This man is pissed. He's really pissed. Bro, he is seriously pissed as fuck. He's also yolked out of his god damned mind. Muscles for days, arms for days. His legs are looking sculpted too, not gonna lie. Where does he work out? You'd like to ask, but you know that he isn't going to fucking tell you because he's far too upset by what has just happened.

"I will pay two million dollars for anyone who can..." 

Just then, he stopped talking. He had nothing to say for the moment, his eyes directing themselves up to the great starry night. Something about looking towards the dark speckled sky caused him to wheeze uncontrollably for a moment, his fingers wiping away a single tear that had been slowly working its way down his cheek and towards the floor.

"Sorry, anyone who can give me the name of the coward who murdered the good man Greek Freak. He was not only a mentor and lover to me but also my father."

There was a lot of money placed onto the floor where everyone could see it. If you were quick enough, maybe you could even take a few million for yourself, but this guy looked like he wasn't messing around.

"Are you sure you want to do this? That's a lot of money."

"You know what? Fuck it. This man was worth more than just a simple two million. Whoever tells me, I'll double it. THREE MILLION DOLLARS."

"That's not..."

"Not enough? Alright, fine. The first person to bring me any information on the death of the Greek Freak will receive two million and five hundred thousand dollars."

"Where did you go to school again?"

Walking towards a nearby payphone there was nothing said nor heard for a few minutes. Why weren't the newspapers speaking about this? Just because there was a war and others had died, was the death of a Wise Guy not notable enough to be spoken about? Was his father not someone that deserved any closure? You could see the anger in him as he shifted around constantly while speaking on the phone, his face twisting and gnarling as he yelled at whoever was on the other line.

Then there was silence, and the man walked back out into the thick of things with his hands planted firmly on his hips. There was only one last thing to do, and he knew exactly what it was.

"I've just called my money guy, and he told me that I'm able to confirm that three million is up for grabs to the first person who can tell me what happened to the now late and lovely Greek Freak."

"I thought you said two million and five thousand?"

"Yeah, and this is more, isn't it... isn't it?"

While both men attempted to work out their confusion on the matter, things were clear as day that if someone came here with information on the whereabouts of the murderer of Greek Freak that they would be paid handsomely. It would need to be good information, mind you, and not just any rat off the street would be able to receive this cash amount. Yes, this man wasn't playing one bit and you could tell by his sassy demeanor and all of the money that he had thrown on the floor.

So who would come to collect? It would only be a matter of time before someone wanted to make their payday a reality.

There was someone wearing a mask and large baggy clothed who had ran past the scene that Sisyphus caused, and threw twenty grand into the pile that he had set before him. This was egregious, and it was honestly maddening. His eyes nearly bulged out of his god damned head, as he walked angrily through the stacks of cash like it was snow in the middle of a good old fashioned East Coast winter, and by fucking God did he have something else to say to the people willing to listen.

"YOU FUCKING COWARDS. DO NOT GIVE ME THESE TIPS, COME TELL ME WHO KILLED THE SAINT GREEK FREAK INSTEAD."

Kicking a few hundred dollar bills around the place, there was nothing left to be said, but that didn't mean that he wasn't about to go into a deeper tirade, because that is exactly what he had planned on doing. So when he grabbed up the wad of twenty grand that was disrespectfully thrown at him, he chucked it back towards the masked vigilante who was currently running away.

"If you give me more money I will fucking find you too, you bastards. I want answers and not pity. Do you think that I am looking for more money? I AM A GOD DAMNED MILLIONAIRE. Bring more cash to me again and see what fucking happens. There was a real fu... a real fucking man, man. He died. He's gone. I'll never see his smile again as he picks me up and calls me his little basketball. I will never know the joys of having him dunk me into a pool while calling me his little cookie that he's going to eat up once I'm nice and soaked."

This was get really weird and so he stopped talking, but the sentiment was there. He did NOT want to be tipped for his actions, only to uncover the horrible truth of who gunned down a national treasure.

* Dyler, moved almost to tears by the poor mans desperate plea for information, also throws some cash at the mans feet, *

Wish i could tell ya what you want to know good sir, but i don't know of anyone who would stoop so low. ...

.. are you sure it was not some type of accident? .. like, was he shooting his gun at the time of his untimely demise? are you sure he had it pointed in the right direction? .. just trying to help .. that's all.

*With that said Dyler shrugs and waits to see if anyone with information will step forward as someone, somewhere must have the answer to this riddle.."