Dirtyhands

five

The days all seem to start the same way. With Kaz looking blankly up at the ceiling, either hating or loving it. Once the fire had died out the night before, Kaz had retreated to a guest bedroom. He had curled up in the large bed and closed his eyes.
To keep out the thoughts of Jordie, he had let memories of Inej resurface. Memories of Inej were painful to him but there was also some joy in them. Memories of Jordie only threw Kaz farther into the darkness.

Kaz slowly rolls over and looks at a painting on the wall. It's of a snowy mountainside. His thoughts turn to Fjerda. By now Matthias should be back there and at peace. Nina would have made sure of it. Kaz knew that Matthias didn't like him. Their friendship was purely situational but his stomach still turns with guilt when he thinks of him. Kaz didn't understand it. He had done far worse but this still affected him. Maybe it was all of his crimes and inhumane acts piled into one. Maybe Matthias was just the trigger for his guilt. Maybe all of this was affecting him because his spider was gone. She isn't here to try to redeem him and that's what is making all of this even worse.
He hears the sounds of birds outside and knows that it's morning but he can't find the energy to get up. His leg throbs with a dull pain as he rolls onto his side and screws his eyes shut. He tries to think of anything other than Jordie or Inej but they consume his thoughts.

Kaz can remember a time in his life when he could put his memories to the side and complete a job, but he can't focus now. He can't even form an intricate plan with multiple fail-safes. Part of him wants to go back to a time before Inej. Things were so much simpler then. Back when he first earned his name.

*Flashback*
•warning- this part contains graphic murder•

His hands shook. At this point, Kaz couldn't tell if it was from the bitter cold winters of Ketterdam or the nervous energy he had pent up. He glanced down at his, at the time, bare hands. He had gained a reputation in the Dregs as well as on the streets. He hadn't quite earned his infamous title Dirtyhands, but his name was known.
He was known for his ability to get the job done, no matter how bloody it was. On this day he had just witnessed a particularly brutal task. Quinton, a member of the Dregs, had 'interrogated' a sailer to see if he could locate a hidden shipment of jurda. By the time Quinton was finished the sailer had almost nothing left on his bones.

"Wanna know what I don't get the kid?" Quinton asked Kaz as he cleaned a butcher's knife.

"Not really," Kaz answered and looks up at the large man. He didn't care about this man's opinion. Quinton's only skill was slicing flesh. He had been a butcher before he joined the Dregs. Kaz didn't trust him. Quinton would always disappear for an hour at twilight.

"I'll tell you anyway. I don't understand how a kid as small as you can have such a deadly reputation. What are you? Ten? I don't think that you're as deadly as everyone says." Quinton replied in a somewhat mocking tone.

"I don't understand how Haskell still trusts you. You don't even try to hide your little outings anymore." Kaz hummed as his eyes darkened slightly.

"What are you trying to say Brekker? Those accusations are rather serious. You may want to keep them to yourself. Wouldn't want you getting hurt now would we?" Quinton hissed.

"Or I could share my findings with Haskell." Kaz stated, "I bet the ink on your back would be more than enough to prove my point." He gently picks up a meat mallet and inspects it as a child would a butterfly.

"You little bastard." Quinton snarled and launched himself forward.
Kaz twisted out of the way of the larger man. Quinton was easy to dodge. He wasn't graceful by any means but he was strong. Quinton managed to find his footing and spun back around to Kaz. He raised the knife and advanced yet again. Kaz pivoted his body so that Quinton wouldn't hit him as he brought the mallet down on his head. "IM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT," Quinton growled with pain in his voice as blood trickled down his forehead.

Kaz smirked as his eyes looked over Quinton for particularly weak spots. Then he remembered that a few weeks earlier Quinton had fractured a few ribs. Kaz darted towards Quinton. He ramed the mallet into the mending ribs. He felt the bones crunch as the iron tool sinks into Quinton's skin. Quinton let out a shrill scream as he sent his blade into Kaz's left hand. It hit the back of the hand and cut deep. Kaz whimpered in pain and slammed the mallet into Quinton's hand, sending the knife across the room. Kaz didn't waste time. He bashed the mallet into Quinton's nose and felt the cartilage break. Quinton fell to the ground in agony as Kaz kicked the side of his head. Then Kaz lifted the mallet and brought it down on Quinton's head until he saw the life leave Quinton's body. He had felt bone crumbling and brain tissue is destroyed. Kaz looked down at his handy work a felt a sense of pride.

Kaz grabbed the back of Quinton's shirt and pulled him out into the street. He drags him from the harbors to the slat. It took a few long hours to drag the massive male almost a mile. At one point Quinton's neck had brushed Kaz's skin causing him to feel dizzy. At the halfway point Kaz had stopped by a corner shop, leaving the body outside he had entered. He purchased rope, a knife, and a pair of leather black gloves.

Kaz continued to pull the man across the barrel. When he reached the slat he threw the rope over a pole and tied a noose at the end. He looped it around Quinton's waist and looked over the body. He cut Quinton's shirt open and carved 'TRAITOR' into his chest and pulled him up. A feral cat curled around a crown (the dime lion's symbol) was visible on Quinton's back. Kaz looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood. He was covered in blood. Kaz glanced to the east and caught a glimpse of the rising sun. He walking to the slat and felt all eyes on him. He walked up the stairs and to his room. He closed the door and went straight into the washroom. He cleaned his hands and face. Then he changed his clothes. Lastly, he pulled on the black gloves. When he returned downstairs he heard the whispers. 'He probably couldn't get the blood off. That's why he is wearing gloves. 'He hands are stained, dirty. 'Dirtyhands'.

*End of flashback*

He looks down at the gloves and peels the left one-off. Kaz traces the thin scar across his hand and sighs as he tugs the glove back on. Kaz sits up and shakes his head before getting up. He needs to get Dirtyhands back.

Dirtyhands wouldn't feel this way and he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting around doing anything.