First word: Politician. Last word: Immigrant. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

Politian Brian dis Repute looked out of his window and took a drag on his cigar.

“Paradise cannot continue like this.” He said, without turning. “Disorder and his crew of cut throats and pick pockets shouldn’t be allowed to control the money flow in this here district. I’m sick of their rules, their code of conduct, their demanded respect, I’m through. I won’t be dictated too any longer. We make our move today.”

The men on the other side of the desk sat unmoved. They had heard all of this shit before. Today looked like it was going to be different though. The fat old man was going to finally do it. He was finally going to put his chins on the line and take a chance.

“So boys, you know what to do. First we cripple them financially, destroy their businesses. Then we pressure their families, kidnap is approved. Finally we kill anyone who won’t take the fucking hint, and be assured boys, some will not take the hint.” dis Respute continued. “By midday tomorrow I want to see the cleansing fires of retribution raging all across Paradise. And we start at Disappointment Burger. Do it for me. Do it for your leader. Roll out.”

The men sat still.

“Roll out?” The largest man said. “Roll-fucking-out? You really are a fucking joke of a man dis Repute. Now rest assured, Godfather Disorder and his crew will be smeared across this district by the end of the day, we will do that for you because you are paying us handsomely to do so. But you are not our leader. You’re just a fat old man with too much money.”

dis Repute’s chins wobbled with surprise.

“Now men, let’s fucking do this.”

The group of men walked purposefully out of the room leaving dis Repute alone in his office.

*** United HQ ***

The United HQ was a mess. The remnants of the celebratory carnival lay scattered all around. Gladys Chivalry’s undergarments still hung from the ornate chandelier (a gift from her son) that hung above the huge oak table in the centre of the meeting room.

“Breakfast is ready guys!” Camp shouted up the stairs of the HQ.

“I swear to God, Camp, if this is still leftovers from the Carnival you’re going to be in some real fucking trouble.” Disorder said.

“Errrr…” Camp looked down at the plate filled with chicken legs, cocaine and whiskey. “Sorry I meant… errr I mean… I’m just nipping out to Disappointment Burger to get some breakfast for everyone. There’s a new breakfast menu if you fancy that?”

Disorder sighed. Camp had put himself in charge of the diet of the entire United family. He had said that a family that eats together stays together, and whilst the idea of the family bonding at regular times was a good one cholesterol and obesity levels had risen dramatically. Camp believed in the three major food groups: fat, grease and cheese. And in large quantities. Poor Wacktard had taken to wearing Gladys Chivalry’s, FitzChivalry’s PAWG mother, hand me downs. It was an interesting look.

“Ok. I guess that’s better than everyone being drunk and hopped up on coke again.” Disorder sighed again. “I’ll take the usual.”

“No problems boss!” Camp said peppily. “I’ll head over there now!”

Disorder watched as his right hand man skipped to his car.

SweetNothings appeared. “Oh my God, are we having burgers for breakfast again, boss?”

But Disorder was deep in thought. The rate things were going he didn’t have to worry about being wiped out by another family. Heart attacks and heart disease were probably going to finish them all off.

*** Near Disappointment Burger***

“I bloody love owning a Burger restaurant.” Camp said to nobody. “It’s just the best.”

Camp had owned a number of businesses before this but none of them had really taken off. His first business involved reading bed time stories to prostitutes. That nearly got Camp killed. His second job had been a party planner to the rich and famous, but too many people died for him to continue with that.

“I just can’t wait to go into my lovely restaurant and cook all of my pals a slap up burger breakfast.” Camp again said to nobody.

As Camp crested the hill he got a huge sniff of gasoline. He noticed smoke in the air. He broke into a sprint.

“Noooooooo!!!” Camp screamed as he remembered how much he hated running. “YOU BASTARDS!!! YOU MADE ME RUN!!!”

As Camp got closer he finally saw it. Disappointment Burger was aflame. And not because they were flame grilling a batch of tasty burgers.

“What? Why is this happening?” Camp was confused and disorientated. His mind swimming.

He ran across the road to the phone booth and called the United HQ.

“Boss it’s Camp, someone’s burned down Disappointment Burger…. Was that a sigh of relief?.... No I can’t see anyone here…. I’ve no idea what happened….”

A car screeched past behind him, a voice shouted out.

“Take the fucking hint you scumbags. Get out of Paradise. Fucking leave you bunch of criminal immigrants!”

First word: Immigrant. Last word: Quill. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

“Immigrants?!” Disorder said before he placed the phone back on the receiver. He carried a look that SweetNothings had never seen cross the man’s face before, an insane joy mixed with perplexity, she didn't know what to make of it until the man spoke.

