Nicholas Krantz stood at the base of the hill, gazing upon the sunset. His silver-plated tachi slid slowly into its scabbard at his waist beneath the outer folds of his flowing black robes. His entire body seemed to move with the strong wind blowing, his robes and long hair flapping with the gusts of air and sounding like a high-flying victory flag. He paid no attention to the man who stood behind him, rigid and locked in an expression of fear, a bit of blood trickling from his open mouth. The stiletto in his back had been barely visible as Nick had raced past him, tachi extended. Krantz, now known by many other names, simply continued to watch the sun go down, listening to the birds and the wind.Just as the man behind him made a gurgling gasp, and he was about to turn and look at him, the cell phone in the inside pocket of his robes rang.
Nick pulled his phone and checked the number. It was him. His master. The only man who knew the number. Yet, he always checked the number. He let go of his sheathed tachi with his other hand and flipped open the phone and spoke his one word greeting. "Retainer," he always began with.
His master spoke on the other end, "I hope you are available, I have more work for you."
Just as the words landed upon Nick's patiently listening ears, the man behind him issued one more choked-off attempt to scream, before the wound began to take full form in a bold, bloody, diagonal line through his torso. Everything from his right hip to the top of his left shoulder slid slowly from its place in a solid piece, as his legs collapsed underneath, and the man fell to the ground in two large pieces.
"My schedule just cleared up," replied Nick.
"Come to my office."
"How soon, master?"
"As soon as possible."
Nick turned to face the sunset again, using it to gauge the time, "Tomorrow morning will be perfect. I am late for a game of chess."
With that, Nick's master hung up the phone. Nick turned and looked at the dead man finally, the two large pieces of him heaped atop one another. Krantz is not sure whether or not it was the overdose of paralyzing poison on the tip of the stiletto that had killed the man, or the fact that he had passed straight through his lung with his tachi as he sliced the man in half, but he didn't care, and neither would the medical examiner when they found him. He walked on down the hill and into the woods, off to make his appointment.
The old man sat at the stone table in the park. The chessboard was naturally etched in the stone of the table. The light squares were indicated by being ever so slightly higher off the table than the dark ones. All the pieces, except for one, were all arranged in their starting positions. The old man, known as Rich, always made the first move. He made his move long before he spotted Nick arriving. He sat patiently and waited as Nick reached the table and sat at the other side, and immediately made the next move.
Nick didn't look up as he watched Rich make another move, "Sorry I'm late. Work went on a little long, and the sunset was beautiful."
Rich huffed, "You still call it work."
"It is. Hard work at that."
"It's hard to be the assassination puppet of a troubled old man?"
"He's my master."
"You chose him. You owe him nothing."
Nick moved another piece, "He afford me the opportunities to do what I love to do."
Another move from Rich, "Kill people?"
"Live by the sword."
"Money still runs everything."
"And because of my master, I worry none about money."
Rich chuckled, "He could at least get you better clothes."
"These clothes are my choice."
"I don't think anyone chose that haircut, though. It's definitely on a mind of its own."
Nick smiled, despite neither one of them looking at eachother yet, "I got the idea from an anime character."
"Is that where your media nickname came from? The Silver Samurai?"
"No sir, that's an american comic book I think."
"You dressed yourself up as a comic book character?"
"Actually I don't think I look anything like him at all. I think he has armor."
"Why don't you wear armor?.... check."
Nick moved his king to safety, "Don't need it I guess."
"I would feel better if you wore it. At least a vest."
"People have to see you coming in order to shoot you."
"You mean to tell me that no one ever sees this giant floppy black mass hopping in sandals towards them waving a big sword?"
"No need to be demeaning."
Rich frowned. Despite his need to seem sincere, he still did not look up at Nick. They remained trained on the chessboard and the game at hand. Rich sighed, "I don't mean to be demeaning. I just... wish you would apply yourself to something besides killing people for a shady law firm."
"I am doing what I like to do. I follow my master and it is weakness to question his wishes."
"Even if you're not dead in ten years, you're dead already. Your life is meaningless."
"There is no shame in this."
Rich frowned. He wanted to say something more, but instead made another move, "Check."
Nick stood, "I have to be going."
The game had never been finished before. Each time they played, the game ended without conclusion. The game was a never ending one. For both of them, to end the game would cease all reason to stay in contact. Rich nodded at his sudden dismissal of himself. Nick turned and walked away.
Rich stood after Nick's eyes were out of view. He turned to face Nick's back, "Nick... wait." Nick stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around. Rich continued, "Every time you come to see me, I wonder if I will see you tomorrow. I keep waiting to read your name in the obituaries."
Nick remained silent, but his head turned slightly, as if listening harder.
Rich noticed this and continued, "I pray every day you'll show up and continue our game. Just please, look me in the eye today, if never before and never again, and... please... just this once... say goodbye?"
Nick stood in place. The moments seemed to take hours for Rich. Finally, without warning, Nick slowly turned. The sway of his robes showed a glimmer of his sheathed tachi beneath them as he slowly spun to face Rich. For the longest of moments, they simply stared at each other. Studying each other's faces, the pain in Rich's, and the determination in Nick's, they faced each other for the first time in twenty-four years. Finally, Nick's mouth slowly opened.
"Goodbye... father."
Rich Krantz watched his son walk off. As he disappeared from view, Rich turned back to the chessboard, and tipped over his king.
With that, Nick walked on, never to return to the chess table again, though no obituary was ever written.
