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Ask a professional liar why they do it.
For a laugh? Those types don’t usually have to sully their hands.
No, it was for necessity. In Zepile’s mind, anyway.
Selling thrown-together replicas was behind him. And yet, even with his background, he didn’t enjoy twisting the truth.
It wasn’t that he was morally above such a thing – he’d dealt with his fair share of black market business.
Just yesterday he was in a certain pawn shop to make a backdoor deal. The terms were contracted, all written up and official, but not strictly legal . Loans in the millions didn’t tend to be.
There certainly hadn’t been anything legal about his own scheme, piggybacking off the Yorknew auction season and the media publicity surrounding it. He’d made enough to live off for a while and, though it wasn’t an honest living, he didn’t regret making that haul.
It was just the guilt that came along with it that sucked. Zepile liked living the quiet life, and he’d rather live the rest of his days without knowing people bought his fakes – perfect copies they might be, they were still deceived.
Even when lies didn’t result in that kind of crushing guilt, there’d be other consequences. Potentially much worse ones. He was all too familiar with them, given the situation he was in right now.
It was his fault, really. He couldn’t have said it straight, that he couldn’t afford to buy the kid’s license back. Gon: a kid who knew no fear and no evil, his whole life ahead of him. Zepile couldn’t let him down.
Nobody forced his hand, he wasn’t under any obligation to make the funds. Still, the kid deserved to keep the license under his name. Wouldn’t he kick himself in years to come, throwing away all the boons that came with it just for a game? You can’t put a price on family, Zepile knew that better than anyone. But in a world where Hunters rule, you’d always be safer with their credentials on hand.
And so, Zepile didn’t regret his choice. Giving Gon his earnings, that 5 million loan, or his convenient lie.
It’s funny. The first con I feel bad about is the one that costs me the most.
Well... Only financially speaking, even if I count the worst-case scenario.
As if on cue, he took out some whiskey while searching what the recovery time for a removed liver might be. He let out a put-upon sigh. He was going to unable to move for a while, let alone work.
College drinkers - it’s been a while. He’s got me in a bad habit, that one.
***
Leorio wasn’t trustworthy in the beginning. He didn’t know what to think when the man said they could run with the kids’ earnings, good drinking buddy that he was.
Even so, he said he’d pawn his own license to buy Gon’s license back. Leorio was secure in knowing Zepile had already done just that.
Still, the appraiser was sure he’d go along with it. The man was friendly, charismatic, intelligent even. Just not a good liar.
And above all, he was a loyal friend.
It wasn’t in Zepile’s nature to disappoint a struggling college student, or kids who didn’t look to have much in the way of parents.
Speaking of the wannabe doctor, he had his number. Killua had the common sense to pass it along for the group’s Southernpiece operation. Had he replied?
[picture]
Me: Hey, it’s been a while. See anything weird in this photo?
Leorio: Sounds kind of sketchy. If there was a link there instead of a photo would’ve blocked you it’s like a spam message
Leorio: But if you’re talking about Nen then no. The kids know their stuff. Gyo was on the Site and can do it now
Leorio: Learned it even when studying hard for exams haha. It looks like there’s just no aura in that knife. Can see aura in photos too I tested it out cool right?
Well, that was interesting. It’s lucky that the client posted a photo on the valuation ad.
Three messages at once was a little overkill, and some part of him doubted Leorio was as diligent a student as he claimed, but the client’s item didn’t have a ‘Nen’ signature. Or was it ‘Gyo’?
Zepile didn’t really get it. He’d only heard whispers in the backstreets of a mystical aura boosting one’s strength, developed through meditation. Personally, he did buy into the idea clearing your head probably helped in some way, even if the public exaggerated. There were rumours spread across the Net that the international tournament fighters and the very underground ring here in Yorknew had aura users that let them do supernatural things.
Zepile knew Leorio, he wasn’t a good liar. Neither was Gon.
