Hinterlist
Legacy Name: Hinterlist

***

Somewhere in a back alley of Centropolis there's a tucked away little speakeasy. Sure, there's no prohibition, but this little hideaway remains as secretive as ever. An odd quiet lies over it and the interior is cloaked in a thick haze of smoke. Its patrons speak only in hushed tones. Both in lighting and in noise it is dim. This is where you'll find him.

He is clearly not from around these parts, not originally. But only a fool would dare to question that this was his home. You can tell how content he is in where he is by the wry smirk he wears and the comfortable cool in his blue eyes. He knows exactly where he is and exactly where he's meant to be, and it is here.

It's another quiet Sunday night and the hulking Hydrus Dillema across the table slides a wad of sP across the table to him. "So you understand your job?"

"Ja, perfectly," Hinterlist says. He thumbs through the cash and tucks it away into a briefcase. "It couldn't be any more simple and straightforward. In fact, it's almost boring." He heaves out a sigh.

The Dillema scowls at the wisp of a Paralix before him. "This isn't a game," he grunts. "Don't treat it like one, or you're liable to get..." He draws a claw across his own throat "...cut from the team."

Hinterlist smirks. "All puns aside, I assure you the mark won't know what hit them."

"See that that's true," says the Dillema, situating his fedora upon his head. "Remember, half of it will be yours."

"And I hope you see that that's true too," Hinterlist says, scrutinizing his companion with his piercing eyes.

Clearly uncomfortable underneath his scowl, the Dillema shifts and says, "Are you calling us liars? Cheats?"

"Goodness, no," says Hinterlist with a wave of his paw. "Why would anyone ever accuse the Mafia of being dishonest?"

Growling, the Dilemma seizes Hinterlist by the mane and pulls him half across the table. "Hey, keep it down if you want to keep your head."

But Hinterlist is not even fazed. In fact, he's still smirking. "Now now," he says, "if anyone has people staring, its you."

It occurred to the Dilemma then to glance back over his broad shoulders. About half a dozen patrons who had begun to eye him now hastily turned away. With an indignant scoff he released Hinterlist, who sat back and groomed back his mane.

"You have nothing to worry about, mein Freund," the Paralix said, and brushed off his paw casually against his chest. "There's a reason they call me The Expert."

***

She was absolutely beautiful, a Sun Lain with a flowing crest of red and orange feathers. Her name was Nelonia, heiress to a vast aristocratic fortune. A fortune which, after weeks and weeks of courtship, was about to become Hinterlist's.

"I'm so happy you're helping me make my dream come true, Liebling," said Hinterlist, beaming up at the vast complex she had financed for him. The idea was that her money would finance the property, its development, and the massive insurance that would ultimately pay off when the whole place burned to the ground. Hinterlist would then be free to flounce off with the money, to be split with his "sponsors". "I've been waiting so long to make my place in this country."

"And I'm so happy for you," Nelonia cooed. She nuzzled up to him and sighed. "I've been so lonely since my family died. I know we haven't known each other long... but... you just take my breath away!"

Hinterlist grinned. He got that a lot. "And you warm up my life, Nelonia dear." He pulled her close and swept a paw along the horizon, painting an imaginary panorama for her. "Just picture it," he said. "Your proud name and your money, my business acumen and charm... the whole world could be ours!"

Nelonia gaped at the horizon, taking all the opportunities she could imagine in. No doubt she was imagining an exciting new life for herself, founded on her own terms, with her fiance at her side.

Hinterlist almost felt bad for her.

Almost.

***

Whenever Hinterlist took off after a con, it never much surprised him. Especially because he was very careful that they'd never really known him and had no idea where to find him. For the most part they had no legal recourse against him, anyway; the way he worked, the girls always gave him the money by perfectly legal, or at least technically legal, means. Gifts, failed joint ventures, insurance.

That insurance bit was where the surprise came in. Namely, when the Dillema showed up and told him to collect it.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, rousing himself from looming over his cocktail.

"I said the girl is dead," said the Dillema. "Now's time to collect on the insurance she took out in your name. Once you got it, we split that and your investments, and we'll all be on our merry."

Hinterlist frowned. "We did not take out any insurance."

"Sure you did," said the Dillema with a suggestive wink.

Sighing, Hinterlist said, "No, I knew what you were driving at. I am not stupid." He stood to get on eye level with his massive companion. "But did you all really have the audacity to forge an insurance document? In my name? And then to murder the girl? All without telling me any of this was in the plan."

The Dillema snorted. "What of it?"

And Hinterlist couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "I see what's transpiring here," he said. "I see." He paced circles about the table. "You mean to throw me to the dogs, is what you mean to do. I take the fall from the crime and you get the pay." He stood right before the Dillema and looked him dead in the eyes. "With plans so laughably transparent, I don't know how you haven't been caught yet."

Scowling, the Dillema leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "Are you going to make trouble for us?"

"Trouble?" said Hinterlist with an easy smile. "No, of course not. Only observations."

Appeased with that, the Dillema sat back. "Good. We'll be waiting for you on Satuday, 1 AM sharp."

***

Of course, Hinterlist never made that appointment. And the mob, they would look everywhere for him, and for their money, but they would find neither. Never again would Centropolis see a trace of The Expert, the only name that the mob had ever known this shady Paralix by.

Which isn't to say that Centropolis wouldn't see him again. In broad daylight, for point of fact, fresh dyed mane, walking confidently with the lady who had so graciously taken him in from the pound--bless her heart. No one was ever the wiser. He was always moving like smoke, wafting and dissipating, seeming to disappear, recollecting elsewhere as something new.

After all, who's to say his name is really Hinterlist?

***

Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked,
Money don't grow on trees.
I got bills to pay,
I got mouths to feed,
There ain't nothing in this world for free.
I know I can't slow down,
I can't hold back,
Though you know, I wish I could.
No there ain't no rest for the wicked,
Until we close our eyes for good