Great Lakes Steel operates a huge steel mill on the Detroit River. The massive structure has withstood the ravages of the depression and houses a majority of the good paying union jobs in the area, outside the Ford complex down the river. Freighters come in, drop the ore off where it is carted to the furnaces and melted down. Such a plant is naturally a very dangerous place to work. The main building is huge, filthy, and hot. To the untrained eye it looked to be chaos. Maintenance workers, welders, electricians all run about trying to keep the steel moving. 
Smoke fills the air, and the noise of the various machines running is nearly deafening. But it's really a well oiled machine. A very intricate machine, and among all the moving parts and people there is room for "other" opportunities. Safety? Who gives a fuck. Some asshole falls in the furnace? Sucks to be him, we have steel to make. These things happen almost daily, and nothing shuts the plant down. Nothing. As to be expected, such a large facility hides drug deals between workers, corrupt union officials, secret storage facilities, and opportunities to get people in and out of the plant. Guards can be bought, and it's rumored that the plant manager has certain "connections." 

There are several entrances to the plant, the first being the main entrance out front, covered by two guard shacks. Another is from the docks along the river, a dangerous option during the day as freighters are in and out of the docks so often that smaller boats would be crushed. The best way to unknowingly get in the plant is to duck the fences on the west side of the building and find the hollowed out wall section the welders cut to nap in between shifts. Knock three times on the make-shift plate steel door and wait for it to open. Just be prepared when it does, it is well guarded.

Tommy was a businessman, its what he excelled at, and to be good at business you needed to have good people working with you and for you. He had been in the business of women for a while now, but he had broadened his grasp and now he was in the drug business. Sometimes that got messy, he had been dumping people in the river, which had its risks. He had been struggling with storage for his product for a long time now as well. It was time to bring someone else into his business arrangement, and he figured he had the right guy figured out. 

That is how Tommy found himself sitting in the office of Deano McNeil, the Plant manager. He was a rough man, a regular at the Honey Hole, and probably the best business partner that Tommy could think of. He had the ability to smuggle things in and out of the area, the storage capacities to hide and store large quantities, and a damn good way of making people disappear. 

"So Deano, this ain't our first time meetin, but its the first time I have come to yous for business. I think yous got a good idea of why I am here, right?"

As he spoke to the man, he smoked one of his favorite cigars, he had brought one for Deano as well, a sign of good faith. He set it on the desk in between them, and waited for his response.

He had drawn the shades on his office windows, he was tucked into the back of the plant, away from the dangers of the main production line as well as prying eyes. His office was also less sweltering this way, the whole plant like an oven for the most part. Deano sat in his high-backed leather chair and took the cigar his buddy had brought him, pulling out a cutter to cut just a wee bit off the end. He sniffed it, exhaling softly. A light Connecticut wrap...his favorite. He lit a match and made sure to get a nice even burn on the end, drawing the first few puffs in easily. 

"You're right, fatty. Usually I am sittin' around your place. Thanks for the cigar...it's a damn good one. But let me treat you to some Scotch from home...better than that pisswater you peddle to those ill-begotten girls of yours."

He pours him a glass of Scotch and slides it across the desk. He took a long draw from his cigar and leans back with a shrug.

"I can think of several reasons of why you're here...and a boyish sense of wonder at the marvel of modern steel making is not one of them. What do you have in mind my fat friend? It's just you can me here, speak freely."

Tommy was a patient man, or so he liked to think, this meeting was already getting off on the wrong foot. He took a long drag off of his cigar, eyeing the man across from him. He didn't take kindly to disrespect, and he didn't like potato eating fucks from Ireland, Scotland wasn't too far off that mark.

"Me and yous aint really talked before, so im gonna give yous the benefit of the doubt here. WE are not friends, you call me fatty one more time, and we are not going to get along very well."

He nodded to himself, feeling as if he handled his temper well enough, he could have a good working relationship with the man, a profitable working relationship. But they wouldn't be equal partners, what he needed is someone to store and transport or facilitate transportation of his goods. He acquired them, transported them to his current warehouse, and organized all the sales currently. So he didn't really need Deano, but he had to admit, the furnaces were a nice touch. One day somebody would find some of the idiots with cement shoes that he deposited in the river, and that would cost him a pretty penny to bury.

"Yous obviously know my affiliations, it aint no secret. Respect goes along way, especially in business. I want to make more money. Who the fuck doesn't, I came here because me and yous can work together and make more money. If that interests yous, then lets talk business. Otherwise, I'll go find someone else."