They either had to be delusional about this whole ‘Nen’ thing, or it was a genuine power. If it was actually the former, Zepile didn’t mind a pointless ego boost. And he’d already seen superhuman things in his life, including his own knockout by Killua’s hand in the Exam.
So, this supernatural aura. Gon had said he had left his own residue on his replica, which meant to Zepile that it was a warning sign for these kind of things. The client’s knife having no such thing meant more points towards it being the genuine article.
Zepile needed all the evidence he could get for an accurate judgement. He knew telltale signs of alteration, but Ben’s knives specifically were not his speciality. He had to research their history, the hallmarks of the different types and how to identify the era in which they were made, giving up his entire afternoon to do so.
He’d lied once again, that he was some ‘weapon’s expert’. Still, he needed money and he needed it quick. This client was well off.
Zepile silenced his phone again. It was worth being late to read Leorio’s messages when he could avoid the constant calls.
I better sleep the alcohol off. Protecting the collateral and all.
***
The client wasn’t happy to see him 5 minutes late. Zepile needed his business, but he couldn’t see the appeal in his company either.
“Name’s Obi. You’re late.”
“I’m Zepile”
He initiated a handshake. It was rejected with a nod.
“Now that the pleasantries are done with,” said Obi, “ I've got a knife here I want valued, with a statement of authenticity - if it is the real deal. Employer wants it doing and I’m willing to pay you enough jenny to live on for years if you get it done.”
Ah. He’s not acknowledging it, but I’m the outsourced help. He’s getting other people to do his job. Probably deals in goods trading himself, just without the qualifications and all the connections.
I guess that’s just how it is, Zepile reasoned with himself. The guy’s resourceful at least. I don’t know whether I could deal directly with gang members and the sort who buys weapons, even if I’ve dealt with shady characters.
“If you don’t mind me asking, which circles does your employer operate in?”
“They’re a contracted killer. A group, I should say.”
Zepile paled. His client seemed amused.
“My apologies, I can’t say more. They’re a certain big name in the underground. Wouldn’t expect ordinary people to know of them,” Obi said.
“and it's not your place to know. Still, they’re important which is why I’m hiring you. Could we get to the valuation?”
Zepile scanned the surface of the knife. Extended base, hatched frame, spike pointing upwards, incised numbers: it all pointed to the knife being genuine. An early to mid-era Ben’s knife, with all the hallmarks of a poisonous model. Worth well above the usual rate of 5 million.
He could almost picture his rise out of debt. This client didn’t scare him. He’d ask a few questions.
“You’re planning to sell this to your customer, right? Where did you find this?”
“I picked it off of the Cemetry Building’s floors,” Obi said with a degree of smugness. “Hurry up, I’ve got things to be doing.”
Did he loot it, or did he bid?
Zepile wouldn’t push it. He knew full well the mafia set up shop there this year.
“Am I right in thinking you’ll need authentication with an old-fashioned letter?”
Obi snorted. “No doubt of that. Don't like e-mails from outsiders and they're sticklers for tradition. Hah! Do everything by the books, call themselves professional assassins, and can’t even tell if a knife is genuine.”
Zepile smiled.
“Well, you’re in luck. This one is the real deal.”
***
It wasn’t.
It was perfectly constructed. Zepile was stunned that he failed. But he had, and with some strong words, he’d been left without pay and an ever-growing outstanding debt.
Meanwhile, Obi put up ads for appraisers to value the rest of his haul. He did deal in more than just weapons, but Zepile would not be welcome to help with these.
The mummy of Princess Corco, tissues from the actor Sonne LiMarche and the fabled jar of the Rai dynasty were to be valued - all listed for millions in compensation. Ads stared Zepile in the face.
If only I’d told the truth from the start…
Little would Zepile know that none of these were real. Neither would Obi, for that matter. Unlike the poisoned knife, these copies could not be deduced.
Poisoned knives could be tested, you see. On butlers, on children, on unsuspecting tourists.
But visually, Obi's collection were all perfect copies. Even to the most discerning eye, even to a Nen user.