“There is good news and bad news” Disorder said in an excited tone “Disappointment burger has burned to the ground.” When she heard this SweetNothings couldn't contain herself and almost jumped for joy. Sharing a cheeky grin with the boss, they both knew this meant at least a decent breakfast for once. “I thought you hadn't planned to do that until Sunday? What could be bad news?” She asked. “It wasn't us” he said, looking thoughtfully at nothing.

Moments passed and Sweet could feel her anger brewing. “Immigrants? They have a fucking cheek! It's pretty obvious who this is. Only a politician would use a word like immigrants. I swear, you give these bastards an inch...” Disorder interrupted her mid rant. “Right? Should have taught that guy his lesson when I had the chance. I doubt this will be a one off. Start rounding up the troops, we need to be on our guard.”

Sweet got to work sending messages and making phone calls to everyone in the district she could and waited for everyone to check in. Whispers were making their way to her ears, mainly from Gladys Chivalry. “Yea, that's right, some big guys, if you know what I'm say-in...” Sweet cringed, “That's nice, dear but can you get to the point?” “Oh, right. Well, that pillow talk sure was sweet, um, yea, some guy dis Putin, or something, it was hard to make out properly, it was a little muffled. Anyway, he's paying these guys to raze Paradise to the ground.”

Sweet thanked Gladys and reported her findings to Disorder. A sadness came over the old Godfather's face that she knew. “Why is this happening to me?” He declared putting his head in his hands with melancholy despair. Rolling her eyes, Sweet approached the boss and gave him a sharp kick in the shin. “Boss, with all due respect, get a fucking grip on yourself. Gladys is a free spirited woman, never meant to be tied down by just one man or several at a time, for that matter. You have got to let go of this fantasy the she will be yours. Now pull yourself together for fucks sake!”

Leaving the boss to gather himself by downing copious amounts of whiskey, Sweet had something that needed taken care of. One of her guys, DanTurner, hadn't checked in. This was unusual, as being a private dick, the guy always managed to make an appearance whenever there was drama. Quickly, she grabbed a piece of paper and looked around for a pen or even one of Camp's crayons, to write a note to Ginger and sending a little urchin to run and deliver it.

Glancing over at the boss, who seemed to be suitably drunk as to appear back to normal, Sweet waved the writing implement in the air, “A quill? Really? You think you are some kind of movie star?”

First word: Quill. Last word: Sign. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

“Quoll.. Quill.. Qu.. ya know one of ‘dose littl’ birds that folks hunt?” The man slurred his words as he pushed closer towards Ginger. “I think you mean quail.” While he admired Frank’s persistence he never could get over the smell. “Ye! That the one. So we was out huntin’ an-” Ginger quickly put his hand up silencing the man. “Pockets are light today Frank. I’m not going to be able to lend you anything until tomorrow.” Frank began to hurl insults as Ginger continued on his rounds of the district. Ginger truly enjoyed working the streets in the morning; not only was it easier, less dirty work for sure, but it also granted him the rare opportunity to be away from the HQ for breakfast. Ginger shuddered at the thought of another meal from Disappointment Burger.

Ginger stepped out from the alley into the sunlight, already baking the sidewalks and streets. “It sure is a beautiful day.” Taking a moment to enjoy the warmth and the clear blue skies Ginger smiled to himself. “The perfect place to live.” Ginger’s moment of elation was interrupted by a small tug on his shirt cuff. Looking down he saw a small boy in tattered clothes holding a folded piece of paper with an outstretched arm. Taking the note, Ginger unfolded it as the child ran off behind him into the alley. Ginger glanced around him before opening and reading the note. It was short, but the message was clear. “Paradise under attack. Find Dan. - SN.”

Ginger crumpled the note in a closed fist and closed his eyes for a moment reflecting on the words. DanTuner would have the answers. Was a dirty cop before he got himself wrapped up in a federal investigation, now he works as a Private Investigator. If anyone in Paradise knows all the details he’d be the one. Ginger stuffed the note into his pocket and ran towards his parked car. Dan’s office was only a few blocks away, but there was no time to waste.

As Ginger kicked the car into gear and sped down the road towards Dan’s office he could already see the dark cloud of smoke and sirens of firetrucks and police. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ginger slammed his hand down on the steering wheel as his car came to a halt in front of the burned out offices of Turner & Partners. Putting the car in park Ginger quickly exited and approached a group of firemen. “Excuse me! What happened here? Anyone injured?” One man turned his attention to Ginger and spoke, “Fire dumbass. Ain’t nobody in there. We put it out and checked the place.” Ginger curtly nodded. Unlikely this was a coincidence. Not today.