"Settle down there lad...I don't do business with fucks that take themselves so seriously. I don't know how you expect to do anything but piss people off with that attitude. If you can't get chummy with your business partners, you can stick to robbing banks and mugging old ladies. It's called banter you hot head, I love the Honey Hole. You wouldn't be standing in my office if I really thought your whiskey was piss water. Lighten up."

He shook his head. What a fucking stooge. Who did he think he was, "connections" or not. He took a puff from the cigar. "Take a drink...you'll thank me. Now, I know running a quality whorehouse like yours is done a certain way, but in my line of work things are a little more..." he paused for the right word, "...nuanced. Coming in here demanding respect is the quickest way to get your ass thrown out of the plant, I don't give a fuck who you are. I invited you here because I think we can make this a mutually beneficial transaction, not to get in a pissing match over a couple jokes. Lighten up or ship out, I don't give a fuck either way."
 

Tommy nodded, and he reached for the glass of whiskey in front of him. It had a nice color to it, he smelled it before he drank the glass of it. He set the glass down and shook his head, before a big grin spread across his face, and he laughed.

"Yous know what. You were right, the whiskey I got is pisswater, cheap Canadian shit."

He smuggled it across the border through fishing boats on the Detroit river. It was not quality, but he did get quantity and during these times, getting a drink was all people cared about. Quality kind of fell to the side, he made just about as much money from the booze as he did the girls most nights.

"I think I was right about yous, anybody with that good of taste in whiskey, cant be so bad. I ain't gonna lie. I've gotten real used to taking what I want. Its refreshing to talk to someone with some balls, now that the shake down is done and over, and we both see eye to eye. Lets talk some business. Yous know I run a whore house, and I run a tight ship. I like things to run smoothly and efficiently, and yous strike me as someone who can get shit done. Ill be frank with yous. I want to move drugs, women, guns, and booze through your docks, store some of the shit, move some of it elsewhere. I also would appreciate the ability to make problems go away in that hot pot of yours. How does that sound to you?"

He went back to smoking away on his cigar, all the while watching the man across the desk from him. He didn't know Deano, not really, but he knew the man had a reputation for getting shit done. Once they got eachother figured out, and came to an understanding, he was sure that everything would run smoothly. 

Deano had calmed down after listening to him. Respect begot respect. He was no fool, and he wouldn't be bullied by some big fat thug. He listened to his proposal and nodded slowly, taking a few delicious puffs from his cigar.

"That makes sense...a facility like this has all kinds of opportunities. And half my men are doing this kind of shit anyway...I know because I coordinate it. I run this plant, Tommy. Both on the surface and underground. I, like any self respecting business man, love cash. But what other kind of..." he pauses, thinking of the right wording, "...benefits, come with this kind of transaction. You run a whorehouse, huh? You got a specialty over there or just another place for brow-beaten young men to dump a load?"

He flicks an inch of ash off the end of his cigar and stands up, walking over to the window on the other side of the office. He peaked through the blinds and looked at the massive furnace and "melting pot." They had dropped a guy in there last week, a Bible thumper that had stood up to them gang-banging some whore in the breakroom. He got mouthy about going to the Union and so he had an accident.

"I got a good idea of something you would like. My girls aren't for the rough stuff, but what yous think of setting up a consignment. Ill get yous a girl, yous can keep her here for fun, she wont be missed if something happens. I'll get yous a new one once a week, ship her in with the cargo. Whats your thoughts on that?"

Deano had a reputation for being rough, real rough, he couldn't maintain trust with his girls if he let them get their asses beat all the time. But he had contacts for replacing his girls, he could just bring in some in, it would cost him, but the price for business would make up for it. He subconsciously smoked away at his cigar while waiting to see what Deano would say.

Deano narrowed his eyes and considered the proposal. A new girl every week, keeps things fresh for him and the fellas downstairs. He would pimp her out and make some side money as well. He took a drag of the cigar and nodded. 

"Aye, that sounds good..." He said, his accent a little thicker there than he anticipated. "I'll take care of these problems of yours...for 9k a pop...shipments, I want a 10% cut on girls I gotta house, and 5% on all drugs that come through here. I am very reasonable man. I want this to be profitable for both of us, I think that's more than a fair offer. Shit, if you need a place to lay low for a while, I got you. This place really is a fuckin' maze. What do you say, lad?"
 

Tommy held out his hand to shake Deano's, this would be a good operation, profitable for both of them. 

"Yous got yourself a deal. Ill have a few guys come over and meet yous, guys I trust who might end up running through here on business. Pickin up and what not. The code word will be spaghetti. If someone comes sniffin around sayin they are with me, and they dont say the code word. Toss their ass in the furnace, and ill pay yous for em."