Life is a numbers game.

How much is your salary? How old are you? What do you weigh? How many backs are you willing to step on so you can build a staircase to God? 

And how many wings are you willing to pull down with you once you get kicked out of heaven?

I’m no different than anyone else trying to build their path to the pearly gates- I just set realistic boundaries for my number’s game. My contract with the grim reaper expires when I accomplish my goal. Until then, I’ll act in accordance with my morals to bury my skeletons. The structure of my services may be rudimentary, but efficient systems are often simple.

First, the target must have committed an immoral act that inflicted some sort of harm. If no one was harmed or the party consented, I have no interest in pursuing justice.

Second, the target must be someone with things to lose. A bad person who is in the dumps for their actions has received their karma already, even if some people feel they may deserve worse. That’s not my responsibility. Leave that to nature.

Third, they must have, or be willing to harm others repeatedly, with no remorse and with a clear display of intent.

If my target has made a mistake or shown genuine remorse, then I can’t focus. I’ll be distracted by bigger, more damning things I could be doing instead. The matter gets more complex if the suspect is mentally ill. For everyone’s sake, I avoid loose cannons and factors I can’t control. My judgement calculates how efficiently I can deal with the issue, and I take payment based on an estimated turnaround-time. If the request is simple, my earnings match my delivery. It’s akin to a sliding-scale. 

It shouldn’t be mistaken for philanthropy.

I take half the client’s payment upfront and the second half once the job is completed. If I can’t complete the job, I don’t get the rest of the money, but they also don’t have the right to get their first installment back if I fail. I use the first payment to acquire resources and tools that will help the investigation. Usually, it’s to pay for special services or dig for information that others have an easier time finding without suspicion. Whatever’s leftover is pocket money. However, I’ve never once failed to deliver results. Since everyone comes to me with a clear demand, I can typically gauge whether or not I can help a client right away. If I can’t help, I don’t claim that I can. That would be a waste of time, and as nice as it is to get free money- I absolutely hate being inefficient more than I like getting paid. 

I don’t take on jobs I can not complete.

Zhulong may be the only exception. His concern is clear, but his desires are vague. If he told me to financially ruin his father, that would be a different story. But how does one ‘stop’ a person from committing a murder before it happens? The police would be far more useful if it was that simple to prevent crimes. From the very moment he asked for help, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fulfill his request. I should have turned him down.

I try so hard not to get my feelings and my work mixed up, and yet…

No, my work and my personal life is not entwined; it would be more apt to say that the two are closely stitched together. Without my bitter resentment towards my father, Karma’s services would not exist.

Lux Karma and The Devil’s Closet would not exist at all.

I erased any trace of my past self when I survived being tossed into the ocean. I’m still not sure what led up to it since my memories are incredibly fuzzy. I suspect the rope my father tied to my ankle must have come undone at some point. Father was either incredibly incompetent, or he was in such a rush to get rid of me that he didn’t notice it. I’ve always wondered just why he needed to dispose of me so quickly after doing the same to my mother. 

It’s as if our existence would have inconvenienced him greatly if he’d let us live another day. If I remembered the date, I could have tried to find information online, but I was too young to commit such things to memory.

I don’t believe the same fate will befall Zhulong, but I can’t help to err on the side of caution. No, I know exactly why I can’t turn him down, and it has nothing to do with his father’s infidelity. 

There’s something eerily unsettling about this situation. 

I know I’ll regret it if I turn him away.

If something happens because I’m too prideful to work with a burdensome client, I think I’ll feel uneasy and partly responsible for the outcome. His mother is innocent in all of this as far as I know. If she truly is in danger, she should be protected. I’m not doing this for Zhulong. I’m doing this for her. I tell myself this, and I’m reminded of all my stipulations, and how I’m tossing them aside to help someone who otherwise wouldn’t qualify for my help.

The wounded animal in me is trying to lick old wounds in hopes they’ll heal.

I wish I had no moral compass at a time like this.

“So, what do we do?”

I escaped one anchor only to tie an even heavier one to my ankle…

“We?” I click my ballpoint pen in annoyance and glare at him with a forced smile. “We won’t be doing anything. I, on the other hand, will continue my interview. So, try to cooperate.” 

“You’ve only asked me questions about myself.” And whose fault is that? 

This man is straight up impossible at times. The day after I agreed to work with him, he wouldn’t answer my calls or swing by the agency for consultation. Apparently, Zhulong was under the impression he could just tell me to ‘fix this’ and leave as long as he paid me. It took me a week to get in touch with him, and he sounded genuinely shocked to hear there was no progress being made. That’s how we ended up in this predicament.

“Are you interested in me?”

…Was that a question for me?

“What?”

“You’re asking a lot of intimate questions. I’ll say it right now, but I have no interest in-” It appears as if he’s about to say something he knows will aggravate me, so he purses his lips and reconsiders. “-men.” That may have been the smartest decision he’s made thus far, but I’m not in a congratulatory mood.

“It can’t be helped. Someone likes to dodge questions about their siblings and parents.” He doesn’t even look a little guilty. “I need to understand your family dynamic in order to help you.” 

“Don’t people usually look up that sort of thing online?”

“And why am I supposed to rely on accounts from strangers when I have their son right in front of me?” In short; why are you making my job harder than it needs to be? I don’t need your attitude on top of the scorching sun to make my blood boil. I thought it would improve morale, so I made sure we escaped the office for some fresh air.