Making sure nobody was looking Ginger slipped into the main entrance of the building and entered the atrium. Moving slowly through the smoldering ruins he navigated his way to Dan’s corner office. As he walked he covered his mouth half attempting to limit the smoke inhalation and half trying to block out the god awful smell. The door to the office was sitting in the middle of the hallway, splintered and thoroughly scorched. The office looked to be trashed. Bookcases overturned, table broken, and potted plants shattered. Slowly Ginger entered the office and began searching Dan’s desk. Ginger picked up a badly burnt notepad sitting next to a melted phone receiver. “Brian dis Repute - Warehouse - Rockwell Field.” Ginger ripped the sheet from the notepad and quickly left the building heading back to his car. “It’s not much to go on but it is something.”

Reaching his car Ginger hastily drove to a payphone and made a call to the United HQ. Waiting only a moment for the call to be connected he heard the unmistakable voice of SweetNothings on the other end. He quickly relayed the information from Dan’s office to her. As he finished speaking SweetNothings filled in the gaps of his knowledge. Disappointment Burger destroyed. Huge success. Gladys tale of a “dis Putin.” Dan was always in his office. He didn’t have clients. Brian dis Repute started a war, and we were losing. “I’ll call Richard_Sharpe and get him moving. He’ll grab Dan and meet us at HQ.” Ginger quickly hung up the phone and dialed Richard. “We’re going to war. You know the warehouses over by the airport? Good. Get yourself together and get over there. Be prepared for a fight, they took Dan. Give them a sign they shouldn’t have fucked with Paradise.

First word: Sign. Last word: Violent. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

It must be a sign. Not one second after I had dropped my elegant green riding pants did the phone fucking ring. Every single time I graced this throne that bastard thing rang. If only I were still in the day when pencil and paper were the second most important thing behind my weapon. How I miss that rifle. Years in the British army had taught me to be never be caught unawares. But here I was shuffling, bare arsed, to the phone in a most undignified way.

Listening carefully my anger quickly subsides. Dragging the phone while Ginger talks I manage a one handed wipe.

"Ok. Got it. I'll be there as quick as I can."

Sorting myself out I retrieved my weapon and slid my trusty bayonet down the side of his brown leather riding boot. That bayonet was given to me as a young private and I'd forever hold it to remind me of the good and bad times I had seen. The blood that piece of metal had seen could drown a 6 foot man twice over. Let's hope my trusty friend was as loyal as it had always been.

Jumping from the cab I pulled the green material of the collar up to the bottom of my ears and buttoned it. This was an eerie place. A place where blood had been spilled. Everyone had always said I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Always there when the shit hit the fan. Why do I always get these shitty jobs? Why not Wacktard or Jono? bastards. Bastards the lot of em.

Turning the corner I quickly retreat. There, in complete disregard of any laws of this land, two cars brimming with what could only be called artillery. 'Fuck me.' I thought 'I have faced battalions in my time. But this could clear a battlefield on their own'Now with no doubt. I knew where DanTurner was. But how the fuck do I get to him?

A damn sight easier than I thought. It turns out. Having a discreet smoke a block away geeing myself up I head the screech of tyres. Slumping to the ground and lying on my side I leave one eye free. The two cars shoot past the apparent drunk slumped on the floor. Where the fuck are they going now?

Not wanting to be there when they returned I hot foot my way round the back of the warehouse. Edging towards the backdoor I place my ear against it. I open my mouth to clear any body noises. I listen. Nothing. Wait. A low moan and a cough. Yes, definitely, theres the cough again followed by the sound of gob hitting the floor. Touching the handle there can be no way this is unlocked? I mean. No one walks in the back doo... the handle turns in my hand.

'What a bunch of dickheads.' I think as I smile to myself, I draw my weapon and enter at a crouch, trusting my military training and my renowned instincts.

The piece of 2" by 4" hits me over the head like a sledgehammer. So much for those instincts. I cannot even breathe let alone see. My weapon is removed and I am dragged into the warehouse. The gorilla of a man dragging me towards a figure on a chair is out of breath already. How the fuck has he knobbled me. The tub of lard.

I am placed down on a chair next to Dan. He's in a bad way. Bent over double and hands tied down behind his boots. I smirk knowing what's in my boot. Dan really is in shit state but he manages a cheery smile. The mad bastard.

"Mad bunch of fuckers these, Richard. Madder than anything we have faced before."

