Rixton Nillies Disciples's Story

It was late, and raining. The usually bustling streets of The Normans were almost barren, silent as a crypt. It would've been beyond strange to an outsider, but all the natives knew what was going down. So to speak. Exact details? Nobody outside those directly involed knew, or wanted to, because that how you catch a bullet. Everybody still got the message, though. Shit was going down, important shit, and it was best to stay as clear as possible.

One way or another.

The tension in the streets was palpable, and the few citizens out, and about jumped the second an old Chevy car rolled around a corner. It cut through the uneasy silence, nearby windows and chairs rattling for the volume, and bass. It was faded red, trimmed in half-rusted chrome, windows rolled up tight, tinted way beyond the legal limit. It sputtered and grumbled, but you could barely here it over the blaring stereo. It was pretty out of place in The Normans, but nobody was about to complain.

Which was a damn good thing, because the four men inside were tense as could be, and ready to kill.

---

A calloused hand reached out, turning the stereo down, it was immediately smacked, and the volume re-cranked.

"Fuck you smackin' me like my moms for, bitch?" The passenger glared daggers at the driver who'd stopped him.

"Fuck you think you can touch my stereo for, Gerone?", the driver's tone was playful, but everyone in the car realized the question was serious.

"'Cause I value my fuckin' eardrums, Jean-Paul.", Gerone turned the volume dial down again, daring the Jean-Paul to make a move.

The driver was about to even, when one of the guys in the back pipped up. "You a fuckin' pussy Gerone.", the man beside him chimed in instantly. "True that, 'member when this fucker stopped drinkin' tap water, 'cause'a Floride overdosin' or some shit?"

Gerone was having none of it, turning around in his seat and unbuckling his belt, ready to spring. "Fuck you both, shit's real. Didn't see either of you muthafuckas complainin' either. 'Least not when I was savin' us from under-cooked chicken, or your dumb dicks from STDs."

Jean-Paul laughed quite hardily at that, forgetting the power-play about the stereo and nodding. "Truth, the man speaks the truth," his chuckle was genuine, but short. It they were almost to the warehouse district, it was business time. He spoke again, his voice now low, and stern.

"We almos' there. Get this petty shit out your systems now, we gotta make an impression."

"Fuck,", the left passenger was still laughing as he spoke. "Why'd we bring fuckin' Tony then?"

Tony responded with a punch, and Jean-Paul sighed. "Break it up, you fuckin' retards. This is serious business, the kind that brings in enough paper to keep up rollin' in guns, and pussy for months."

"Yeah," Gerone was quick to back him up, out of all of them he was the most obsessed with money, "These white-bread gangstas the real shit. Scarface, and shit. They throw millies around like singles at a strip joint." Tony, and Luke simply nodded in the back.

Jean-Paul took the conversation again. "That they fuckin' do boys, and it's about god-damn-time they throw that shit out way. So here's the plan.."

---

The clunker rolled up to the warehouse, music still blaring much to the dismay of the doormen, and all four Disciples spilled out. They were all armed, but holding the butts of their AK's, and Glocks towards the doorman nearest. Jean-Paul figured it was a sign of respect, everyone here would be tense, and packing, so if they freely offered up their weapons it might show they knew the company they were in.

Really that was the goal here, not just to get a payday like no other, but to set up shop as a neutral party. Someone all the big-timers could work with, and through. That's where the real cash was. "Switzerland'n'shit." as Gerone put it.

The doormen, initially uneasy, got the gesture pretty quick; taking the guns, and checking them on a table just inside the warehouse. Still, the Disciples were patted down, which they didn't resist, and allowed in only after they popped the Chevy's trunk, proving they had the promised goods. Tony, and Luck were offended by the lack of trust, Gerone thought the guns thing made them look weak, but Jean-Paul had made damn sure everyone would be polite.

He was in charge for a reason, he could see past petty shit, play the long game.

The four waltzed in, full of swagger, and themselves right until they hit the VIP room.

