He was the type of guy that always had a maitre’d that called him “Sir” and a hand of girls that called him “Candy”. When he was a kid he always had fathers and brothers chasing him like dogs in the street, but now he was smart enough to never let them know he existed in the first place. He didn’t have any kids, but there were a few anonymous payments sent to anonymous people in even more anonymous countries. He could blend in anywhere, but he preferred to stand out everywhere. He always seemed to have a place to stay and a neighborhood to avoid. He was missing a toe from days gone bad, but the only ones who knew about those bad days or the bad toe had forgotten to leave Saigon when the leaving was, well, good. He spoke French at sunset, Spanish at night, and German in the morning. If he’d been around for the fall of Rome he would have simply shrugged and walked to Paris. There was a kid once, followed him around Bangkok back when the place was seedy and still had secrets, watched him drink gin and tonic and said, “You kind of like James Bond, but you an asshole. I like you,” then the kid walked to another bar and made some friends, never to return.