[Espy]

Out on the street, Dante had followed the scents to what seemed an old pub. He found an old ragged piece of cloth in his pocket and tied it around his eyes to give the impression of weakness due to blindness. It had been useful in earlier maneuvers. There were quite a few people inside, and, looking for both business and a drink, the hunter kicked open the slightly jammed door and walked in.

Dim auras, as usual... No one of outstanding psychic strength was nearby, and he breathe a small sigh of relief. Walking up to the bar, he grabbed the nearest seat and ordered a vodka tonic. "Hey..."

The bartender looked at him for the first time. After a long minute, during which Dante presumed he was wondering at his obvious lack of eyesight, he asked, "What's you story? You're new to town, eh? Haven't seen your face around."

"Yeah, well..." Dante dropped his voice to barely more than a whisper. "This town need a hired gun?"

The bartender raised an eyebrow, which would have been missed by Dante if not for the change in tone. "Yes...but..."

Incredulous. Hm. "It's not as bad as it seems," Dante replied to the doubt in the man's voice, dismissing his blindness.

"Well, if you're sure...That man sitting five seats down from you, to your left...He has five grand on his head. Loki Cicero."

Five...Meh. Good enough for now, at least until I can bring the psychic's head to Leonid. "I can bring him in today," he whispered, downing the last of the tonic and slipping a coin over to the bartender as a tip.

Before the bartender could protest ("The man's dangerous, are you sure you're fine...? Killed two policemen the other day, you don't wanna mess--"), he was off the chair, walking casually to his new target. Hm...he's...big. To say the least. Doesn't look like he's got weps... He took an empty seat next to the huge man.

"Mr...Cicero." It successfully claimed the attention of the well-muscled giant, who spun around and nearly flattened Dante's face.

"What is it?!"

"Let's just say...I've a deal for you, seeing how you were able to beat up those two a few days ago. I need someone like you."

"And you are...?"

"No need to know my name. But you could say...I'm like you. I hate those police. I hate the government. And I think you could be of some use to me. Of course, I'll be paying you."

"...What do you want, then?"

"Why don't we go outside? There's things only for your ears, and I wouldn't want..." he looked around, "other people listening in."

Dante's silver tongue paid off, and in a few moments the two were outside. He led the way around the side of the pub, to an empty dirt-covered lot.

"So what is it that you wanted? If it's the police, I can--"

The man never finished his sentence. The handle of Dante's trusty switchblade now protruded from between two ribs.

"Wha--!" The cyanide did its job, and in a few seconds, the lifeless body dropped onto the dirt. Whew...good thing there was muck here... Dante thought to himself, as he pulled the body to one side and began kicking the dirt over the bloody patches of earth. He wiped the now-poison-less blade on the man's shirt and pocketed it, then slipped back into the pub.

"Got him. He's outside," he whispered to the very startled bartender.

"What! How? Not even twenty of our men could stop that barbarian!"

"I'm not exactly your average man," Dante muttered, exasperated. After all, what bounty hunter was supposed to not finish his target? He held out a hand for the pay. "I'm assuming you'll get someone to bring him in."

"Of course! You're amazing! The police force will definitely appreciate--" The unfortunate bartender found the blade at his throat.

"But of course they won't, because I never killed him. Right?" Dante asked with a smirk.

"A-ah. Er. No. Of course you didn't kill him. I never saw who did it, the body was just there by the time I found it."

"Good. Get it right." With that, the hunter pocketed the bag of coins and headed back to the warehouse.