"Okay... your closing remarks, Don. How do you feel about this so-called off-the-books private security company?"

"Ah... thank you, Jerry. Let me just say this, no one... absolutely no one, keeps themselves a secret, not unless they have something to hide. Now I'm not saying they're completely bad, the fact that The President endorsed them is proof that they're good at what they do. But it's also proof that they're shady. I mean, if you're aboveboard, you won't need The President's endorsement to begin with. I know The Mayor wants Crestville City to be as safe as it once was; believe me, I want that too. But using this... w-what are they called again?"

"The C-O-S-P."

"Yeah...but using this C-O-S-P company, who have no trace of existence up until now, no track record, no -"

He stretched his finger and turned off the radio abruptly. Then he went back to resting his head on the cold window and staring out, watching as buildings and people went by at a moderate pace.

"Hey, I was listening to that," the cabbie mildly protested. He didn't make an effort to turn the radio back on though. He instead floored the gas and the cab accelerated further. His plan was to drop him off quickly, so he'd go back to listening to the radio.

He chuckled under his breath at the absurdity of it all. Maybe the cabbie didn't hear Jerry; the host, when he said, "your closing remarks."

To save the aged man the stress, he decided to get down earlier than he was supposed to.

"Are you sure? We're almost at the lower district," the cabbie told him as the cab slowed to a stop. He opened the door and got down, his sneakers barely making a sound on the cold, dark asphalt.

"It's a lovely evening. I'll walk," he said to the cabbie with a small smile. Then he shut the door and pulled his coat further around him. It may be summer, but it was still quite chilly at night.

He watched the dull yellow cab drive off. It didn't get a few blocks away before he heard the radio come to life. He chuckled and shook his head as he calmly trudged on.

He looked up at the night sky riddled with a myriad of stars. He wasn't lying when he said it was a lovely evening. The moon shined down on the ever-beautiful city of Crestville. Maybe if it shined a bit brighter, it'd illuminate the thick choking tension in the city.

Usually, most people would be out on walks to enjoy the peace and serenity of the evening, without a care in the world. But now, their numbers had dwindled.

He noticed how the few who were out watched him with caution and apprehension. He paid them no mind and unconsciously pulled his baseball cap further down.

Some people would say he was the reason Crestville City was uneasy. They'd say it was all his fault. He couldn't exactly blame them. It wasn't their fault they're so simpleminded.

Sometimes, he wished he was simpleminded. To see the world in black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. It'd be such a relief, a weight lifted off his shoulders. But unfortunately, that wasn't possible. He knew too much, he had seen too much, he had done too much.

The buildings started to lose their color. Paint peeled off decimated walls, window frames lacking actual windows, door frames lacking actual doors. The stench of stale food mixed with the humidity that came with the clustering of sweaty humans permeated through the air. Shifty, narrowed eyes stared at him as he walked by, but they knew not to mess with him.

Hey, at least they had electricity. No, wait, that's not right. Oh, yeah, they were supposed to have electricity. Given that a power plant was currently occupying a large part of their district. But with the amount of bills they had to pay, most of them couldn't afford the electricity bill. So, they were cut off.

Cut off...

The best word to describe the residents of the lower district. They were cut off from the good life and were forced to take in gangsters and mobsters after the cops couldn't effectively capture them all.

And here he was... working for one of those mobsters. He turned into a dark alleyway and walked straight down. There was a red rusty door at the end of the alley where a solitary bulb shone, sending the cold fangs of darkness away from the door. In front of said door was a man who looked like he was a bouncer part-time.

"Ah... Rico! ¿Cómo estás?" he asked when he got close enough.
Rico, the part-time bouncer, didn't look like he was in the mood for chitchat; with a sneer on his grizzled face and his boulder-for-arms folded.
"Boss has been expecting you," he said simply, his voice gruff.

He nodded as his expression became serious. He kept his arms in his coat pocket and he replied, "Well... I'm here now, aren't I?"

Rico grunted and moved back to the door. He elbowed it three times, the sound reverberating around the alley. He cringed a bit at the hollow yet piercing sound.

The red door creaked open and Rico stepped out of the way for him to enter. He did so and the door immediately slammed shut behind him.

Some sort of Mexican song was playing lowly somewhere. That was a bit racist from him but he couldn't exactly place the origin of the song, so... Mexican. The corridor was dimly lit, with doors on both sides. He was more interested in the open door at the end of the corridor.

As he walked down, he occasionally glanced into some of the rooms. Most of them were used for packaging the goods for business. He would know. He just returned from a delivery himself.

He took off his coat leaving him in a dark loose t-shirt with a mosaic-like punk design in front. The shirt was glued to his body at certain places due to his sweat. And that was due to the uncomfortably hot temperature of the place.

He draped his coat over his back and held it lazily with one finger, exposing his heavily tattooed left arm. He got to the slightly ajar door and knocked a few times. He took off his baseball cap while he waited for a response; revealing his long dark hair, tied in a bun.

