CommissarZverev steps out of a car, he walks over to a by now well used lamp-post and affixes a notice.  People gather round and start to read what it says...

Destro Memorial Art Auction

My friends, as some of you know, Destro was taken from us last night.  Shot dead, by cowards.  Cowards who were cheered on by the worst examples of humanity.

Destro lived for this life of ours.  He served, faithfully, in more than one crew.  He bullied nobody.  He didn't shoot anyone for mugging him.  He simply wrote stories that people loved, and enjoyed the life that he created for himself.  And he made people happy.

And, yet, he was murdered.

So Destro will be honoured in the biggest, and richest, writing competition that this thing has ever seen.  The prize will be $200M, and the details are to be thrashed out.  It will be done properly.  We have CLs involved in the oversight and governance of this competition, and it will run smoothly.

Now, $200M is a lot of money.  And Destro had a lot of friends.  But many of us are morbid, and therefore, I presume to auction off the piece of art that Destro shared with the world.  This piece of art was interpreted, wrongly, by some, a few, of being disrespectful, or of somehow implying something sordid.  In truth, it was neither of these things, and that's obvious to everyone.

So, unless you are a serious minded appreciator of art, look away.  Look away now.  This artistic endeavour depicts a young Destro, having just entered into this world of ours. 

It can be yours.  I start the bidding at $1,000,000. 

All proceeds go towards the Destro Memorial Writing Competition

A review of the piece in question from chief art critic of The Coconut Chronicle, Coconut Von Randy:

Destro, the last remaining survivor of the Shannon-Whelan gang, passed away last night. It is that information that makes this piece - a simple, hand-drawn sketch of the final conversation between Whelan and Destro before his release from her employ - so powerful. His back turned to the viewer, Destro strikes a proud pose, the tiny wrist-missiles adorned on his villainous bracelets left holstered. It is not a violent exchange, nor even an aggressive one; it is the figure of a man about to turn the eyeholes of his metal mask unto new horizons. 

Though Destro's final day saw the Detroit Boss besieged by the criticism of PhillipMarleau - who is believed to be in business with Whelan's next of kin, Jen_Mooney - in this German Jugendstil-inspired piece is manifested a peace and mutual respect that would hallmark Destro's public appearances, in which he was known to express sorrow at the loss of his former leader. Though the artist is uncredited, it carries stylistic similarities to the work of Privat-Livemont and Valloton, among others, while retaining a strong modernismo of its own.  

Potential value: 11,000,000 to 23,000,000 dollars.

CoconutRandy, thanks for this.  It is indeed a substantial piece of art.

As an esteemed businessman, I can recognise fine art and this certainly qualifies.

$1,000,000 opening bid.

Claudio listened as Commissar finished his spiel about some astronomical amount of money. There was an opening bid by some EsteemedBusinessman that Claudio did not recognize. His paultry million would not do. Therefore, Claudio stepped in front of the man just as soon as he offered up the million. "Much like this art," the Sicilian began to inspect the very piece up for bid as he spoke to no one in particular. "These competitions seem to also be some form of money laundering." 

From inside his tailored suit, Claudio procured a pair of silver, thin-rimmed glasses. He put them on and leaned in closer to the piece. The number of stories told about this very piece makes it at least relevant. There was no room to question the emotion behind the hand that crafted this. "However..." There was something about being the owner of such a controversial piece of the streets that tickled the man.

"Two million dollars!" He looked over at @CommissarZevrev with a smirk as he put the glasses away. "You might as well have the painting shipped to Pioneer. It will be mine," he promised. 

Claudio looked back at the painting after the fine gentleman, Ragnarok , stepped forward to throw his money into the fray. 

"2.5 million is a hefty sum for a bit of expression." This could easily turn into a bidding war. CommissarZverev had intended this very thing no doubt. He was a crafty one with a hell of a name to try and spell correctly. 

"2.75 million," he concluded. A quick bit of scotch from his flask quelched the nerves that had begun to rise.

Claudio listened to the associate from Philidelphia. His own words made him think about Old Man Walton and what he may say about such an expenditure. 

"Scusi, signore. The fact of the matter is so: I already cleared a perfect spot in my apartment in Pioneer Square. It will look just lovely in the guest bathroom, just over the toilet. I'm sure SofiaVitali will have no qualms with this placement, whether or not I've run it by her. This will not do. I must have this piece."

"3.25 million dollars, signore CommissarZverev . Not a penny more." Claudio looked back at the painting. There was no doubt that anyone who came over would have something to say about the piece after relieving themselves and staring into the masterful work. 

Thank you, ClaudioVitali.  I've had a telephone bid in for $4M.

Can anyone increase that?

I am willing to bid 10 million for this one of a kind art pice. 

Claudio looked over at the Commissar for a long moment. He studied the man's face in detail before his own cheeks cracked into a grin. "Telephone bid you say?" Claudio scratched at his temple. 

"Someone too scared to come out into the public and get recognition for purchasing the piece? I dare say, I'd like to see the proof of financial backing of that 4 million dollars. Or even..." The man shook his head at the thought that crossed his mind as if the very idea had offended him.