It was everything all four had dreamed of. Glitz, glamour, oozing cash. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting something worth at least ten g's. It was a damn gangster's mansion in a ware house. It was the pinnacle of crime to the small-time street-gang. Power, money, and the ability to flaunt it. Each one quickly took note of all the big names gathered together, and then the tension hit them like a ton of pricks, and nerves set it.

Never one to let a worry show, JP stepped forward. "How it do gentlemen?", he slid into the room like a snaked, the second he got past the entrance his eyes sought out the most attractive lady. He set to work instantly, strutting directly over to her, and taking her hand. "And ladies, it seems. May I?", she nodded yes, probably because it amused her, and he gently kissed the top of her hand. He broke away with mock-anguish turning to the man beside her, the only one here he really knew.

Ugly Mike.

He sized the man up, his eyes cold, and jaw set hard. For a minute he looked like he might punch Mike, but that wasn't the case at all. We crumbled into a smile, laughing as he started to talk. "Couldn't pick a more obvious spot, could you brother? Might as well have a fuckin' neon sign sayin' 'Annual Gangster get together.", he extended his arms, motioning for a brief a hug. "Least you still got taste man, place fancy as a motherfucka."

"You're mistaken, JP. This isn't a Money Gang meet, someone else is running this thing." Mike told Jean-Paul, "I ain't heard of anyone new coming to town and setting up shop. This is a lot of product." Joe added, "Not the police either. The new mayor might be an asshat, but he isn't stupid." The Triad boss told the others.

They were all in agreement, the mayor was being a pain in their collective asses, but he knew not to overplay his hand.

A door opened above the meeting place, a dark-skinned man in a suit stepping out onto a catwalk above. "I brought you all here." He told them, "I did that on behalf of my employer. They're a private person, don't ask questions. I won't answer." The man said, soon making his way down a staircase.

"I know him." Mike said, "Goldie?" Ugly Mike asked the man, "What's up, Michael? Haven't seen you since the old neighborhood." The man told the biker, "Everyone, I, thought you were dead." Mike admitted, "My name's Lazarus, I like to live up to my name." Lazarus said with a smile.

"If you two are done playing with each others bollocks, I'd like to know what we're here for." Seamus said, "You're all here to make money. I've got product. Good product." Laz said.

"You motherfuckers better buckle up, I'm about to take you on a trip."

The entire DNЯ crew was pretty off put. Not only about a mystery employer, but about this Lazarus guy having "product". They'd been under the impression that they'd be the one bringing the drugs. That they'd be the ones walking away with cash, not forking it over for some mystery bunk. Anger flashed on all their faces for a moment, as JP's mind raced to figure out just what the hell was going on.

He was searching for something diplomatic to say when Luke broke the silence. "Yo, the fuck homes? We the ones bringin' the fuckin' drugs, or you bustas tryin' to play us?"

It was crass, out of turn, and as undiplomatic as could be. Tony, and Gerone froze in place, sweat beading on their foreheads. This was bad, and they knew it. JP's only goal had been to walk away with a few fat stacks, and a good impression. This dumb fucker just set that ship on fire. Gangs don't survive by killing members for speaking out of turn, this isn't TV Land, but fucking up a big play like this whole deal meant some shit was going to pop off.

You wouldn't tell that though by looking at JP. He stood calm, collected, his posture nearly perfect. The only thing that really indicated his anger was the creases in his green suit. It was crisp, he'd ironed, and pressed it himself this morning, plenty of starch, but now it was wrinkling because every muscle in his body was taut. He loved his crew, all of them, even dumbass Tony, loud-mouthed Luke, and paranoid Gerone. Doesn't mean it couldn't be tough love, though.

He held a hand up to Laz, politely beckoning for the man to pause for a moment.

Without even waiting for an answer he spun around, clocking Luke square in the jaw with enough force to knock the poor bastard over. He hadn't even seen it coming, just a dark black, and green blur, then he was one his ass with blood dripping from his mouth. Tony and Gerone picked him up as JP turned back to the evenings host. He spoke calmly, softly, his tone cold as ice.

