I become?"

  "The kind to launder money for the Black Rose Syndicate, apparently." The constable said with a sigh. "Which, again, I fail -"

  "It is all connected, damn it all!" Walter slammed his fist on the table, the coffee in front of him sloshing out of the cup slightly. He breathed heavily for several moments, and then sighed. "I'm sorry. I... I just didn't see the connections until today. You have to believe me. You have to listen."

  "Yes. Of course. Again, I'm... naive, but was never stupid. I knew. But if I kept Anna happy, if it kept her laughing like she did and hanging off my arm, I'd do anything." Walter confirmed. "And so, I became a front for the Syndicate."

  "But something changed, otherwise we wouldn't be here." The constable questioned, thinking out loud.

  "Yes. Again, I was being played with, like so many others. Anna, off on her many business trips for the Syndicate, hired house staff to keep the home in order. We never could have children, of course, how could we with.. with... never-the-mind. A footman to see to my cooking and cleaning needs, handle the official business records, and chauffer me to and from work."

  "Hmm. A footman?" The constable questioned curiously, slightly, being somewhat familiar with the case at this point.

  "The very same as your informant, I suspect." Walter smiled. "Now, I know. Now, I can see it. He was there, at the arrest. Smiling. Laughing. I can hear that son of a bitch laughing still. Quiet and polite, yet.."

  The constable finished his notes. "You can imagine how it was presented then. He found the 'unofficial' books and did the right thing. There is no 'web of conspiracy' here, Walter, you just got sloppy."

  "No."

  "No?"

  "No. That isn't where it ends. I was arrested, yes, with the proof cleanly laid out for your detectives. I was hauled off in irons to the police wagon, for my long ride to the jail. You people were so kind though, so kind. You had an officer sit with me for the ride. A sergeant, I believe. No name though on his badge, odd, right?"

  The constable looked at Walter with a puzzled look. No sergeant was deployed to the arrest that night, and it certainly wasn't standard procedure to ride with a detainee. Who could have?

  "I can see you're confused." Walter giggled nervously, "but imagine being me. One moment, the sergeant. He looked me up and down and laughed. He said, 'You could have been anything, Walter. At least, you were fun.' And he laughed and laughed at me, until..."

  Walter stood up, dramatically, and waved a hand in front of his face. "until it wasn't the sergeant anymore. I was now looking at Mr. Miller, laughing at me this time, not with me, like he once did." Walter waved his hand again.

  "And then Bill. With his crowd pleasing roar."

  Another wave.

  "And then agent, with his creepy hissing laugh, and then the advisor, with his polite chortles. Then the silent business partner, drunkenly bellowing in my ears again. And then!"

  Walter froze, waved his hand once more. "And then Anna. Mocking me with her eyes, her giggles."

  He wept silently, cringing in disgust, taking several moments to gather himself.

  "And lastly, the footman. A silent laugh, one I could only see. I stared him down, confounded, aghast, dismayed. Who was this? What was this? Why me?!" Walter wailed.

  "They all melted into one figure. A jester emerged, face painted in a cruel smile, dead and hollow eyes. I could feel their presence wash over me. To kill me, then and there, would be trivial to them. They looked at me, and smirked. They said, 'Tell the magistrate. Tell them everything. Oh, I can't wait to see **his** face when we next meet. You really must tell. YOU MUST." and then he was gone, like shadows evaporating through the bars of the police wagon. And... so, here I am, a madman, throwing myself at your mercy. Yes, I am a criminal. Yes, I am greedy and amoral. Yes, I am not blameless in these matters. But you must save me, please, I beg you, do not return me to them."

  The constable sat quietly, stunned. Walter may not have known what force of chaos had just wrecked his life, toying with him over the course of his entire life, then disposing of him like a bored child does with an old toy, but the constable knew. The constable collected himself, cleared his throat, and nodded at Walter.

  "Wait here." The constable said, rising and turning to the door. He knocked thrice, and said to the officer awaiting outside.

  "Call for Mepho. Lyle just left a calling card."

  Later that night, at the Ministry of Justice, Mepho sat behind his desk, the moonlight glimmering in the window behind him. The candles flickered as the wax dripped onto the waiting holders below. The constable stood firmly as Mepho quickly flipped through the report, watching the primeval take the entire story in. On the last page, Mepho's eyebrow raised slightly, and his jaw clenched. He sighed, neatly jogging them back into order with a couple taps to the desk.

  "You were right to rush this to me, Constable. Thank you."

  The constable nodded and turned to leave, reaching for the doorknob. He hesitated, and turned to look back at Mepho.

  "Lord?"

  "You wonder why they would do this."

  The constable nodded.

  "Decades. Countless faces, countless lives churned up and wasted like chaff, and none of us the wiser. They didn't do this to gain anything. Not to take anything from me, directly. Not even, I imagine, to hurt these people out right." Mepho slid the report into a folder, and set it on the filing cabinet behind him. "Simply to prove that they could if they wanted."