Gordo huddled in the corner of the room, snivelling in self-pity and fear. He knew something bad was going to happen to him, but he didn't know what or when. He had lost track of time in the darkness. All that he had was the fading pain from the beating he had received - a 'Ninety Percenter' the twins had called it - and the uncertainty of his fate.

The door to his makeshift cell opened, letting a rectangle of light fall across him. Fearful of another beating, Gordo tried to make himself as small as possible, pressing himself against the cold brickwork. But, instead of taunts and blows, there were soft words and an extended hand.

"Damn. You look like you've had a rough time. Still, ain't right for a grown man to be crying like that, no matter how rough he's had it." The outstretched hand held a linen handkerchief. "Clean yourself up."

Gordo wiped the crust of fear and despair from his eyes, nose and mouth. Then, as his vision cleared, he looked up at the newcomer. It was a tall man, who was wearing a dark blue suit and immaculately polished shoes. Gordo held up the now-stained handkerchief. "Thanks," he said.

The stranger waved a hand at him. "Keep it. I've got plenty more. 'Sides, you've really messed that up." He knelt down beside Gordo, taking his chin in one hand and gently turning his head from side to side. "Damn. They sure did a number on you. I really wish they wouldn't do that. It gives people like us a bad name."

"Us?" Gordo looked around in fear, trying to see if there was anyone else in the room.

"Uh-huh," the blue-suited man said. "Like you and me. The people who do the dirty work that the grown-ups don't want to soil their hands with."

Gordo looked into the man's eyes. He recognised the look in them. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning. "You're a - ?"

"Call me Hart," the man said.

The name sparked a memory that burned through the fog in Gordo's head. "I know you! You're a legend! You're the best killer in the city!"

Hart stood back, letting Gordo's head drop, and sighed. "A killer? That's a shallow way of thinking about it. No. I'm one of those who makes sure that honour is maintained."

"Honour?" Gordo got unsteadily to his feet.

"Honour. As in among thieves. Just because we're outside the law doesn't mean that we don't have honour. If anything, we need it more. And that goes double for those of us who are trusted with the power of life and death. No. We're not like those others." Hart jerked a thumb towards the door and twins standing guard outside it. "They're thugs. They take on easy targets - targets that can't fight back. No honour there." Hart gave Gordo a thin-lipped smile. "If I'm going to kill a man, I like to see his face. Give him a chance."

Gordo felt the fear return. "So, you're here to - ?"

Hart shrugged. "Not up to me. The ones it's up to? They're talking about you right now, making up their minds."

"They're going to kill me, aren't they?" Gordo whispered. "And you're going to do it."

"Maybe." Hart fixed Gordo with his soulless eyes. "But, if what they tell me is true, you deserve it."

Gordo took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "It's not true. None of it. I didn't do those things. It's a frame-up."

"Ssh." Hart pressed a finger to Gordo's lips. "That's all in the past now. You know, an honourable man admits to his mistakes and makes amends."

"But what if - ?" Gordo fought down the panic and took another deep breath. "I mean, I didn't do it. Come on, what does your code of honour say about killing an innocent man?"

Hart thought for a moment. "It's not a perfect world. Yes, innocent people shouldn't get hurt. But things happen. Mistakes get made."

Gordo reached out to take hold of Hart and plead with him, but the man in the suit backed away. "No touching. That would be a mistake," Hart said.

Gordo let his arms drop. "Ok. Mistakes. You said that mistakes get made. And that they have to be put right. You know that you could just let me go? That would put things right - right?"

"Interesting argument, that. Sure, it would be the honourable thing to do, to let you go. But only if I was the one who had made the mistake."

"But an honourable man wouldn't just stand by!" There was a desperate edge to Gordo's voice.

A ringing came from inside Hart's jacket. He held up a hand. "Excuse me." He pulled a phone out of his inside breast pocket, and held it to his ear. "Hart. Yes. I understand. Of course. Right away."

Gordo licked his lips. "Well?"

Hart put his phone back in its pocket. "Decision's made." He stood away from the door.

Gordo glanced between Hart and the way out. Maybe, if he was fast, he could get out of the room? Maybe he wasn't going to die?

"Hey!"

Gordo stopped and turned to look at Hart. There was an automatic pistol in the killer's hand.

"Remember what I said about honour?"

Hart's gun spoke once, then was silent.