And to sit down in a place with plenty of witnesses, in case he acts a fool.

I’m paying a visit to ‘Monsoon’, an acquaintance's cafe and bar down our street. It’s a homey and rustic place, but I can tell that its unpolished appearance irks my client more than it does the locals. I ordered him a drink (to contribute to the establishment, not to extend this prick my kindness) but he’s been avoiding it like a poisoned chalice at a royal banquet.

“Would his highness have been more at peace if I brought him to a winery down fifty-fourth street in Oakwood?” He’s lost in thought, but this comment manages to finally catch his attention. Our eyes connect for only a moment before he looks away again. 

He did the same thing at the office…

Back then, the only time I caught him avoiding my stare was when he believed he’d done something wrong. If that’s still the case, then he has to be hiding something from me.

“........What if I don’t know anything about my family?”

It takes me a moment to buffer and process the information I’ve been given.

“....What is that supposed to mean?” This better not be his way of announcing he’s pursuing a new career as a clown. If he believes himself to be so funny, maybe the circus truly is his calling. However, before he leaves for the fate that beckons him, I demand we finish our deal. He can flop as a comedian and starve to death once he no longer needs my services. “...Alright. Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

“Drastic? Are you going to break the law after all?” Why did I think he was going to live long enough to starve to death? He’ll get himself killed before he has a sip of his drink, and if he keeps pushing his luck, I’ll be the one responsible. 

“If I do, it’ll be for beating the living dogshit out of you. Didn’t I tell you to watch what you say about me? If you speak this way to other people around here-”

“So, you’re not against breaking the law after all.”

This little shit and his selective hearing.

Endure it. Endure it. Endure it.

“The fastest way for me to get to know your family and devise a plan is for me to speak with them directly. So, that’s what we’ll do.”

“You mean you’ll interrogate them?”

“Are you stupid? That’ll raise suspicion if you think your father is planning to get away with murder.” If his mother really is in danger, his reckless attitude may jeopardize her safety. 

“How will you speak with them without them getting suspicious?”

And here comes the reason I called it a desperate measure…

“Why would they be suspicious? You’ll introduce me to your family as your boyfriend and future fiance.”

There’s a palatable silence that lingers in the air like a bad brew of burned coffee in a poorly ventilated room. I can taste his bitterness and disgust with just one look.

“.........Can’t you just break the law and kill him? I’ll defend you in court if you get caught.”

“No.”

“I’m a very capable lawyer. I can assure you that you won’t get caught.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“And I’m not gay.”

“I can fix that. You’ll be reciting lines from Cats before you know it.”

“What does Cats The Musical have to do with being gay?”

“Looks like my conversion service won’t be needed after all.” I was half-joking, but who knew he’d actually admit to watching the musical? Now that I think about it, musicals and theatre are a rich man’s hobby in the end. Maybe it was expected of him to know these things because of his status in society. 

“Why can’t you just pretend to be a work-colleague?” This guy just keeps fighting back needlessly, doesn’t he?

“And why would a coworker want to get to know your siblings and parents? Don’t make me smack you. What if they look for me at your law firm and get told no one with my name works there?”

“Haaaa….” Why are you the one sighing? I’m the one dealing with a petulant child.

“The deposit is non-refundable, by the way.” I say it clearly, just in case he was wondering.

“This is what I get for putting my trust in a con artist.”

Stupid snobby pomeranian. If he’s going to make my life difficult, then I’m going to make his life just as difficult in return.

“Your only skill is being a serial faux pas offender. This is the third time today that you’ve called me a scam-artist.”

“Universal truths rarely change.” 

This bastard.

“Zhulong,” I gently tuck my ballpoint pen in my breastpocket so I can crack my knuckles. I may wear a suit and tie, but I’m more effective with brass knuckles and a whip. “-you’re on very thin ice. If you continue to push my buttons, I may just throw something at you.”

“Then, why don’t you?” Is he trying to convince me to beat him up? I don’t need any persuasion. If anything, I have to talk myself out of it.

“I’m not that kind of person,” I hit with my fists, not with random objects. My comment seems to have amused him.

“You sound so sure of yourself for someone that constantly makes veiled threats.” Veiled? My threats are about as veiled as a red light. Was I being too subtle for him?

“I don’t want my face plastered over the morning news when I’ve yet to get a decent haircut. So, quit provoking me.”

“I see. Would you like us to schedule my murder in advance so we can both dress up for the channel 4 audience?”

“What for? Your face won’t be recognizable when I’m done with it.” As uncomfortable as our exchange is once it falls into deafening silence– he doesn’t look away from me. I dare say, he looks almost more comfortable growling at me than he does speaking with me.

“You’re a strange person…”

I’m about to pop a blood vessel. 

“You seem to enjoy arguing with this strange person, Zhulong. Maybe you’re strange, too.”

“Of course,” At least he’s self-aware. “-but I’m not comfortable around my family. Is there not another way to collect information?”

He’s suspicious enough of his father to suspect he’d hurt his mother, but he’s not close enough with them to feel comfortable around them? I have a feeling that asking about his family situationship won’t bring me any closer to the truth. At least, not today. Moreover, I have already tried digging into his personal life, but the richer someone is, the easier it is for them to scrub their slate clean. I can’t even find a picture of his father online, and I’m lucky I even managed to figure out his estimated age. All I have is a name with no face. I could have passed him by on the street already for all I know.

Alright. If we can’t meet his family, then we’ll try the second best thing.