The door of the gin den flung open. He may have put a little too much force behind it, but he wasn't here for a play date. He'd footsy'd around enough. He'd been to hell and back for this guy. He walked through the coals of a meet and greet with a superior that ended with him questioning if he'd be the one saddling Satan's pitchfork before the week was through. The kind where you didn't know if the boss was calm on account of just not giving a shit, or because he was secretly done with you. And all for him. This fuckin' schmuck, sitting at the bar of this seedy shit hole like it ain't no thing.

He'd let his guard down. A moment of weakness maybe. Yet at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. The man plucked a tune on his heart strings while he sang his way out of a bullet. And here he was. Back at it. Right where it all began.

Ray turned to see who'd practically kicked the door in. The sound of wood hitting brick caught everyone's attention that wasn't passed out. One guy was, on a back table, and had pissed himself about a half hour ago. Maybe he was dreaming of waterfalls. Or maybe, he was a fuckin' degenerate that needed a wake-up call. You could imagine most in this place did. Needed a stern talking to, that looked and should be more like a brick to the face. But then who would be left to soak in all the glorious sewerage the city had to offer? The rats had even began leaving this squalor alone. You needed some standards, even as vermin. But oh no. Not Ray. Not fuckin' Luckless Ray.

He may as well have been part of the furniture this past week. Joe knew he wasn't at home. He'd checked in with a certain neighbor, who he just knew was telling the truth. Snorted it out, rather, out through his crooked nose. Where else would an addict find themselves, but right back at it, appeasing their need to scratch what it was they were itching to. Where else, but in the throngs of other like minded piss-ants. He sat at the bar, staring at the looming figure in the open doorway. Not as calm as he usually was at the sight of an old pal. One who'd given him a second chance. Practically took the bullet in the ass himself, Adonis did. And now here he was, ready to spit it back out and then some.

Joe promptly removed the silver colt from his waistline and let it hang at his side as he swam through the murkiness of palpable bad vibes and worse smells, shaken and served in a highball with a garnish of cheap cigarette and cigar smoke, most of which was coming from one table at the back of the joint. He took aim at Ray as he moved through the seedy underbelly of Old City, kicking one drunk patron out of the way as he did, with a push-kick to the old demented man's backside. He was a sight for no eyes, and should've really been in a gutter somewhere rotting. As Joe pressed on, the elderly male stumbled into and through a wooden table.

Groans were heard from the now removed obstacle as Joe moved further in and directly to where Ray was seated. His old friend gulped down what he'd already greedily sucked into his mouth, his eyes wide, his attention solely on the stocky framed freight train barreling towards him. All the while, the gun at the end of Joe's outstretched and tense arm was aimed directly at this old pals head. It was at this moment that Ray thought he probably should've finished the job when he had the chance. Gone out on his sword. Done the deed Joe was seemingly here to finish, and not with the same sympathetic presence.

Adonis' gun finally reached its target. The end of the pistol was firmly pressed against the center of Ray's forehead.

"Fancy seein' you here you fuckin' crumb!" Joe snarled.

The back table was constantly in Joe's vision as soon as he stepped in off the streets. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a close check on who was seated at that poker table. They were the guys he'd have to eventually convince he was only here to deal with Ray, and that he didn't want any trouble with them. They practically ran the joint, by running the table. The only game, that many came in to lose at. And they were all losers, even when they won, as those controlling things didn't take kindly to being beaten. They'd either cheat their way back into their pockets or cut the money out of them, and their throats.

"Let me explain..."

Ray's first words were snipped short. Just as he'd begun to plead his case, the gun eased up from his forehead. Ray's hands were still in the air when Joe swung his arm around and pointed it towards the back of the room and started popping off rounds. If his expression before was one of shock, you'd simply add awe to the mix and you'd have Ray's gob smacked, paralyzed reaction. He was an errant fart away from shitting himself.

The gun was emptied. Joe didn't wait for them to make a move. This was his way of convincing them he didn't want any trouble. It came across, well, compelling. The smoking barrel had a certain way of speaking that made his point hit home. The first bullet hit the closest man in the head, killing him instantly. His body was now slumped forward onto the table. The man seated in the middle needed more convincing. Three shots to the chest had him out of his chair and against the wall. The third, who looked to be the most spirited, was able to get his hand on a shotgun that lay to his left before a bullet hit his shoulder. One more non critical shot hit his upper torso before he fell off his chair.

