Thread: Empire -- City of vice. (BlackOut & Claire)

The dingy brown van idled in the narrow darkness of the alleyway that sliced between the First Municipal Bank and the Law Offices of Schmidt and Stein. The parking brake had been engaged, the music rumbled though the boss man had turned the hip hop selection down to a reasonable level that lent the funky jam the aura of a backdrop soundtrack in some movie. His brown polished shoe tapped silently along with the tempo of the song as his hawkish eyes shifted every few seconds. Checking the side mirror, looking down the shadow painted alleyway and at the glimmering flickers of light that shone down from the nighttime sky high above. Yeah, they were alone, things were going as planned. The cops that worked this beat had been paid off and wouldn't be trolling the nearby streets for several hours yet. Stacks of contraband in the form of green little pills, coated lollipops, candied pacifiers, and pure as fresh rain liquid Euphoria were arranged in the back of the vans cargo hold. Most of it was destined for an upcoming rave on the fringes of the city in the dysfunctional all but abandoned stretch of factories whose rusted out shells hearkened back to Empires early days of unionization. It was a mountainous supply and there was plenty to feed that event and still leave enough to be divvied to the streets where it would be chewed up by the addicted and soon to be addicts of Empire City. That wasn't all that was in the back of the van though, deals of this magnitude required a certain level of protection. As such, two men of some significant mass and muscle were hunkered down in the bared confines of the back of the van. Shotguns, loaded and at the ready were cradled in their laps. Their rough fingers stroked over the metal tubes of the twin barreled guns, checked over the shells that served as ammunition for the weapons that were stowed in the pockets of their jackets while they listened to the muted tune from the cab of the van. If anyone other then their boss opened those back doors to access the goods stored within, well the muzzle flash of their weapons would surely greet that ill-advised intrusion. Pistols were the firearm of choice up front, sleek chrome and polished handguns that contained round after round of armor piercing slugs. Dealing in the drugs had afforded these couriers of contraband deep pockets and they spared little of it where it concerned their armaments. In contrast to the blaring bangs that the shotguns would make, their pistols were capped with rotund tubes that would silence the pulls of the trigger and the subsequent pop would make hardly a peep. Finnegan, the boss of this show had been working for the past five years under the employ of particularly mysterious chemist that called himself Paradox. He met the man once, and that was more then enough for his liking. For fucks sake, that mask he wore and the choking wheezing sputters of his voice were amply unsettling. So just do your job, do it well, collect your pay, keep your nose clean and don't make a point to meet with him ever again were hallmarks of the code Finnegan strived to follow. The luxury of his job and the ample free time it provided him afforded him the pursuit of his own leisurely endeavors. Prostitution and pornography were a pair of such enterprises that Finnegan had his hands personally sunk within. He even worked with the owner of a popular strip club called Pulse just a few short blocks away in the center of the entertainment districts attractive limelight. That's who he was supplying tonight. That rave, while it would bring its own abundant profit in was a simple lure for the illicit kidnapping and trafficking of young attractive women that were bound to inexplicably disappear from the throng of revelers attending the event. Finnegan was fortunate enough to have unsolicited access to sample some of those feminine treats in the dungeon like secret depths of Pulse. Plenty of the stolen away women would undoubtedly end up starring in underground custom sex tapes that traded across the highway of the internet. Others would be pimped out, sold to various men that would direct their every deed and collect the expected daily funds from those that they whored out. Those left over, were the finest of catches. Model quality beauties whose faces might be recognized, or who hadn't been broken by the powerful call of Euphoria were left to service the private membership in the secretive depths of Pulses hidden away basement level. Eventually they would be sold off at auction, shipped out of state or even far over seas to those wealthy and powerful enough to not be concerned with attaching themselves to such risky endeavors. Finally the blue sedan arrived, its headlights cutting past the alleyway before the red glow of its brake lights shone as the four door tinted window vehicle slowed to a stop. The white rectangles of the rear backing lights stood out in the darkness as the sedan backed into the alleyway and the unseen driver of the luxury vehicle cut the headlights off. The trunk popped open shortly after Finnegans foot touched the pavement as he stepped out of the passenger side of the brown van while the driver by his side sat tight for the moment. Three others swept out of the opening doors of the sedan and greeted the boss with shifty glances and quick smiles. Finnegan's dull hazel eyes peered down into the open trunk and sized up the pair of duffel bags full of cash. His fingers unzipped one black bag and ruffled the stacks of taped together bills as if he could count them just by handling. I get my pick of the litter from the collection your pulling from the rave, right? His stubble worn face on his shaved down brown clean crew cut head turned to look towards the business representative Pulse had sent to finalize this arrangement. No, come on now, you know you get second pick, you know who gets first. The dapper well dressed man in the black suit and slim navy blue tie answered as he tucked his hands under his coat and let his palm rest upon the brown textured handle of his own hidden away pistol. We're looking to bring in twelve new girls, we'll break em in at the club like usual. You can drop by the morning after and take a look at whats available. Stephen, one devilishly handsome fella with a dark attractively tangled mess of hair that worked for the club as a mercenary slash manager responded as he nodded towards the closed doors of the van. It's all there, and I assume your end is all here? His gaze swept around the dark lit alleyway and showed no sign of detecting the presence and approach of the vigilante lurking in the shadows. As Finnegan answered with a nod and turned to open the van doors after giving them a solid single slap with his palm to alert his crew that the deal was going down as planned Stephen responded We'll trade vehicles, I'll send someone to pick up the car from ya at the usual spot in the morning. I really wish you guys would get a new van by the way, you can fucking afford one. There was a small chuckle from Stephens two assistants and even a murmured laugh from Finnegan himself at the humorous jab. Last edited Feb 27, 2019