Known by no other name, The Junkyard just so happened to exist in the part of town that seemed to be slightly more foggy and dark than the rest. Maybe it was the Detroit River, maybe Lake St Clair and lingering fronts. Either way, on anything other than a sunny day the place looked depressing in nature. That was before the crunching and eerie screeches of cars being compacted into scrap bricks. Once a traveler passed by and heard what sounded almost like screams, it was enough to justify walking rapidly away, perhaps even in the opposite direction of where they once were headed.

Cecelia had paid the owner a sum of money for the place. Altogether, not that much for what the spot was worth to her. More importantly, what the spot would be worth to her organization. She had been told to find a spot for keeping stolen cars. Nothing too big, and outside of rival territory. The warehouse inside of the junkyard's property offered enough discreet cover for keeping about a dozen stolen cars, and acted as a workshop and garage within which her team could swap the license plates and paint coats before reselling within the Motor City. 

The three hydraulic lifts within the warehouse were used for maintenance and refurbishing of the vehicles, which once finished were either shipped out via truck roughly once a week or quietly driven off into the city. The high walls topped with barbed wire secured the compound from the mischievous teen, and the police presence in the particular part of Detroit was light due to mob influence. It was safe, quiet, and most importantly would allow for a steady stream of income for the crew.

Cecelia had her driver enter the compound and pull past the mounds of metal carcasses into the warehouse. Once inside, she exited, slowly closing the door after her while casting her gaze onto the head of the operation she had set up, Derrick Stavast. A Dutch immigrant, he had almost immediately found a job working at one of the major car manufacturers in town before being laid off. Like most of his staff, he was an honest, hard-worker who needed the cash and had to rely on other methods of sustaining their family. He wiped his forehead and hands with a towel to clear off some sweat and grease before shaking Cecelia's hand in greeting. 

"Good morning, Miss Briggs." 

Cecelia gave him a smile, "Good morning, Derrick. How are we looking today?"

Derrick turned behind him to throw down the towel before motioning for Cecelia to follow him. As they walked along, he continued: "The operation's up and running. We are prepared to intake automobiles as soon as you are ready."

Cecelia nodded at this, pleased with the response. It had taken a little longer than expected, but that always seemed to be the case. She was glad she would have some success to be able to approach her bosses with.

The two walked into the larger garage portion of the warehouse, where lines had been drawn in the concrete with white chalk to mark the parking spots. The guys obviously knew what they were doing, she almost had to wonder whether some of them had previous experience. With an internal shrug, she followed Derrick on the rest of the tour, nodding to his description of their process. When they were finished, Cecelia said, 

"Lovely job, Derrick," slipping him a roll of bills. She walked to the office, motioning the man sitting at the desk to hand her over the phone, to which she dialed her boss.

"We're a go, Billy." She finished her call with Billy then returned the phone, with a wink, to the man at the desk. She walked back to the car, ducking into the backseat. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Derrick." She said to the man, who then closed the car door for her. She gave a dainty wave to him as her car pulled out of the building, which he responded with a wave back before pulling down the garage door. Her car turned out into the street and drove off, leaving her wondering how the operation would go, but feeling confident in its future success.