After the death of his good friend Kristal, Falcao had set out to make money and build his way up in life and forget his old friend. After all, he couldn't dwell on her because if he did, he'd be distracted and that would get him killed. He had a tip from a guy on the corner street of Vegas of this drug supplier. Falcao was interested in becoming a drug kingpin and thought to himself this maybe his foot in the door.

He met up with the supplier in a discreet location to discuss the business deal. The deal was for 100 keys of cocaine so it wasn't a huge supply but it wasn't small either so he wanted to make sure all his ducks were in line. Falcao and the supplier came up to an agreed-upon cost for the cocaine that made both of them feel comfortable. Falcao left and went on his day, the deal was set for later on in the night.

Falcao never did deals alone because you simply never know what's going to happen until it's over so he called his buddy GodSon.

"Hey. I got a plan..."

With prohibition coming to an end the need for new rackets in replacement began to become more and more important among the criminal underworld. The need had all the elements of kicking off a new wave of entrepreneurs and turf wars. Those getting into the drug trade needed to be sure they had strong, loyal, and smart people assisting them. Just so happened Mr Brown was all that and then some, which is why a mutual friend between him and Falcao got the two in contact.

Preparing for the long trip meant getting affairs in order back in Detroit, finding people to take over his runs and overseeing his own rackets. With everything set in place Taylor stood in the doorway of his home in Bricktown. The cold air blowing against his face, and tearing the ashes from the tip of his cigar revealing the bright embers that were hidden. Looking back at his house for what can always be the last time he closed and locked up, suit case in hand and a duffel bag hanging off his back. Clinks and clanks of the guns in the back could be heard as he shuffled to the trunk of his automobile. Loaded up, he flicks the end of his cigar out into the air that immediately is taken with the wind, disappearing as if it never was really there in the first place. An so the long journey began.

Finally arriving in The Strip after a couple day long drive with overnight stops in between he was standing outside his car with the neon lights of the casino's at his back. Waiting for his contact to approach..

The urge Godson had for the casino was overwhelming, it was as if he was addicted to some sort of drug. He felt it in the palm of his hands, almost as if he needed to hit the shooting range or gym to ease the tension. With money on his mind though, those casino rush withdrawals quickly faded away as if it was never there. With a cigar in one hand he quickly looked for a match before the wind came in strong again. 

As the day went on Godson ended up meeting with a close friend, falcao. He had a plan that would make them both a few dollars that would eventually put them on to the hustling game. Godson knew a few things about selling, but he was mainly the muscle, not the brains. " Ayo Falcao heard you got something for me. " Godson said as he tucked his pistol in his coat. 

Before he could even hear him speak he heard a few shots in the distance. Godson tried to return fire but they sped off and Falcao laid on ground bleeding. Godson felt helpless as he watched his close friend bleed out. " Rest well brother. "