It was getting late, the sun had set and the temperature had dropped quite a few degrees, but at least it wasn't snowing or raining. Mickey couldn't understand why people voluntarily lived in Chicago, even in the summer it was cold. Mind you it wasn't completely without its charms. One of which he was currently engaged in. Sitting on a bench overlooking Lake Michigan, smoking a Morley^TM and letting the cool, crisp winter breeze blow in over the Great Lake. The wind off Lake Michigan in late winter is as clean and crisp as you’ll ever breathe in Cook County. In hindsight, it was a little ironic that the era of communism paranoia in America was also a time when men all dressed like clones. Dark suits, white shirts, dark ties, and white pocket squares didn’t just dominate—they were practically a requirement in business, and Mickey was no different. Sure the fabric had a higher thread count, and was imported from somewhere far away, and was tailored by men of impeccable style, and the lapels and tie just that little bit slimmer, and the cuffs on his pants were subtly angled so that they sat better on his shoes, just touching the laces, not actually sitting on the shoe. 

It had been a strange ride these last few years. Mickey thought back to his practice in LA and the people he had left behind. His office manager, his driver, his PI. Getting involved with the mob had been the best thing he'd ever done and the worst mistake of his life. His father had kept it purely professional, representing them in court, doing property transfers for them, but nothing illegal. Mickey had fudged that line. When the war broke out in LA and his family were slaughtered he'd had to run from the Vegas mob, all the way to New York city. Sure people say you are supposed to fight to the death, die defending your family, but what did they know about anything? Mickey was just a Lawyer, he was barely an associate, hadn't even made his bones. So he'd run, right into the operation of one Squirrelly-Dan. Dan had picked him up and shook him off, and gave him the skills he needed to survive as a New York Hoodlum. He introduced him to @SatoruGojo who introduced him to CLO and that's where things started to go down hill. CLO was given a crew of his own, Satoru worked as Right Hand and Mickey as Consigliere, and then in the most bizarre act of generosity Mickey had ever witnessed, CLO stepped aside, and Satoru took over with CLO as his Right hand and Mickey as his left. 

Organised Criminal by night, officer of the court by day. No wonder they called it Murder Inc. Drug dealing, arms smuggling, killing by the boat load. Sure Mickey tried to convince himself that he wasn't like them, he wasn't all the way in, that he was still a good guy. He gave away millions to charity, he sponsored competitions, he stood up for the little guy, the man on the street, all in an effort to whitewash his black soul. But no act of contrition, no magnanimous gesture of generosity would whiten that stain. He was as guilty as CommissarZverev, but without the cheating and the exploitation. Mind you there was that one time he had stolen a ton of money off that schlub who was always rigging competitions, and claimed he had given it to the son of some conman the schlub had wacked. The schlub's character was that tarnished that no one believed him, and Mickey got away scot-free with the loot. Even Dan had believed that Mickey had donated that shit to charity. And then one day it happened.

Squirrely-Dan had called Satoru into his office. He'd given him a pat on the back, a hug, kissed both cheeks, told him how grateful he was for all the Hard work the Infinite Void crime syndicate had done for him, but now he needed us in Detroit. So we packed up and moved to Michigan. Satoru became a Godfather, CLO set up his own organisation, R-L_Stine too. Stine was a weird one all right. Real nice guy, solid, dependable, ugly as sin and with a predilection for children. Mickey hadn't a clue whether he just killed them, sold them into slavery or ate them, but thanks to a hefty retainer, neither did the FBN. Mickey took over as Right Hand and things went back to normal... kind of. Rogues, Chicago, Bella Vista, Chicago, it seemed to be one war or fight after another. 

After the last Chicago take down Godfather Dan had tasked Detroit with its rebuild. So CLO, Mickey's secret wife Freyja and Mickey had moved to Chicago. CLO moved into the Loop, Freyja took North Side and Mickey set up shop in Southside, the Void Bastards, the illegitimate offspring of the Infinite Void. The paint was barely dry on the walls and Squirrely-Dan ate a bullet, and that's when the world went to shit. Mickey had lost a lot of good friends in the ensuing power struggle, including his RHM. In the midst of the war though he'd had the opportunity to seize control of Southside and become Godfather. Grabbing a few friends from Detroit and North Side including Terrah and Bulma. They'd been a man short, so Young_Harold picked up JimmyTwoTimes en route. They'd fought their way into the old mans HQ, and despite taking a bullet, Mickey was victorious. Shooting Jimmy in the face, he had said thanks as he stepped over the corpse of the descendant of Zverev, chuckling to himself. Mickey wasn't happy about taking a bullet, the guys had let him down, and he'd had to make an example of one of them. 

Standing up, Mickey winced as he dropped the cigarette on the sidewalk and crushed it out. The wound the old Godfather had given him was still fresh. Rubbing his hands together he realised the temperature had dropped another couple of degrees, it was certainly colder than he remembered. Then again, he'd been told it was cold and lonely on top. Shoving his hands into his pockets he walked back to his Lincoln Continental Mark II, the guys were throwing him a Party back in the Cabaret Super Club, and he was just in time to be fashionably late.  

Terrah had been doing basic jobs smuggling drugs to make a few extra dollars  when she had gotten a call from Satoru Gojo to head to Chicago, her specialty was going to be needed. She knew this meant either killing or cleaning up the mess  afterward. While Terrah  got a rush from the killing aspect she thoroughly enjoyed the clean up. The act of making someone disappear didn't come  from the act of killing itself, no the power in this act came from making it disappear. She was good at making problems disappear.  So she packed light and took the first flight to Chicago. 

When she arrived in Chicago one of Mickey's bodyguards was waiting for her with a car at the airport. He drove her to his headquarters. Mickey explained to her how they had planned for this to go down. She was to remain near the back and make sure no one came from behind to cap them in back like cowards. Her main purpose for being there was to make the mess disappear when the job was finished. 

As they fought their way into the HQ of the mark she stayed in the back as instructed. Taking out one thug, who thought he was slick hiding on the other side of the wall. Yet, not slick enough to  take into account the bay window in front of him. She caught the movement of his shadow as he moved his gun to aim at her.  She dropped to the ground and rolled into the room firing two shots at him, the  first in his chest and second one in his skull. The excitement of it all coursing through her veins as she heard her heart thump in her ears.

She was shocked to see @LincolnLawyer come from the house injured, but there was always something that happened unexpectedly in any take down.  As he crawled into his town car  and left she knew her real job was about to begin. She walked to the truck she had driven out to the place and pulled down the tailgate. Undoing several bungees she pulled out four  5 gallon gas cans. One she reached the step of the place she opened and tilted one of the cans and walked from the front steps across the porch and into the house drizzling gas the entire. Good thing this place is remote she thought fire was her favorite  way of getting rid of a mess. She had lit her first fire when she six, she smiled at the memory of her teddy bears catching flame and melting and the beauty of the blue and orange flames. She continued to carry the gas can drizzling gas across the house and the bodies. Going and retrieving each can as she needed she continued the pattern of drizzling gas throughout the rooms and over the bodies. Satisfied the house and bodies were saturated she walked into the kitchen and rigged the stove to spark. The rushed from the house.

Terrah closed the door to her truck and started it up wincing involuntarily as the house exploded with a massive boom she turned her head and looked out the back window it was engulfed in flames. She sat there in her truck drink from her flask and chain smoking cigarettes as she watched the remnants of the house completely obliterate into ash.  No evidence, no problem was her motto. Once there was nothing but smoldering ashes she left the scene to go to the party at the Cabaret Supper Club.