The Scorpion and the Deacon’s Oath

Deacon moved across the alley, careful that bits of garbage didn’t grind beneath his heals and betray his position. Slowly–deliberately he moved towards the door across the wet cobbled stone. The Scorpion, a vigilante moved at the mouth of the alley. Silhouetted against the street light; his wide, slouch hat and overcoat, seemed otherworldly against a canopy of silvery mist. He was kneeling down, searching for something on the ground, a pistol in one hand. According to Deacon’s old friend-the cabbie, Bobby was running with one of the Scorpion’s slugs in him. Stupid kid wouldn’t last long.
     A prayer coin clutched tightly in one hand, Deacon tried the door with the other. The lever turned and the door clicked slightly. Deacon pushed inside and closed the door behind him, locking it quickly. There, collapsed in a heaving pile, beneath a stairwell, was Bobby. His skin–pale; breathing–labored and his quivering hand–crusted in blood.
     “How? I tha…thought you were the Scorpion.” His voice–a whisper.
     “Cabbie saw you duck in here. He saw you get shot.” Deacon suppressed a sneer. “Hold this.” He pressed the coin into Bobby’s bloody hand.
     Staring down at the coin in the palm of his shaking hand, Bobby implored feebly “Is that…”
     “Yes, now shut up. A boy gave me that once; a boy who is now a man…” He heaved Bobby over his shoulder, who barked a cry of pain. “…to seal an oath. Remember? To never do the things his daddy did; that he would be something one day…” Deacon ran with his burden on his shoulder upstairs. Gunshots rang out in the alley. Bullets blasted the lock off of the alley door.
     “…and I said that I would always be there. That there was nothing to worry about.” He kicked open the upper door and rushed across the roof, dashing to the fire escape on the far side.
     Then, half way across, Bobby spoke in an enfeebled voice, “Put me down Deacon.” The voice was calm, its intent dire.
     “No,” replied Deacon. He stopped running and eased Bobby onto the tar roof.
     “Its not your fault. Its mine.” Deacon clenched his eyes. Bobby continued, “This is it Deacon. I have no right to ask this…”
     “Ask me anything,” replied Deacon.
     The young hood pressed the coin into Deacon’s hand. He was dying as he spoke. “Take care of my son. Look after…him.” He fell back. Silence.
     The door crashed open and the Scorpion ran onto the roof, twin pistols in his red gloved hands. He saw Deacon, now standing over the remains of Bobby. Rain began to fall. It was over. He lowered the pistols. He watched silently as Deacon picked up the still body of the young man and walked past him.

Angels and Demons both concede that every man cannot be saved in Rotwang City. With every soul comes the moment of choice when a man must decide if his own is worth keeping.