It was a very cold day, the kind that gives you the feeling of numb skin. It was a rainy day, very gray in New York. Darkant exits the safehouse he was rewarded through hard work by his boss at his 'job'. He checks a stack of letters and packages, some of the usual stuff, a few hidden drug units, a blackmail letter, but a single mail stood out, it was addressed from New Orleans. Darkant walks back into his safe house, looking oddly at the letter. When he reached the kitchen, he placed the package on the table, thinking that it's a letter from his son. Getting excited at the possible news of his son, he walks triumphantly to his bedroom and pulls out a letter openner. He cuts open the letter with haste, nicking his pinky. He ignored the scratch and fetched the letter, eager to see it. He opens the old looking letter and glances at the address. It was anonymous. Sitting down and actually reading the letter. His expression turns grim.

'To whoever this may concern, it pains me to tell you that your son has perished by unknown causes. I do formally apologize on behalf of his workers for your loss, but I shall remain anonymous for now. Have a nice day." Darkant dropped the letter, his blood running cold. Dead... How could my son be dead?! He was careful, remained out of sight. He was cautious, the type to do things from behind the scene. How?! Who..? Why..? The questions kept repeating in Darkant's head. "Why? How?.." Darkant's demeanor slowly decayed from sad to anger. He controlled his anger, but he needed answers. Darkant picked up the death letter and looked at it further. It didn't have any more written on it. The anonymous man that sent it.. He was wise to remain that way. Darkant tossed the letter aside. He walked over to where he kept previous letters. He looked at the latest one before the death letter. He glanced at it, reading it carefully. It didn't make sense. Darkant folded the letter and placed it into his coat. He was taking this night off. He can't think straight, his mind constantly roaring with questions. Darkant got up and walked out the door. He walked, keeping a close eye on everyone in the street. Some earners breaking into an old apartment, a thug getting a beat down by a wise guy. One of his own family members. He tipped his hat in the member's direction and kept walking. Darkant eventually reached a liquor store after seeing a new civilian talking to a drunk and homeless man. He entered after everyone else left. It smelled of cheap and stale ale, and as if someone vomited in the back room. He walked quickly behind some wine racks and reached to where they kept several cases of various liquors. He took a case of scotch and a case of vodka. He picked up both with vigor and walked to the cash register. He didn't want to take his time. He just fished into his coat and pulled out bills that amounted to five-hundred dollars.

"Keep the change." is all that he said as he lifted the scotch and vodka cases. He walked hastily back to his safe house. The homeless man that was talking to that civilian earlier looks like he passed out, and one of the earners was lying on the ground with a bullet in his head. A police officer was over the body and questioning the other earner. Darkant walked quicker, he didn't want to be asked anything. He noticed in the corner of his eye the wise guy tucking in his gun and then walking down a seperate street. Darkant reached the alley and walked down it. He reached his safe house. He nearly broke the door by trying to open it and set the scotch and vodka cases on the floor in the kitchen. He closed the black-out curtains and locked the door. He didn't want to let anyone see. Before he did anything, he picked up the old and battered phone and dialed one of the contacts his son mentioned in a letter. It was a quick conversation.

"I want answers.. I'm the father of one of your contacts.. I need them by a day's end.. Yea." Darkant hung up the phone. He wanted to throw the phone out the window, vent some of his rage. He picked up one of the scotch bottles from it's case and ripped the cork off. He hastily drowned himself in the numbing juice. He finished it and nearly vomited. He wasn't used to such quick consumption. Darkant places the bottle on the floor. The questions soon returned, filling his pained mind with the questions he managed to silence earlier.

"Why?.. How..? Who shot my son? Why?! Why god damn it, why!?" Darkant lifted a vodka bottle from it's case and openned it using a pocket-knife. He sipped the vodka this time, letting himself taste the burning and numbing liquor. He calmed down a bit and fished into his coat. He placed the letter onto the table and began reading it again. He kept sipping the vodka while he was reading, it now burned. The voices in his head got louder, more powerful.

"Why?!" was all he could say this time, he nearly inhaled some of the burning liquid. The bottle that contained the vile liquor was empty. Darkant threw it into a different room, he didn't hear anything shatter. He fished his hand into the scotch case and pulled out another bottle. He ripped off the cork like the first and tried downing it. He started coughing badly. His body felt numb now, didn't feel anything. He didn't realize it, but he missed drinking scotch and some of it landed on the floor. He dropped the bottle and tried reading the letter, Darkant started reading something different. Words blurred, but others started getting noticed. Darkant took out another scotch bottle and this time, used his teeth to remove the cork. He downed the bottle in mere seconds, and again, he had a vomiting feeling. He kept it down, he couldn't afford to let anything give in. He began hearing a unique voice, a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time, a voice he wanted gone.

"Your not going to be able to find out, you know. The way I figure it, your kidney might give out, why not quit now and let things rest?" That voice's comment set something off, something fiery.

