Joaquín Risser | District Eleven | CB/FIN

I am washing my hands with dirty water. Permanent stains, left as a reminder of my choice, unlikely to ever be washed away. A take it or leave it kind of choice.

Not much of a choice though really, there was only one decent thing to choose from. A society like this, fuelled by one thing; the only wise decision was to work with that fuel.

Money money money.

”The Risser brother’s guarantee” as my brother says. Thousands break their backs to earn the stuff but here I am, only using about twenty percent of my brain and thousands of coins and notes are transported through our hands annually. Every crack and crevasse of this farmstead, I know Jesé has his stashes. Just one small shoebox is my take, an emergency only fund, it will do.

Two brother so unlike but the chemistry must work for we wouldn’t be so successful. Brains and brawn, a cliché partnership but hey, look at the success we have made for ourselves.

I tinker with the clockwork now and then but it still works, our money laundering business of District Eleven. I am not built for doing the manual jobs, intellect has me locked up safe in our home, and someone has to look over the whole thing…

Dirty hands. Dirty money. Dirty lifestyle.

It works, I am safe and hidden away from the physical complications of the operation but...there is always a but. Twenty percent of my intelligence used on operating it but eighty percent is left worrying about it. There is always a danger and my repeated self-assurance never beats that away. |What if…what if? Every morning my brother sets out through the door, what if he never steps back through at night?

Surely there is an easier life than this.