"Sorry about that, my brotha.", his knuckles were cut and bleeding, but he made sure to pay it no mind. Still trying for a decent impression. "You know how it be sometimes. Boys get excited 'bout one job or another, forget that even the streets have rules." He smoothed his suit out as he spoke. "Like keepin' they fuckin' mouth shut while a man with a business offer is talkin'." He relaxed again, albeit slowly, and kept on trying to be a diplomat. "I'm sorry gentlemen, and fine ladies, for the disturbance, and the violence. He usually handle this shit internally, but. What can I say?"

He shrugged a bit exaggeratedly, hoping to play the whole thing off. "Please, proceed."

"If there are no more interruptions." Laz said to the room full of gangsters, eyeballing JP and his crew for a few moments. "The product that my employer has for you has no name, nothing catchy for the streets, not yet." He told them, digging into a pocket.

Lazarus held up a vial of red liquid, it almost looked like colored water. There was something about it's consistency that still made it seem off.

"What does it do that our products can't already?" Joe asked the man, "This drug right here, it opens up your mind. Heightens the senses, gives you all this awareness, takes you on a trip that no amount of acid can ever recreate. And it makes the passage of time seem much slower than it actually is." Laz explained.

"Imagine going out and dancing at a club in The Nillies, a dose of this and you're soaring like a fucking eagle on that dance floor. Or, imagine becoming a sex god because your mind is so wide open that you can see, feel, each and every point on the human body to stimulate the man or woman of your choice."

Lazarus made a humping motion, "This ain't no miracle drug, it's not going to make anyone a superhero. But, this is the kind of edge that college kids, soldiers, cops, mercenaries, want and need. We're going to corner a market that isn't just your average junkie."

It sounded too good to be true, it probably was. Something like that would be military grade, not street shit. That much JP picked up off the bat, Gerone however was instantly taken by the thought of a "new market", and using a little himself. With that, the Rixton Nillies Disciples could edge off the competition with sheer cash flow, and bullets. It was a dream come true. He released his grip on Luke, letting the man collapse to the floor.

Gerone's eyes, filled with wonder, and the lust for cash, met Laz's. "Slowmo, man. There's your fuckin' name."

"Names aside.." JP raised a hand to quiet his college, although he had to admit, Slowmo was a bangin' name if this red juice did all it did. "How the fuck this shit end up in your hands?" He offered Laz a sideways looks, although not a disrespectful one, more the shrewd glance of someone looking for the catch. "I mean no disrespect, believe me, but this shit..Wouldn't this be like..Military only, or somethin'?", he sighed, feeling like he might be overstepping his bounds as the new kid on the blook.

"Again, full respect to you and your 'employer', it's just...The last time some smooth talkin' muthafucker offered me something that was too good to be true, he was tryin' to ram his dick up my ass ten minutes later, know what I mean?", JP finished his little analogy as straight faced as could be. After all, it was a true story.

Gerone just shot him a look though, "You tryin'a look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"Oh shut up bitch," JP made it clear he was in no mood to be undermined. "It ain't like that. I just remember the last wonder drug that hit the streets. Fuckers heads exploded after two goddamn hits. Shit was bad for business." He paused for a second, "and I ain't sayin' this red stuff is bullshit, don't get me wrong.", he nodded to Laz as a sign of respect. "I'm just cautious, you feel?"

"A'ight, a'ight.." It was Tony's turn to talk now. "You see, mista Lazarus, I think what the big man here is trying to say is uh..How the fuck you get it, and how the fuck we know it's safe?"

JP just groaned, wondering why the fuck he took Tony along. Thing about Tony was that he was loyal, even had a good heart, for a gangster anyway, but he was dumber than an Aschen vacationing on Terra. He shook his head, exasperation creeping into his voice, "I suppose my overly blunt brother here is right. I ain't knockin' the shit, or you, just wanna know more about it before I start pumpin' it in veins, you feel me?"

"They have a point. You show up, no one knows you except Mike, and even he thought you were dead, with this new product. If we're going to be selling Slowmo, we need to know where this shit came from. I've seen enough in my life to know that government conspiracies don't end well for motherfuckers like me." Joe said, several of the other gangs expressing their agreement.