"You.. Trysh to talk to mesh likesh thish?! SHAT UP!" Darkant threw the bottle to where he thought the voice was comming from. He continued to read the letter, with an insane mind.

"Face it.. Your son is gone, why not just face facts and let it rest? Give your body a chance to recover." Darkant didn't let the voice get to him. He continued to read the blurred paper. All he got in his drunken stuper was that his son went to a party with a truck. Why? Why did he use a truck, his mind shouted.

"Your son at least was sober when he went to parties, unlike you. There's a reason he left. There's a reason he left you back then. He was ashamed of you." The voice said in a cool demeanor. Darkant's fire just exploded and he tried getting up. He immediately fell and he looked up. He saw the case of scotch. He took a bottle and drank it in haste, the vomitting feeling all but gone. He got back up, but he was stumbling and shaking with rage.

"You were the disgrace to the family, and your son left because of it. He felt the shame you brought to the family name. He pittied you, and left so you couldn't do anything in front of him. Your weak, wretched." Darkant threw the bottle of scotch at the window, which shattered on the floor. He yelled.

"You beh quiet! Yoursh not real! Your gone!" Darkant began jotting down with what he thought was a pencil. His mind calculating in the drunken stupor. His vision was fading until he saw something. Something that chilled him. Darkant threw the case of scotch at it and fell onto the ground. His time spent, he falls unconcious. Morning came, Darkant got up with a mild hang-over and looked at his hands. He's glad their covered with gloves, because the gloves have gashes and tears. Darkant looked onto the table and saw a paper covered in what appears to be a popsicle stick covered in turpentine. He read the paper and it startled him. The answer's at the place where his sone went to party. It's all there, waiting. Darkant rushed to the phone as he heard he was stepping on glass. He dialed the number of a friend and asks him to come to a discreet location. He hangs up.

Standing on the street corner soaked to the bone, Klint peers above at the overcast sky and watches as the seemingly endless supply of rain courses forth from the heavens. Taking a step back in search of some form of shelter, Klint tumbles over a load of stacked boxes. Having already been completely drenched, they crumble quickly under his weight as he falls quickly on the pavement. 

Motionless, Klint stares upwards again as he wonders just how much more rain will fall before the night is through.

When it rains it pours apparently.  This seems to be true of a lot of things.  Klint thinks to himself as he reaches into his pocket.

Pulling out his trusty Zippo as he steadies himself to his feet, Klint shakes off the loose moisture as he gives it a flick and lights a single flame. A single spark ignites the night air as he steadies his other hand shielding the fragile flame from nature's onslaught.

Gazing ahead of him, he notices a cloaked figure approaching from the distance.  Focusing closely as he holds up his light, he makes out what appears to be a man's face shrouded by a strange contraption with a pair of matching handguns holstered to his hips.

Darkant! Looks like you made it friend.  I came as soon as you called and I was starting to worry if you were going to make it.

"Aye.. Thanks for the concern.." Darkant looked away a bit, thinking. "We need to go to the address on this letter. There might be a job there that needs doing. It'll do me a massive favor." Darkant keeps looking cautiously in each direction, he was still somewhat drunk and paranoid.

Flicking his lighter again as he lights up a smoke, Klint nods as he lights a cigarette and takes a long drag.

Interesting letter you have their mate. I always wondered exactly what happened to Pauly back on that day. Let's scope out the place, you can fill me in on the details on the way.

As he makes his way to Darkant's car, Klint opens his jacket and turns the safety off his pistols.

Good thing I came prepared mate, you never know in these days.

"Aye.. Let's get moving, I hate standing around thish chilling night." Darkant slurred as he opened the driver's seat and checked his pocket. He pulled out a small pistol and turned the safety off. He dug back into his pocket with his other hand and produced his car keys. He inserted the key and turned, the car came to life. He looks at Klint, who was in the passenger's seat.

"I dunno if we're going to be chased or not.. I'm stillsh quite drunk.." Darkant laughed a little as he pushed on the gas and drove the car. He looked back and only saw passing vehicles, some trucks. He hit the gas and sped off down the road, headed to where the party was.

Gripping the seat with all his might as he watched as the speedometer reach an amazing 35 miles per hour, Klint stares out the window in amazement as the many light poles and cars passed his vision in a huge blur. He turns and looks at Darkant as he sways back and forth behind the wheel of the vehicle.

Man you sure know how to take the express lane!  At this rate they won't have time to prepare.

Klint smiles to himself as he lights another smoke and watches as they pull up to a large warehouse situated on the south side of towm, the docks behind filed with many workers as they tend to a ship filled with an assotment of crates.

Darkant looks around, only seeing dock workers, and then looks at the letter again. "We're close." Darkant put the car in reverse and drove further down the pier until they came across an old and dreary street. He stopped in front of a home that's been abandoned for a while. Darkant looked around for a solid moment, looking at the wrecked home. Darkant stepped out of the vehicle and stretches, the voices in his head silent, suiting the moment. He takes his hand and fished into his to pull out a flask.