Chapter 2. Joshua Kane was not a pleasant man to look at. His face was not actually ugly. Indeed, it was well formed, but his dark eyes had a habit of looking a person up and down with a cold stare as if he were appraising them. He would unexpectedly hold a gaze too long for comfort as if testing the resolve of each and every person that he met beyond any

reasonable need. Having done so, his eyes would then shift back and forth, impossible to pin down,

impossible to read the opinion he had just formed. He was forty-five, with a body running

slightly to seed. Immaculately dressed as always, he lounged in a black leather chair

behind a mahogany desk. He looked comfortable to the point of indolence, but even to the most

casual observer, even one who had come to him for aid as so many did, he gave the same emotive reaction

as one of the more deadly serpents. Joshua Kane was aware of this reaction, but he did nothing

to try and change it. After all, it was true. Kane was known in circles of crime as a master

fixer. Whatever problems a person could create for themselves, Kane could make them go away

for a price. Need a new face?

Ask Kane.

A rock-solid alibi?

Ask Kane.

Need to break up a rally by your political rivals.

Need a small army of enforcers that can't be traced to you?

Want to buy a judge, a crown prosecutor, or still worse?

Want to eliminate the competition once and for all?

Kane provided every service crime could imagine except the actual execution of the crime itself.

Every member of the underworld knew him, and no one got close to him.

Everyone paid him, and everyone still owed him.

He was untouchable. He lived in a fine house in a respectable neighborhood.

His neighbors may not have liked Cain, but they would never have guessed what he did for a living.

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