I watched as the Giant beat a man to death. I could have joined in, but this was why I paid a man (a beast?) such as the Giant. I needed someone to do my dirty work for me, to be the brawn behind the brain, to be the jackboot behind my personal ideology. Anyway, I was too old to be using my fists in such a violent manner. I was хилый стариk: a frail old man. Too tall, too thin to act thus. There were those who say I smiled too kindly to be the vicious thug lord they’d eventually find out I was. It was not for me to discuss how I looked. I was who I was. Vicious when I needed to be; kind too, when the occasion called for it. But the way business had been these last few months, there had been precious few moments of kindness.