Bricktown, Detroit, 1934

"So what do you think is inside the truck?"

"I don't know, something big."

"There's a lot of noise back there; think we should go check?"

"Nah, we just drive this down to Philadelphia, and then we're square. No doing anything extra."

The two men, Michael and Other Michael, had been driving this hunk of wood through the entirety of America for days now. They started off in California, off of some random backwoods pier next to the ocean. It smelled like shit and looked even worse, but the money wasn't just good; it would be enough to retire both of them early, and so they did what they had to do, even if that meant ignoring a few scratching sounds from out the back of their car.

It had been a long road so far, but they were only a few thousand miles away, and then they'd be rich. That was until the scratching turned to banging—they attempted to ignore it, but how could anyone? Parking off in a random lot in the city of Detroit, they walked behind to the back of the car and opened the doors, or rather, the doors opened themselves; they swung forth hard enough to knock at least one of the Michaels to the ground, while the other stared in terror.

"Hello..." The man was large, but his body was very clearly warped. Everything from his fingers down to his toes had some sort of twisted mistake built in that caused him to look off just enough to disturb anyone looking, and then there was the case of the teeth, jagged and long as if they were knives. Both of the Michaels were quiet now, more so than they had been during the entire trip over, which pleased the figure who stood before them. 

"Thanks for the ride, but I couldn't deal with another hour of all your talking." After saying the words, he ate. It was a bit of a strange taste, but kind of sweet, enough for him to smile, the blood dripping from his chin down to the now two dead bodies that lay there in a puddle. Was it blood or piss? Maybe it was both, but Nosferatu had no time to check.

Bricktown, Detroit TODAY

It took a long time for the man to finally craft the perfect home in Detroit, while New York was where he worked and did most of his business. The city of Detroit was where he first made his way in America, buying a ticket on a boat to the country before tricking a few oafs into taking him to the other side of the country. This was as far as I made it at first. Before working as a clown and becoming one of the largest in the country, he finally was able to buy a ticket to the Big Apple.

For now, though, he wanted to have a place to lay low in the city where drugs were so plentiful. Legend was that Detroit had some of the best cocaine business in the entire country, so why would he not have a home here? The day was finally here when he could afford one of the smaller businesses in Detroit; it used to be a bakery, and now it would transform into his new home away from home.

"This is perfect, my very own coffin." 

To hide the fact that this was pretty much just a vampire's lair, he decided to open up what would be one of the sneakier establishments in the city—it was just a single room with a coffin in the middle, but anyone who was part of the mob could come and do business deals here and chat about things that they couldn't anywhere else.

It's not like the police were going to hang out where a vampire lived, after all.

Nosferatu's Coffin, DO NOT OPEN AFTER MIDNIGHT

That was hopefully the only warning that he would need to give, and now he could spend the rest of his time in Detroit slumbering and selling drugs, which were his two favorite things to ever do.

Beef had decided to visit a frequent visitor to his buffet back home in Illinois. The man, the Romani, the pale one, whatever his name was. He actually wasn't totally sure. He had heard he had a special room setup in Detroit but wasn't quite sure what it was about. He had gotten some information on where it was and he departed. It was just because Beef had been in the neighborhood and the man, despite breaking dishes, freaking out, knocking over one of his waiters during dinner rush and talking in a strange way and the worst crime of all: Being a Bulgarian hater, he wouldn't hold it against him.

As he arrived to a room, he walked inside and it was just a strange coffin and nothing else inside. No chairs, no tables, no people. He was actually happy about that last thought, people generally made Beef boil in anger, at least they didn't grill him about it. His Beef brain would surely be fried soon after his conversation with the pale man.

He saw him laying in his coffin and the note, 'do not open after midnight' but he checked his watch and it wasn't midnight yet. He banged on the coffin instead. "Wake up asshole, time to talk" He said as he began to tap on the coffin more and more.