"Perhaps you wish to keep this prize for yourself? You don't really want to let go of such a valued piece when you saw the steal at which I was able to grab such an item. Being that you haven't really laid out any rules in this auction, you could close it at any time. Not only that but without said rules, how much are we allowed to increase by? One dollar? I dare say me and this fine gentleman, signore @Ragnorak could be at this all day, Commissar." 

The very thought of it all had obviously disappointed the man. 

Before he could continue, kong stepped forward to offer a large sum of cash. Ten million dollars.

"11 Million." Claudio stated flatly. 

The prospect of having to tell his wife SofiaVitali that he'd just spent 11 million dollars on a painting began to sink in with Claudio. It was written all over the contents of his flask which were now being emptied into his belly. Claudio wiped the bead of sweat that kept threatening to drop on his forehead away in haste. He would stay the course! There was nothing that would fit behind the porcelain throne in his guest bath better than this painting. This masterpiece would be a Vitali heirloom- one way or another!

The Sicilian regained his composure after stowing away the now-empty flask. With a renewed vigor, Claudio began a search for this elusive phone cord with his trusty pocket knife in tow. "Dove cazzo...," he muttered to himself as he began to search around the area. A few times the man was on his hands and knees searching for the cord. 

"Well, CommissarZverev ? I would like a new frame for my piece I think." Claudio said as he stood there holding a recently snipped cord. "Are you going to be shipping it out today? My lovely wife and I have a dinner party next weekend. It must be there for whenever my guests slip away to powder their noses."

I give you twelve million dollar for painting.

tiggy arrived at the auction after the initial setup for Destro's celebration of life was underway. The celebration was scheduled to take place during an interlude at the auction, so that staff could easily move the artistic works that were set to be placed in the spotlight. tiggy reviewed CoconutRandy 's appraisal and placed a silent bid to CommissarZverev for FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS for the work.

Walking the streets alone late at night Nara is in a mood. Hearing loud reveling he investigates and finds a camp of gypsies dancing around a fire in a hastily made camp along some tracks. Intrigued he goes to a lonely wagon on the outer ring.  Hanging on the side is a sign.

"Fortunes told $.25"

Knocking and being bid to enter he sees a withered old gypsy woman sitting at a table. Smiling and showing 3 yellowed teeth and several dark gaps she beckons him to sit, takes his quarter and bites it before smiling and taking his hands. 

"The future is not set; this is only what may be"

Suddenly the crystal sphere in the middle of the table clouds over then clears again with a vision inside. Gazing inside he sees himself. Dressed strangely with some unknown device that looks like a typewriter his tapping the keys rapidly.  Hearing aloud the thoughts and actions the story unfolds. He sees a man and woman dressed oddly, what in the world is that skintight fabric they are wearing?  What odd long johns, what a strange watch the man has on, what kind of gun is that he has in his holster?

He hears the conversation going on between these magic typewriters

"Uncle Mike, your sketch of Destro and Baroness is being used in a place I hang out with my friends"
"The one with her on the bed looking lustily at him??"
"Yes the one aunt Anna posed for"
"Seriously??"
"Yea, the one you have in your studio. The one I tease you that I want you to leave to me one day."
Laughing the man smiles "after all these years people still appreciate that, what place is it? Seriously? If someone wants to give me Twelve million I’ll send them the real one"
"I told them all about you all the other things you have done they would be interested to know, told them you are Mike Vosburg"

He sees and hears in his mind the conversation, some small talk and some more stuff about the sketch. Eventually the conversation ends with the older man saying how one day when he finds time and inspiration, he may get around to making something for that place either to use as a piece of art to decorate the walls or maybe even as a fun giveaway. Nara says he will tell everyone about it and about him hoping it encourages people to find out more about this. With a warm farewell they say goodbye. 

The ball darkens then clears again, now another image appears. Nara sees himself on the street trying to talk but nothing coming out. He notices a shadowy figure in the background wringing their hands laughing. It’s as if this shabby vagrant is so unhappy with their life, they find pleasure in spending their days silencing others with the most asinine and petty reasons. With a crowd looking on wondering what Nara is trying to say they throw money at him which disappears back into their pockets as this bum laughs at the evil magic used to find a small sliver of control in a life they have no other control over. On its lapel a small tin star, usually given to children by the real police shines brightly. 

"This is MY future??" he asks confused.
"No this is a vision of what could be, it’s not been written yet"

Frustrated and angry he stomps out, looking up at the sky he thinks of this potential future and in a moment of fury and frustration he pulls his gun out and puts it into his mouth. 

Then the words of the gypsy come to him, "This is a vision of what could be its not written yet" 

Thumbing the trigger back to its safe position he puts the gun back into its holster. Vowing to keep his eyes open for these false friends and sad little people who have nothing better to do than bother the police over every perceived infraction. Laughing at how he almost ended it all over it he decides to make sure to toe the line and annoy them as much as he can from now on. 

The words of his grandmother come to his mind "The best revenge is to live well" chuckling he vows to do just that. 

In the shadows the sad little person lays down on the urine-soaked ground behind some garbage cans and dreams of having a home where they can call the police on anything from small children laughing too loud to that damn squirrel that raids their bird feeder. With a chuckle Nara heads out to live the happiest life he can thinking of how he almost ended it all over someone who wasn’t worth the second thought.