As one part of the threesome lay on his back coughing up blood, Joe turned his attention back to Ray. With a swift jab, the butt of the gun was thumped into Ray's eye. It sent him reeling off the stool. He broke a glass as he attempted to stop the inevitable, his hand grasping at anything to keep him from falling to the ground. The cut was deep, slicing open his left palm. Adonis didn't hesitate. He lunged forward. But he didn't do what he did the first time. Instead of beating Ray lifeless again, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet, then leaned him against the bar with an abrupt shove.

By this time the poor excuse for a watering hole was empty, or at least those that could had scattered out the front door. The guy who'd made a mess of himself before things escalated was still out cold. Hadn't moved a muscle. Joe though was breathing heavy. His asthma was playing up a little. It tended to when he got really worked up.

"No, let me explain." Joe shouted with authority.

"This is what's gonna happen, Ray." His gun hung at his right side. He was only wearing a button down shirt. His jacket, usually worn when out and matched to his suit, left in the car waiting in an alley around the block. He was prepared. He came in with a single purpose in mind.

"You're going to go over there and finish the job that you made me start."

Joe pushed the gun into Ray's chest, making sure he took a hold of it before releasing his tight grip on it. To say he was worked up would be a good start. His body was flooded with adrenaline. Anger pumped through his veins. He didn't have time for bullshit, so he wasn't going to let Ray speak. He just wanted him to listen, and do as instructed. And if he didn't do either of those things, he'd be a fourth corpse the cops would need to toe tag and bag.

Ray used both hands to take the weapon. His left was still bleeding heavily and was dripping onto the floor. Not a big deal given the place they were in. It just added to the character and whatever other bodily fluids were already absorbed into the wooden boards of the den. Like a fine whisky, over the years it just continued to get more and more charming. Ray looked down at the snub-nose revolver.

"I gave you a chance to go out your own way." Joe fumed, exasperated he'd even put himself in this position to begin with.

"So now, you're life is forfeit. Your life is mine. You work for me now."

He waited. Joe waited for what was to come. It was an important crossroad. He clenched his fists and watched as Ray still looked at what lay in his hands. It was completely within his grasp. Life, or death. He was part of the way there, his hands already bloodied. He was walking out of here either way. One would just be a little lighter on the feet. This way, he still had something to live for. Because in his old life, he did already die. It was dead to him. And he, to it. Ray sighed, realizing in that moment, what he had to do.

He was once a prison officer before the house of cards came tumbling down on top of him. He knew that the revolver he was holding was a six shooter. He flicked open the cylinder and checked the ammunition, knowing full well it had to be close to empty given it had just taken down three men. Although he didn't count the shots, it seemed like it would most likely be empty, or a bullet away.

"It's.." Ray looked up at Adonis. He hesitated. He realized his tone of voice was soft, feeble. If he was going to do this, he'd need more of a spine. He made an effort to raise his voice and stick his chest out. He wasn't green to a bit of dirty work. He was in the prison system long enough. Saw enough guys like himself, like who he'd become, to know what was and wasn't plenty rugged.

".. It's empty." Ray asserted with a hint of aggression.

Adonis unclenched his fists. He enjoyed a good brawl. Even preferred it over drilling a guy. But he was relieved to see what way Ray was leaning. This was what he was hoping for all along. Before he told his driver to keep the car running. Before he burst into the gin mill like he was raiding the joint. He wasn't here to finish the job on Ray. He was really here to put that name to rest once and for all. To give the man a new life. Hell, he needed more protection, as wise guys were inclined to feel more heat than a lunger's lighter.

"First lesson." Adonis folded his arms. The crossroad had been traversed.

"When shit goes sideways, you get creative."

They looked at each other. Adonis held his steely scowl. And once Ray caught on to what Joe was implying, his own expression took on a similar shadow. Gone was the sobbing, blabbering mess of a man who'd lost his job, his career. Who'd lost his home, and his wife. Gone was Ray the Luckless. Adonis watched on as Ray used the handle of the gun to beat the face of the man who had crawled his way towards the back door but was unable to do anything more than bleed at the foot of it, awaiting death's emissary.

Blood splattered on his shirt. On his face. On his sleeves. On his pants. And still he kept going, as a rage ignited inside him. Luckless Ray was dead. A demon within, awakened. He'd been resurrected. Adonis stood mere feet away, appreciating the madness, in a ruinous region of Old City. Maybe he did walk with the God's. If any, Hades would be smiling right about now. The same, death revealing grin that began to stretch across Adonis' new bodyguard's face.