He is slapped forcefully into silence by the gorilla. He grips my arms and ties them loosely around my legs. I tense as hard as I can to try and give me some wiggle room. Satisfied we are secure the tub of lard waddles off upstairs. Probably to try and put two and two together to get seven.

Wriggling my arms, I try to loosen the bonds. It's only old shitty rope. I would have no chance against anything decent. I work my fingers down the side of my boot and manage to touch the bayonet. Dan watches on but is obviously struggling to keep it together. Sliding the bayonet up the side of my boot I manage to get it into my palm.

Cutting the bonds holding the knife in reverse I let out a triumphant snort. Then my world goes black as he puts all his weight onto me. Twice this wanker has snuck up on me. But this time however his weight only means the bayonet I hold in my palm goes deeper into his midrift. I feel the warmness of his blood run over my hands. I hold onto him with my free arm. Driving the bayonet deeper and deeper into his stomach. He struggles to pull himself away from me but I hold on for dear life. Knowing if he gets free we are both done for.

As the minutes tick by I feel the fight leave him. The struggles subside. His breath become shallow. I feel for a pain in my thigh where he is laying upon it. My weapon. I close my palm around it and pull it from his waistband when I hear a whimper. It's Dan.

"Put the gun down and your friend will live. You have only a knife. I have a gun to his head. We both know you're not that quick." Smugness pours from every word.

He was well dressed, cool as a cucumber and Dan was looking at me praying with his eyes, I didn't do what I usually do. But he and this man didn't know what I knew. I knew I didn't just have a knife embedded in tubs torso. But a pistol. My pistol. He was fucked. He saw it in my eyes.

"Don't be silly young man. Don't do something that we will both regret" Not so fucking smug now.

Now was the moment. Rolling onto my left shoulder the Gorilla slides from my front freeing my right hand. I raise the pistol as the mans eyes widen and he begins to realise that this is it. He's fucked up. I drop one into his stomach.

It takes a few minutes for me to raise myself from where I fell after the shot. The man is whimpering upon the floor. All fight gone from him. I retrieve my bayonet from the gorilla and wipe it upon my trousers. Never ceases to amaze me what shit this simple piece of metal could dig me out of. Walking over to Dan I cut his restraints.

"Thanks Richard. Genuinely. I owe you one. What should we do with this piece of shit?"

Dan is looking better. Having a gun put to your head can really perk a man up when someone doesn't pull the trigger!

Looking closely at the gentleman on the floor. It's obvious thats what he is. He is not a mobster. Hes far too well dressed for that. Who the fucking is this guy? What the fuck is going on here?

"Tell you what Dan. This piece of shit obviously got a phone call off your mate. Why don't you introduce him to some of your PI skills? We need to know exactly what the fuck is going on here. But be quick. We need to know where those cars were going. When you get what you need there must be a phone somewhere for him to show up so quickly. Phone TyeDillinger and share the information. We need to get ahead of this."

Slumping on a chair I realise that this could threaten our entire way of life. These people are being driven by someone. Violent goons like these don't get themselves together like this"

First word: Violent. Last word: Rot. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

Across town, the phone rang, interrupting a violent grappling session between one TyeDillinger and local bin dipping champion, LowPitchEric. Sweat, blood and garbage created an unpleasant aroma to say the least. Just as the wretched bin dipper went to poke Tye in the eyes, the perfect ten took a power to answer the phone.

'TyeDillinger's the name, being perfects the game. Can I get a 10, 10, 10 chant?'

He was quickly cut off by two angry voices talking over one another to relay something that was clearly very important. After a few moments, he started to piece it all together. The family was being attacked, all hands would be required for this life or death battle royale.

'I'm on my way man, just need to get my piece and get dressed'

The phone hung up before Tye could say anything else. The abrupt hang up indicated that there was no time to dilly dally. He gave LowPitchEric the 10 salute and headed off to the shower.

Ten perfect minutes later he was heading across town, redemption on his mind. He didn't know who was the heel in this fight, but he was sure he would be going over. As he got closer to the address, he started to get a little more on edge. A few heavies, leaning against black cars, were smoking cigars and smirking over something they found very humorous. Normally, Tye would be down for some fatal four way action but today wasn't the day. He took a hard right down an alley way, hoping to find his way to Richard_Sharpe before anyone could get heel heat on him.

When he found the spot, Tye stepped inside quietly. With no heavies in sight, he relaxed slightly as he walked down the hallway. The muffled sounds of hushed voices reached his ears, he tensed up, ready to rumble with whomever was in the room. With the all the false bravado he could muster up, he sprang into the room, fist held high.

