Harry Custone

Harry Custone
Harry Custone
Born Harry Custone
1977 (Age 35)
Occupation Man for Hire
Residence Unknown
Father Unknown
Mother Unknown
Family None
Relationships Nancy Custone, wife
(w. 2001 – 2009)
Active Seg #8 – Present
Segments Featuring Harry

Harry was born in Emerald Heights to Harold and Fran Custone.   Harry, by some descriptions, is the spitting image of his father in both appearance and demeanour.  Harold taught his son that the easiest way to get something done was the best way.  He planted the seed for the scruples that Harry would develop later in life.

In his adult life Harry pursued a career as an advertising executive, a career at which he was quite good.  He worked for a large firm headquartered in Emerald Heights.  He met his wife to be, Nancy, at work and they quickly became engaged and married.

Harold and Nancy Custone never had a honeymoon marriage. Neither of them was unhappy with their life, both believed that love and marriage was something that should be hard to maintain.

It was a year ago that she had been speeding along the coast.  It was a year ago that she had lost control and plunged into the water.  The speed it was travelling caused the car to leap clean over the guardrail.  It was speeding away from Emerald Heights; away from Harry Custone.

They’d had an argument – not the first of their short marriage, of course, but the last – and both had said things that Harry would come to regret.  There were raised voice, accusations and denials, and there was name-calling.

And then there was the slap.

As soon as it had happened it was over.  The marriage, the love; it was over.

She had just stared at him for a time, as her hand slowly came to her cheek.  She felt the warmth that had begun to spread over the reddening skin.  Her eyes welled up with pain; pain from the slap, pain from the fight, pain from the knowledge that all that she had dreamed of their life together was gone.

And Harry stared back; he could do nothing but stare.  He could do nothing but stare into the face of the woman he loved.  He stared as she traced her hand over her face.  He stared as she stood, her mouth open in shock and despair, having been bodily betrayed by the man that she loved.

He wanted to apologize, he wanted to console her, to hold her and profess his love; but his body betrayed him, too.  It left him – his body, it left him standing in a dumb stupor as she backed away from him; backed toward the door, toward the exit of their home and of his life.

In the year that had come and gone since Nancy’s death Harry’s world had changed completely.  The now-former advertising executive had sold their home, quit his job and had gone through a phase as a hermit living along the Emerald Heights waterfront.  He lived rather morbidly in a building with a view of the very spot that was the last piece of the world his wife ever experienced.

It was in this capacity as Harry Custone, Man for Hire, that had come into the employ of Oliver Jordan on occasion.  When Oliver needed someone discreet, someone who was willing to put himself on the line to do his dirty work, he called on Harry Custone.

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