Lazarus nodded. They had some really good points. He could at least let them know the origin of the drug, give them some peace of mind before they went into business together.

"The Jupiter Corporation. That guy, Lochlyn Haley, his people were working on this and a lot of other stuff in a lab. When he got exposed, a lot of people found themselves out of work. Scientists included. One such scientists decided to go into business for himself, grabbed up a bunch of notes and built his own lab." Laz explained to the gangsters, "He ran into my bosses, I guess they all liked each other and here we are." He finished.

"Admittedly, we thought we'd get reprisals from that Haley cat, but he don't seem to give a fuck. That gave us time to perfect the product and get it ready for the drug market."

Mike stood up, "I can dig it." He said, "If Mikhail knows you, trusts you, the Bratva will stand behind you." Kiril told Laz. The others in the room seemed a bit more hesitant, maybe they just didn't trust Lazarus, or maybe they didn't think they needed his drugs.

"I'll have my people showing your own how to cook this shit, so, if you're down, let me know now. Once you're out, you have to get in on the market on your own or pay for the info I'm about to give up."

The DNЯ crew glanced around the room, darting from face to face. These were the big leagues, the dream team of crime, and they were hesitating? It made Luke, and Tony pretty uneasy, thoughts about backing out coming to the forefront of their mind, but they knew better than to say anything. Gerone on the other hand was thrilled, figuring it'd be a bigger slice of the market for the crew, but he too figured it was a good time to shut up and let JP handle it.

All DNЯ eyes landed on their boss, who'd burst into quite the smile.

He looked up at Lazarus, making sure to lock eyes with the man. All the theatrics had probably been useless to make an impression, but he still had one trick up his sleeve. DNЯ was brutal, ruthless, and fearless. He spoke softly, chillingly so. "All in, baby." With a flick of the wrist he motioned for Luke, and Tony to head to out. Straight to the Chevy. "I got 200k in fresh Elysium in the trunk'a my ride. The good shit that don't kill a bitch. 'Bout fifty G's back at the crib too. Take as much as I can get, plus the cookbook my brother."

He smiling ear to hear, in an unnerving way. Dollar signs flashing through his mind, as well as the combat applications of such a drug. "I feel more than one kinda expansion comin' up, homes. In fact..I got a business proposition for all you up in this."

Luke, and Tony arrived with the first pallet of Elysium vials, pristine and unmarked. JP just nodded to them to grab the rest, and cleared his throat. "I feel rude, jackin' this meeting for my own ends, but I got a way we can all profit even damn more." He looked around, lingering for a moment on each important person's face, his eyes ice-cold. He was in full soldier mode now. "Most, if not all but Mikey here, don't know me. Don't know my crew, ain't never heard shit about it. Don't hold that shit against any of you." He nodded, if only to himself.

"We small as fuck, but Mikey can tell you we draw fuckin' blood. Right now we run about a block in the Nillies, slowly creepin' out on other turf. We ain't got the soldiers to post on every corner, though. We got the drugs to flow, we got a'ight guns, but shit, only so many brothers to put on a post, you feel?" He noticed a few impatient faces in the crowd, and shrugged a little. "Sorry, I run my mouth a lot. Here's the deal. Throw me bodies, throw me a couple military-grade guns. DNЯ could take the entire fuckin' Nillies in a month easy. Other gangs around are fuckin' soft, content to run crack, and pussy. Me? I got dreams."

He extended his arms, holding up his rather empty hands. "Course this ain't no charity. You'd all get a cut of all the action comin' out the Nillies once it's on DNЯ lock."

Two more pallets of drugs arrived, and it was just the start.

"This guy can't be serious." Seamus said, letting a chuckle. It was mocking, JP and his crew were small. And some of the people in the room figured they were lucky to even be allowed at the meet. "I've got my own pushers in The Nillies, Money Gang has their own, we don't need you and your lot." The Irishman continued.