The response came in two armed beefcakes who allowed him to enter and stood behind him, in the shadows. For goodness sake, they knew him! It had been at least a month and they still didn't trust him.

The room had no source of ventilation, just a table fan that blew hot wind in one direction, at the person behind the messy table.
His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his sweaty, hairy chest. He sat with his arms around his grey round head, revealing his less than lovely pit stains.

He was currently on the phone with someone. He held the phone between his neck and shoulder as he whipped out a cigarette and a lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag of it.

"Yeah... no. I-I understand. They a bunch of pussies! Yeah... yeah. A'ight, I'll talk to you later," he said after he noticed him. He dropped the phone and squeezed the butt of the cigarette in the ash tray before he dropped it, then he sat up straight.

"Ah... Santa Claus. What took you so long? I hope you've got some good news for me," he said with a chuckle. He stretched to pick something from the mess on his table and the tattoo of a king chess piece on the side of his neck was revealed.

Santa Claus reached into his back pocket and casually removed a roll of cash. He noticed how the two bodyguards behind him tensed as he moved. He tossed it at the man before him who caught it with ease.

The round man threw it from one hand to the other, as if weighing it. "This feels a little light, Santa. How come?" he asked.

The tattooed man closely eyed the two bodyguards. They better not be itchy trigger-happy maniacs. "That was the best I could get from him. He wouldn't go any higher," he answered with a laid-back attitude.

The man's wrinkled face got a lot more wrinkled as he frowned in disdain. He turned in his chair, deep in thought. He rose his hand slightly and waved his fingers.
"Leave us," he said, his voice no longer filled with mirth.

The bodyguards were smart enough to notice it. They quickly exited the room, leaving him alone with the boss. He turned around to face him and said boss threw the roll of cash back at him.

He caught it, albeit with a confused look on his face. "Business isn't what it used to be, Santa. Back in the day, we used to get at least five more of those -" he pointed at the roll of cash in the hands of the long-haired man, "- for a parcel of coke. And now, we're feeding off scraps!" He slammed the table angrily, causing the two bodyguards to rush in, guns raised.

"What part of leave us did you meatheads not understand?" he lashed out at them. The tattooed man said nothing as he watched them glare at him before they left the room.

"Dumb fuckers. All brawl... no brains," the boss muttered under his breath as he rubbed his temples. He cleared his throat to bring him out of his thoughts. "Since The Purge, business hasn't been great, you know? But we were getting by. Now with this whole COSP scenario...it's way worse," he complained to no one in particular.

Santa could understand where the leader of The Red Bishop was coming from. No one wanted to get mixed up with anything related to Crestville City. The last people he supplied the goods to, they were desperate. Mostly people who needed a quick fix.

"You don't strike me as a dumbass, Santa. So I'mma be straight with you. I didn't take you in 'cause you broke some of my boys out of prison, no. I took you in because of that plan of yours," he stared pointedly at him.

"How d -"

"- Oh please. You think I wouldn't find out? When I saw your face all over the news, I figured the people you worked for wouldn't like that. Meaning, you were the hottest free agent out there and I knew... I knew I had to get you for myself."

Santa inwardly snickered at the adjective used to describe him. He didn't know about hottest. Maybe coolest would work way better.

"So, Santa, when do you think this plan of yours would work?" he asked.

He idly ran a hand through his now dark hair as he pondered on the question. He didn't know if his ex-handler and the rest succeeded in their mission without him. But seeing as The COSP was made public to an extent, he'd say they were rattled. John always said The COSP was notorious for her secretive nature.

"Eh, I figured that's why you offered me a place in The Red Bishop, sir. B-"

"- I've told you time and time again, Santa. Call me Boss," the man interrupted and leaned into his chair.

"And I've told you time and time again. Call me Whyte," the formerly white-haired man thought in irritation.

He nodded his head and smiled briefly. "Right... Boss. I figured that's why you recruited me. But since I don't have inside information, I don't know how things are, now that the smoke has cleared."

Boss rose an eyebrow and asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means... the whole plan is useless unless I know what happened. You're gonna have to sit tight."

Boss chuckled and leaned forward on his desk. He looked Whyte in the icy-blue eye and said, "I didn't get where I am today by letting others dictate the terms. I'm in charge here! Not you! And -"

"-Um, Boss. I'm not trying to -"

"-Oh my God, shut the fuck up. When I talk... you better goddamn listen!" Boss raised his voice higher than normal, causing Whyte to keep quiet; though he gripped his coat and baseball cap a tad more firmly in anger.

"Now, where was I? Right, yeah, the clock's ticking, Santa. You better deliver on your end or else... 911's quite easy to dial, you know?" Boss told him in a level tone before he waved his hand, dismissing Whyte.

"And someone turn off that goddamn song!"