The morning sun lent its warmth to the chilled air. Snow threatened the city, but had yet to unleash itself upon the drowsy citizens of Port Rapture. Vinchenzo walked slowly down the cold sidewalk, the aroma of a fresh baguette rising from a sack in his hand. The young man’s eyes squinted through the sun’s early rays, and he spotted Mr. Cognomi’s produce stand. The makeshift clapboard stand was open, and had most likely been so before dawn. “Signore Cognomi,” Vinchenzo spoke, a smile encroaching on his somber features. The weary face of Mr. Cognomi turned, shedding some of its fatigue to offer a smile. “Vinchenzo, my friend. How are you faring this morning?” Vinchenzo clasped Mr. Cognomi’s hand, keeping his grip soft to avoid hurting the old man’s joints. “So, my boy, what shall it be today?” Mr. Cognomi stretched his arthritis-ridden fingers and picked out a fresh apple. “How about something sweet? Just in this morning!” Vinchenzo accepted the proffered apple, grinning at Mr. Cognomi as he rubbed it on his tweed jacket. He looked down at the fruit, as if expecting to see his reflection on its surface. Before Vinchenzo could move for his wallet, a black car sputtered to a stop across the street. The men exiting the vehicle immediately alerted all passerbies something was amiss. Three suited men, one carrying a large sable case, moved from the car at a leisurely yet purposeful stride. The driver remained behind the wheel, keeping the car running as he casually watched the passing citizens. “Signore Cognomi,” Vinchenzo asked, motioning to the car. “What is this?” Cognomi turned to look, his face turning pale as he watched the men enter a tailor shop. “Oh, no!” Cognomi bit his knuckle as he spoke. “He didn’t!” “Didn’t?” Vinchenzo asked Cognomi in a curious tone, but did not remove his eyes from the tableau across the street. “Did not what, Signore Cognomi? What is happening?” The old man spoke. Anxiety, fear, and genuine concern washed across his face. “I spoke with Signore Kurtz last week. Business has not been well and-”

A muffled ‘pop’ sounded from across the street, accompanied by a small flash inside the shop. The event repeated a second later, followed by a man in plain cotton homespun falling backwards out the front door. The man’s weathered appearance and rolled sleeves identified him as the tailor. Mr. Kurtz, a panicked look on his face, held a small pistol in his hand. He retreated onto the sidewalk and awkwardly fired another shot through the doorway. He then turned and fled across the street. Time slowed as Mr. Cognomi yelled, “Get down.” Apples, which had been stacked so carefully, cascaded down onto the street. Vinchenzo stood still, hearing the voice as if it were far away. He did not heed the words, watching instead with a frozen stare the events unfolding before him. The tailor’s window shattered as a suited man kicked the door open from inside. He took two quick steps onto the sidewalk before spotting the running shop owner. In a fluid motion, he pulled a Tommy gun from under his long coat, leveled it at his target, and pulled the trigger. The shots were much louder than the previous ‘pops,’ and every citizen on the street ducked… except Vinchenzo. Vinchenzo jolted, taking a step back as he watched the tailor’s off-white shirt bloom into a deep crimson. Pain wracked the man’s face, though Vinchenzo could see the desperation reflected in his eyes. Vinchenzo watched the man falter, and in the instant before he collapsed, the dying man returned his stare. The two other men emerged from the store, one leaning upon the other and holding a hand to a fresh wound in his shoulder. Blood oozed between his fingers. The three moved to the car, piling in while shouting to the driver, “Go! Get to the doc!” The car shook as it shifted gears, then lurched forward and sped off, leaving the chaos of the street behind. Cognomi’s voice was more hysterical now, closer than it had been previously. Vinchenzo continued to ignore the old man, gazing instead at the fallen form not ten feet from him. He broke his stare to look down at his hands, one of which held the remnants of an apple, the other a baguette with a dark, syrupy liquid splattered across it. Even as he fell to his knees, no one moved to help Vinchenzo. The world began slipping away. Feeling evaporated into a cold numbness. Breath exhaled and remained gone. He simply lay on the ground, staring blankly into the eyes of the tailor, an empty look of understanding on both of their faces.