TROUBLE , kaz brekker

i. do i have your attention?

CHAPTER ONE

KAZ BREKKER DIDN'T NEED a reason - but someone had just given him one. 

He had barely noticed it at first. A few kruge here and there, a lucky hand at the poker table, a well placed bet, nothing more than the usual underhand business that took place within the depraved walls of the Crow Club. It was to be expected, the people of Ketterdam had to believe they stood a chance against the odds.

But no one truly won unless he compelled it. He'd line the pockets of greedy men with a smile, ready to watch it trickle back into his own moments later. Men were predictable, so was their greed.

So when someone started leaving the Crow Club with their pockets heavier than they'd been when they entered, Brekker noticed.

Especially when someone had cost him ten thousand kruge.

He'd put his hand through a window when Jesper gave him the news, he could still picture Per Haskell's taunting laughter when they'd heard why his protegeè had darkened his doorstep, cradling the injury of childish rage in desperate need of mending.

"Someone has finally outsmarted you Dirtyhands. I never thought I'd see the day."

Strangely, the old man was no longer the most annoying thing in his life. No, that position was reserved for the dead man who had the nerve, the gall, the audacity to assume that they could steal from him and get away with it.

The usual Ketterdam punishment for thieves was the swift removal of their hands, but Kaz had something different in mind for his thief. Perhaps he'd take something more valuable, like the head. He'd mount it on the wall as a reminder to the other idiots who wished to make a fool out of the Dregs.

Since finding out the news, he'd been in a foul mood. Not even the Wraith had dared to linger on his balcony, nor in the shadows as he stalked the docks of Fifth Harbour, imagining drowning his thief in the murky depths of the water.

It was Pekka Rollins. It had to be. Perhaps this was the old man's revenge for his many successful attempts at slowly chipping away at everything his adversary held dear. It was disappointing to say the least because ten thousand kruge was nothing compared to the damage Kaz and the Dregs had inflicted on Rollins' so called empire. It was laughable but it made no difference to him. He'd kill the thief all the same, no matter who it happened to be.

Finding the thief would be the challenge. His network of information was new, feeble at best and Inej was only able to cover so much ground in a night. Even the Wraith was bound by something as trivial as time. So he'd have to hope for a miracle, pray that the poor unfortunate soul would buy a boat, a timepiece or some other luxury that would alert the Dregs and seal their fate as a deadman.

Maybe they'd buy a sword. It would save Kaz the trouble of bloodying his own.

First thing in the morning, he decided, he'd pay off the merchants. No transaction would take place in Ketterdam without his knowing.

Under the shadow of his brimmed hat, Kaz smiled. It was not a kind smile, it was the one the devil gives when he greets you at the gates of Hell. It was a smile for the sinners. This particular smile was reserved for imagining the many ways he would make this thief scream and in the past hour alone, he'd concocted seventeen various scenarios of pain, each more dastardly, more stomach-churning than the last. It was undeniable that Dirtyhands thrived in the downfall of his enemies.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, which meant only one thing. Kaz turned around to find Inej, draped in her signature hood, emerging from the shadows. He had no way of knowing exactly how long she'd been observing him, leaving him to only hope she hadn't heard the furious muttering of moments before.