"You think big, I admire that." Yves added, "Too big for your station. I have my people, I have the BSK crew, I have the RDVs. As the Irishman said, no one in here needs your numbers. We already outnumber you." The Lutetian warlock took the time to pace towards JP.

A cold chill seemed to emanate from Yves, it was eerie enough without the evil behind his brown eyes. "I'm in." He said, never taking his eyes off of Jean-Paul.

"The Scatterran Lords are in." Dieter spoke up, "And the Church." Haddam added, eyes around the room moving to Ezio. He was a face most of the gangsters didn't really know, and the mob he represented was very low-key.

"The Stefanos are in. We'll do our part." Ezio told Laz, "It's settled, we're all on the same page. Let me give you a rundown on how to cook this shit and then we can start making money. You'll buy the ingredients from me, these trucks we have here are filled up with some product so you can get started on pushing it." Lazarus told them.

"Pay attention, kids." He said, turning his attention to JP and his crew. "If you want to play in this sandbox, you better learn this."

Yves sat quietly in his VIP booth high above his nightclub's dance floor, the sounds of Hip-Hop music blaring through speakers all around the club. People were having a good time, a decent amount of them were under the influence of drugs.

One of Yves' men, a member of the Rockford Drive Villains, moved the crowd, exchanging Loa and other various drugs for money among the nightclub's patrons.

Drugs and sex-fueled dancing, that was an average night in Tombeau de Guede.

"You think those guys from the meet will show up?" One of Yves' lieutenants asked, "They will. The leader, he is hungry. I plan to feed him until he fattens." Yves said, "And then?"

"We shall see."

JP made his way into the club as non-descriptively as possible, entering with only one other man, Kenny Erin, his de-facto second in command. The only reason he hadn't been at the meet earlier was before JP had wanted the crib on lock, just incase a few near by gangs got squirrel. He was prudent like that, and no one was better for a turf despite than Kenny "Khan" Erin. Khan was a natural born scrapper, and poured his soul into learning just how to fight fair, and proper, and then how to cheat.

There was an old van parked a block away, however. Six men with DNЯ colors, and ink sat in it. Strapped with an AK each, standing by on speed-dial. JP had not yet forgiven Yves little insult, he didn't trust the sinister man much either. It was a safety net.

He wove his way through the crowd, looking rather pedestrian, if not well dressed. Simple black shirt, freshly ironed, starched, and pressed off course. It fit snugly, and showed the man's build off, until it tucked into his equally well cared for, dark denim jeans. He wore a plain, black leather belt, the only bit of show-yness to it was the golden buckle, and flawless clean white kicks to top it off. He really looked like the kind of person who fit into the club as a patron. Eric looked a little under-dressed in a similar, albeit rattier outfit.

There was a reason JP always wore immaculate, well tended clothes. It was a sort of un-written rule of the street, at least where he was from. If you didn't look your best at all times, you weren't respecting yourself, and if you can't respect you, why should anyone else?

He made his way towards the stairs to the VIP room, the guard who flagged him to stop looked pretty displeased at some random brother trying to walk right in. "Hold the fuck up.", the man barked, glaring at the insult fool. JP just locked eyes with him, looking ready to tear his throat out, but instead he spoke cooly. "Name's Jean-Paul, I've got an invite, homes. You might wanna step off. Ask your boss."

Just enough respect, he hoped, to avoid Yves ire, and just enough menace to make it clear he wasn't here to play around.

"Let him through." One of Yves men called out, prompting the muscle to stand aside for Jean-Paul and Khan to make their way to Yves' VIP room. The Lutetian gangster never took his gaze away from a woman dancing in another booth across the room. It wasn't a sign of disrespect to JP, everyone knew that.

Yves was just odd like that. A man who spoke through his actions.

He gestured to a few chairs in the room, inviting JP and Khan to sit down and maybe relax themselves. "Help yourself to any drink or food we have. Much of it is traditional Lutetian, some of it Jamaican from Ricky's." Yves said, "You're from the Nillies, I know you're familiar with Ricky's."

He was breaking the ice, building some report with the younger gangsters.

