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Me and Skronsky finished having our 'little chat' about five minutes ago, now I'm just scrubbing myself clean in his bathroom sink while the man himself is having a much deserved break. As I wash my hands the water comes away a deep blood red. Funny, Lady Macbeth went mad cause she couldn't get the blood of one man of her hands, yet I've had the blood of hundreds try to stain mine and it seems to me it gets easier to clean off every time. Maybe all she needed was practice. Doesn't take long before I'm squeaky clean, ready to move on to the Forge, a gym owned by Redford Stone that Skronsky tells me he can be found at most nights. Apparently the Forge was the first premises that Stone ever owned, and still serves as the epicentre to his empire, both legitimate and illegitimate, to this day. 

Now I'm going on the hope that what Skronsky is telling me is on the level, which it may well not be. The thing about using torture as a means to gain information is that eventually whoever being tortured will just start spouting out anything they think they oughta be saying, hoping that it'll make the hurt stop, whether it's true or not. A quick scan of google tells me that the Forge is, in fact, owned by Redford Stone though, so chances are good that he is there, or failing that I'll be able to find someone else who can tell me where the boss man is hiding. 

Suitably clean, I had back through to Skronky's room. He's still strapped to the chair, half passed out but still groaning softly. I feel a pang of guilt at the mess he's in, all because of me. Left foot pulped to a bloody mash, bone and blood staining the carpet. Both his knee caps are shattered, he'll be lucky if he ever walks again. His left hand ain't nothing but and onion looking ball now since I removed his fingers. That's an old practice that Big Murph was partial too, apparently ancient cultures used to cut off the fingers of captured warriors left hands so they couldn't hold a shield any more, making them useless as soldiers. Dunno how applicable that is nowadays, but Murph always liked the symbolism and I ended up picking up his bad habits. The rest of Skronsky is a mess of bloody welts and cuts, his face so swollen and bruised that he barely resembles a person any more. And that's where the real value of torture reveals itself. It's all about sending a message, of letting everyone know that your not to be trifled with. It's saying 'Don't mess with me, or bad shit will happen.' Prince taught me that, and here I am years later, calling myself a better man but still up to the same old tricks.

I'm throwing my coat back on when Skronsky's phone begins to vibrate on his bedside table. The man himself comes to, eyes opening groggily as he hears the incoming call. He's still gagged, but I can hear him groaning something through the cloth in his mouth. Sounds like 'who is it?'. People's minds work strangely when they're suffering as much trauma as Skronsky is right now, their priorities get all skewed, the mind struggling to put everything in order. Why else would he care who's calling him. I've got a passing interest in who might be phoning too though, so I pick up the phone, the caller ID telling me it's 'Mr Stone'. Perfect. 

“Hush up now Russel, or I'll lose my temper with ya.” My host complies quick, seems he's much more amicable to my demands now. What a surprise. 

“Skronsky, it’s Stone. I’ve got a lot to say and not much to say it, so keep your mouth closed.” That works for me. “We’re getting word from the Shroud Society, and its not good. That Crew’s rearing its ugly ass head again, and it seems like they’ve got some sick Meta leading them. Stands to reason that it was one of their guys that clipped you boys earlier. I’m gathering all our soldiers, ready for when the Cowl takes it to them. I need you back here at the Forge, so forget the diner, that can be dealt with later. First we deal with the Cancer.”

“The only cancer I’ll be dealing with is you pal, and it’ll be a damn pleasure to cut you out.” He set me up so well with that cancer line that I had to interject. Completely worth it too, I can almost hear his tiny mind working at the other end of the line. His breathing increases in noise and tempo. Something tells me Redford is gonna be a screamer. 

[B]“WHO THE F**K IS THIS!”[/B] Looks like I was right. 

“Me? I'm the Grim North, and I'm coming for you. Best you get your affairs in order quick.” 

[B]“OH IS THAT SO?!? YOU THINK YOUR TOUGH!?! YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE ME OUT!?! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU TRY YA MOOK, I'LL KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS!?!”[/B]

“We'll see.” I answer, then hang up. Man like him, wont be used to being hung up on, probably infuriate him. Couple that with my casual death threat and let him stew on that for a while, by the time I make it to the Forge he'll be hopping mad. Good for me, mad guys make mistakes. Just like Da always said, [i]“Keep em' mad Caine. You make a man mad and you got him outnumbered, cause he'll be scrapping with himself as much as he is with you.”[/i] Every move, every decision, every choice Stone makes with me in mind now, they'll all be that much closer to being the wrong ones, all because he can't keep hold of his temper. 

One other plus side of me and Stone's wee pow-wow is that I now know him and all his guys are gonna be at the Forge for definite. Might sound strange, being pleased that all a gangsters soldiers are gonna be near at hand when your planning a one-man raid against him, but it works out in my favour. See, its not just Stone I gotta take apart, nuh, I gotta put paid to his entire organisation, otherwise there's a risk of one of his lieutenants moving in to fill the void that Stone will leave after I've dealt with him. So I might have to assault his home base with all his boys manning the ramparts, and sure that's dangerous as all hell, but once I'm done those boys will be so scared of me that half of them would rather go straight than risk crossing me before. I've done this sorta stuff before, so I know what I'm talking about.

My only concern is this talk of the Shroud and the Crew, the Cowl and the Cancer. That all stinks to high hegion, probably some type of shadowy criminal organisation, something like what my old buddy Prince is running. If Stone is a member of one of those typa clubs then that means even if I do put him down, and even if I do get rid of everyone of his guys, then chances are that somebody else will be waiting in the wings to jump into those shoes. If that is the case then I could be about to bite offa lot more than I can reasonably chew. With limited information and options, couple with the fact I'm the kind of guy that thinks he has a hammer while the rest of the world is a nail, means I ain't got no choice but to go ahead with assaulting Stone regardless, and deal with whatever fallout that the Shroud Society throws my way. 

My course set, I begin to prep myself for what's to come, stuffing my jacket pockets with makeshift weapons. Good thing about this jacket, the pockets. I lifted it off a French gangster, a former rival of Prince's, who was also a amateur stage magician. The gangster had the jacket custom made with bloody hundreds of hidden pockets, all the better for conceal handkerchiefs up his sleeve. Been wearing it for three years and I'm still finding new pockets in it. 

I take a rake of knives from Skronsky's kitchen. Da always said [I]“Never can have too many knives”[/i], that being advice I've lived by. I lift his glock, and after a bitta rummaging I manage to find a few spare clips to go with it. I ain't the best gunslinger in the world, but I know enough to know which end the bullets spew outta, and besides I'll probably need every edge I can muster. I craft a few more fun lil toys from some odds and ends that I find in Skronsky's apartment until I'm satisfied that I'm ready to party.

Before I disappear I untie Skronsky, stuanch his wounds and call an ambulance. Might seem strange, considering I'm the one that put him into the state he's in, but I need him being a message for everyone to see. Dead men make poor messages. Death's too final, at least for my purpose. Russel looks ready to pass out as I'm leaving. Not all that surprising considering.

Russel's excitement is coming to a close. Mine's just about to begin.