CHAPTER 6 Poetic Justice

Tonight’s assignment is personal.

The Society hates hypocrisy.

The target is a judge.

A famous anti-corruption crusader.

The man built his reputation sentencing criminals harshly.

Secretly…

He runs a gambling ring out of a private club.

His victims?

Addicts.

Debt slaves.

People he legally condemned during the day.

Irony writes itself.

I enter the club through the ventilation system.

Black coat.

Black mask.

No sound.

He sits alone in his office counting chips.

When he turns around I'm already there.

"Who are you?!"

I place a pair of handcuffs on the desk.

His own brand.

Government issued.

"You like sentencing people," I say.

My voice echoes through the mask.

He sweats instantly.

"I can pay you."

"They all said that."

I drag him into the basement poker room.

Empty.

Cold.

I sit him at the table.

Deal two cards.

Then shove a revolver toward him.

"Russian roulette," I say.

"Your favorite clientele activity."

He sobs.

I spin the chamber.

Hand him the gun.

"House rules."

He pulls the trigger.

Click.

Again.

Click.

Again.

Bang.

The police report calls it guilt-driven suicide.

The forum gives me a single reply.

ADMIN: EXCELLENT IRONY