"You're here for business, though. Not to talk about food."

JP pushed passed the muscle, brushing his shoulder off where he bumped into the man. He strode into the VIP room, sliding into the seat Yves motioned to, eyes locked on the man, and movements awfully graceful for a gangster, but Khan wasn't even paying attention really. He spotted the food from Ricky's the second he hit the doorway, and once permission was given he was on it in a flash. Breaking the ice was never hard with Khan around, but looking serious sure was.

"Shit man, business is nice and all, but this is Ricky's we talkin' 'bout." He was amassing quite the plate as he spoke. Leaving JP in a bit of head-shaking dismay.

"Pardon my man here, he's u-.."

Khan interrupted him, speaking through a mouthful of something or other as he flopped into a chair. "A gourmet, brother."

JP glared at him for a second before rubbing his temples. "That ain't how you pronounce 'tape-worm', you fucker.", the large, face-stuffing man just shrugged, quite content in his gluttony. "Anyway.." JP turned his full attention back to Yves. He studied the man for a minute, looking him over top to bottom, taking in every detail he could. From the man's clothes, to finger nails, to eerie eyes. He would've been offended at Yves' lack of eye contact, but he followed the man's gaze to the woman he was watching.

She was beautiful, and quite flexible, who wouldn't stare? Even Khan was at this point.

"Surprised you called me here, even more surprised it's for business. You seemed pretty uh..You know.." He searched for the most diplomatic way to put it..Arrogant? Above it? Haughty? A real cunt? He settled on a soft touch. "..Disinterested in my 'establishment'. So to speak. Think you can understand my hesitance."

"And, I can tell you took offense. You want power. You want respect. You want money. I have been here in Van Leugen since I was a child, men like you either get killed for petty beefs or you become a puppet for someone bigger." Yves said to Jean-Paul, "Expendable muscle for the Irish, or for whatever politician needs people extorted on the street." He continued.

His head turned slowly to JP, eyes moving from him to Khan and back.

"You have something that your predecessors don't have. Intelligence. That's why you were invited to that meeting, Jean-Paul." Yves turned his attention back to the woman, "I have several crews allied with me. The Rockford Drive Villains, they own Ricky's and use it as their main headquarters. They deal most of our drugs on the street. The Bone Street Krew, older guys, real badasses. They bring experience and ruthlessness to our little criminal syndicate." The Lutetian explained to JP.

"And then there is my personal crew, the Bone Street Warlocks. I tell you this because I want the Disciples to join up. Your plan made sense, and you don't seem to be concerned with those aforementioned petty beefs. Not like the others are. We could take all their business, while they take every move from each other as a personal slight." He continued.

"We'll need numbers, if you're down."

It seemed like a strange, almost fake offer, from an extremely strange man, but it still hit JP. Hard. "Yeah, I took offense.." His voice was soft, almost gentle but there was a certain chill under it that kept it from being that. He paused, lacing his fingers together and staring down at them. Khan was going back for a second plate, the woman was bursting into a new dance routine, and the DJ was segwaying tracks.

For a split moment the whole world froze with JP. He closed his eyes, and just let the sounds, smells, feel hit him for a moment, before speaking back up much more confidently.

"I know I kinda made myself into a jackass at the meet," He glanced over at his second in command, the man stuffing his face with the same vigor as before. "I figured, you know. That some street gangs were backed by real cats, cats like you. Not damn near all of them, though." He sighed, eyes closing again, not meant as disrespectful, just how he was when thinking carefully. "It ain't the way to make money, not real money. You mentioned 'petty beefs', but shit, it's more than that. Whole fucking system is rigged."

Khan nodded, talking through another mouthful of jerked pork. "True that brother, Nillies is a hard place, so muthafuckas gotta be harder. Leads to a bunch of fuckers runnin' 'round pissed off all day like me, gangbangin' on they breakfast, and shit."

"Yeah." JP finally locked eyes with Yves, trying to figure out if this was a set up or not. "I dunno how much time you spent in the streets, man. Petty beef don't touch it. You gotta be harder, stronger than everyone always, ain't nothin' allowed to slide. Some poor cat walks two steps into your block, pushin' shit dope, and he, and you gotta ice him, and his whole crew."

"Mhmn." Khan waved what looked like a chicken leg at his boss, "That how it is, brother. 'Cause if you don't feed that cat a lead sandwich, he and everybody else will be postin' up on you by morning."

"Yeah..And that's what I'm saying. That's not the way to make real green, and you seem to know that Yves. Competition is good for the market, but a warzone drives people right the fuck off." He glanced around the club, having noticed the peddlers in the crowd when he came in. "You got it made up in a crib like this," he motioned towards the dance floor, "But outside, out in the middle of the Nillies, bitches be too afraid to turn the wrong corner when they're out lookin' to score. If shit was consolidated.."

"Everybody sell more dope, and tag less feet in bags.", Khan more or less mumbled the last bit, becoming fixated on the dancer again.

"Yeah. Dead people expensive, wars keep business away." JP rubbed his temples again, reverting his eyes to his shoes. "Seems like everyone at that meet though, they're all happy to have shit divided up. To have everything move at a fraction of what it could be." He shook his head, chuckling. "No though, not if this offer is legit. Shit man, The Nillies could be a goddamn money machine even the bank would want if done right."

"And that is why I'm hoping we can make a criminal franchise, instead of enterprise. The man from the meeting. He spoke of cornering a new market. I want to control it." Yves told JP, he turned the man and let his monstrous gaze linger for a moment.

"If you're up to the task, you should get started. Have your crew start selling Slowmo, I'll also supply you Loa for no charge since we're under the same umbrella. I'll inform the other crews that you're with us now and have them get in touch. Let everyone meet each other."

Alliances like this didn't work if the people involved were strangers. It fostered camaraderie, and made it easier not to shoot the wrong person if something went wrong. Nothing hurt more than friendly fire.

"We'll need more territory, both inside and outside of The Nillies for safehouses, cookhouses, and street dealing. I'll see who what I can do until we have the numbers to hold more turf."

Yves and his organization were tough, smart, powerful, but even with the four or five crews they had they were outnumbered by many of the other mobs who were international, intergalactic, and interdimensional.

If JP was really as ambitious as Yves thought he was, they could reach they heights too.

"Your friend, Michael, reach out to him. His people are the easiest to work with. I don't think they would mind sharing as long as we repay them."

JP just nodded, smiling ear to ear. Yves may have been horrifying when he stared at him, but the man was smart, and making all the moves JP wanted. He got up quick, fishing in his back pocket for a cellphone which he tossed to Khan. When his heavy-set comrade looked at him inquisitively he just chuckled. "My burner, brother. Use yours to call some of the crew that's just hangin' in the crib. Have 'em come pick up some Loa, and start moving it now." He paused for a moment, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. "Use mine to holler at Mikey, tell him I got some business for him. Set a meet somewhere."

"You got it, boss, but why the rush? Drugs sell themselves, we don't gotta hustle double-time."

With a roll of his eyes JP walked over and patted Khan's bald skull. tsking as he did so. "We do gotta hustle double-time, triple if we can. You see that nice man right there?" He pointed to Yves. "He's gettin' us in on some deep shit if you didn't pay attention. And I have a feeling he's the kind of cat who wants the important shit above board."

Khan just shrugged, "So?"

"So, you dense muthafucka, let's get goin'. We need a cash infusion, because we're about to hit the real estate market. Buy a nice house or two."

Khan just looked more confused than ever, but he did as he told, getting up and sauntering out of the VIP room. Plate of Ricky's still in hand. JP turned his attention back to Yves once his second in command cleared the room.

"I appreciate the opportunity, man, and you don't gotta worry. We small, but smart. You got a few dummy corporations, right? I'm thinking once we get the scratch together we'll hand you the money, and you can use a cover to buy a house or two in our block of the Nillies. Cookhouses, we already got safe spots, but this way everybody's covered and we got paperwork to prove it."

Once Yves responded, JP would bounce, heading back to the van in triumph, and setting his whole crew in motion while he waited for Ugly Mike to call back.

"Everything will be taken care of, I can assure you." Yves told JP, "Watch your back, Jean-Paul. The others might not like us getting too big for them to handle." He warned the man. The Russians would be the biggest problem, they were excessively violent and greedy.

A preemptive strike was the way to go. Yves would need to come up with a plan once the other crews did their part. Not far from the nightclub, Ugly Mike and some of his own people sat within a diner. Late night breakfast, coffee, and sleight of hand passing off drugs to passing partygoers was the mood.

"Phone." One of Mike's people said, passing a buzzing cellphone across the table. "I got syrup on my hands. Do it for me, Trin." Mike said, "I didn't know I was your butler." Trin responded jokingly, making sure he started the call and held the phone close to Mike's ear.

"You got Mike."

One perk of being a smaller crew mas moving fast. Damn fast. Khan was already back at their base, a rundown two story townhouse smack in the middle of Rixton-Nillie. Inside people were already rushing around, folks snatching up guns, and drug packets. Keys being exchanged, burners swapped, the whole nine. The massive black man stood in the middle of the living room, directing thugs like traffic when he finally remembered he had a job to do. That's when he called.

"Yo yo homes this is Khan. JP's man if you remember. Some shit's goin' down. Big shit. My man wants to meet, hit him up with yo location. Shit's important.", with that he hung up, and jerked out the phone's SIM card. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Within the hour close to twenty men would be armed, and slinging on every corner that flew green colors. In fact, they'd been given orders to be rather aggressive, setting up right on the line against other people's turf. Well, as long as those people weren't affiliated with Yves. Khan and three buddies were hitting up any get togethers, hyping up Slowmo, giving small tastes, dropping Loa on the side. Even the handful of prostitutes the crew oversaw was given a share of drugs to push on the more willing clients. And armed back up in the shadows to make sure shit didn't go wrong.

While all this was going on JP was overseeing some new "acquisitions", cars mainly, and poking around the housing market. He dropped all of it when he got a text from someone in Mike's crew, and split for the little dinner.

He looked beyond overdressed for it when he got there, and he stood out pretty bad. To make matters worse was he only touched the door-handle to the joint with his index and thumb, real gingerly. He wanted nothing to do with whatever slime seemed to stick to every surface of the dive. He made his way uneasily over to Mike's table, staring at the booth seat with disdain.

"How the fuck do you people sit in a place like this, and not die of god-knows-what diseases? Please tell me you ain't seriously eatin' here."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Mike said, the other bikers at his table chuckling. "At least, I hope so." He said, poking a finger at his bacon. "I'll go to mass tomorrow before the music festival and get a blessing from Saint Agrippina to keep me from needing my stomach pumped." Ugly Mike joked.

"So," He began, "What's going on? Got some problems with the Slowmo?" The biker asked JP, "I know at least one of your guys was good at chemistry in high school. I was always a shop kid, myself."

"You'd be fuckin' bulletproof if it did, man." He slide into the booth, holding in his discomfort, and doing his best to appear casual. He wasn't paranoid like Gerone, he just didn't like being unclean in the least. Just a little personal hang up. He shooed one of Mike's boys to the side, so he had a comfortable amount of room, and once he was sitting across from his friend, he launched straight into it.

"Remember my 'suggestion' at the meet? The one that got laughed off?", he chuckled, thinking back to how the room reacted. "That scary motherfucker, Yves, hit me up, wanted to talk business.." He locked eyes with Mike. "He's in, and wanted me to throw an invitation your way. Or at least ask you to remain neutral, I guess." JP went quiet as a waitress walked by, if Mike and his crew were sitting here, working, the place was probably safe, but better not to risk it.

Once she passed he picked up a menu, grimacing at the contents.

"It's a real simple plan, but one that needs guns, bodies, and cash. Pay off gunna be huge. You might still think I'm small time as fuck, my brother, but Yves ain't, right? So." He tossed the menu aside, once again establishing eye contact. "You in?"