'Bout fuckin time you showed up' muttered Richard, while he held a blood covered knife in his hand. 'You take your sweet time trying to be a perfect ten, but you show up looking like a fucking zero' clearly Richard had a way with words.

'OK, Ok, just tell me who's the main event, the thugs we're going up against?' Tye asked with serious interest. While everyone knew him as the perfect ten, he could be a serious man at times too. This was a moment to prove it.

'Just tell me the plan guys, you can count on me.' As Tye was about to put himself over again, he heard the sound of boots scuffing on the floor. He wasn't sure how many were coming, but people were definitely heading in this direction. He stepped towards the doorway then looked over his shoulder at Richard and Dan.

'If you two can move, I'd get the hell out of here. People are coming, I'll try to hold them off so you two can get moving. I think Hank_Moody might be at the church across from the HQ given prayer, might be a good place to gather at.''

Tye ripped his shirt off, flexed for no one in particular, then flashed the perfect ten sign at the door way as he heard someone scream
'You're going to ROT'

First word: Rot. Last word: Tedious. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

First word: Tedious. Last word: Label. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

Tedious it was waking up, the smell of whiskey smacked me and in the nose and jolted up. Where the fuck was I? I really couldn't tell you. Give me ten minutes and shot a of whiskey and everything fades back in. The bench creaked, I sat up and grabbed the shot glass that sat there like it was waiting for my lips to hit it. Like it always did the memories faded in, the No Name Pub I stopped in for a drink last night, that drink turned into too many to count. Luckily this time I didn't wake up to a foul whore trying to ride my precious.

I was rubbing my eyes when the door to the pub slammed open and Hank_Moody walked in. He looked around, our eyes met and he started walking in my direction.

"Hank! You smug fucker! You stalking me? I'm fucking with you sit down I'll get us a bottle".

The look on his face threw me off. Something was fucked I knew it! He took a seat next to me and started, I didn't even have to ask.

"Some stupid fucking politician thought he could move in on Paradise. They burned the disappointment Burger down." I let a little smirk out and winked at Hank."Him and the cunt of a Godfather of St. Louis have something coming for them. I need you to go make an example of the Godfather, he dug his own grave on this one" he slid me a piece of paper with an address on it, I had it memorized at the first glance.

I stood up and did a quick stretch, "You let Disorder know I'm going to take care of this fuck right now. I'll head over to the Headquarters as soon as I finish". There was no time to waste as soon as the words left my mouth I was heading out to my car.

The outside air hit my lungs, a deep breath and an exhale. I got to my car and started it in a hurry. Opening the glove compartment with my right hand and grabbing my cigarette tin, the smoke hit the air following an exhale. Sun hitting my skin, it wasn't a day to admire the beauty of the world, a stupid cunt of a human being thought he could move in on Paradise and soon he will understand why that was the worst decision of his life.

Minutes away from the address, Thump..Thump...Thump my heart was pounding. Nothing got to me more than a threat to my city and family. I parked the car down the street from the building. Stepping out and opening the trunk, I grabbed my Tommy and loaded the clip, tucking two of my revolvers in the back of my pants. To add to that, my favorite part of it all, I had three Molotov cocktails. The fuck was going to die and burn down to nothing.

I started the walk to the front of the building. Walking up the steps and kicking in the fucking door, it went with the first kick. I let out a laugh before watching the first guy drop after three shots hit his chest. I turned the corner to a bullet, flying by my face. I let the bullets do the job and watch the big guy drop "Oohh you gotta be faster than that buddy".

The next four guys dropped at every corner I turned. The bottom floor was clear, I started for the steps and stopped, lighting another cigarette.

"You better be making your peace with whatever the fuck it is you believe in" I yelled real loud so the cunt could hear me. Walking up the stairs, surprised to find nobody waiting for me. There was one door at the end of the hallway, undoubtedly with a few men and their guns on the door waiting for me to bust through and lighting me up.

I remembered the flask in my jacket. Pulling it out and downing the whole thing, no fucking way I would die without a cigarette in my mouth and a belly full of whiskey.

"You better hope your boys fucking kill me'. I started for the door stopping right outside of it and raising the Tommy, the rhythm of shots it let out never failed to give me the best feeling in the world. I let the door rain down with bullets. The clicking started, dropping the Tommy I grabbed the two revolvers from my back and kicked the door in and started shooting everything in sight. Everyone dropped. It looked like the Tommy took out the guys bodyguards before I even kicked the door open.

Looking at the Godfathers lifeless body, "It almost saddens me I didn't talk to you before the life seeped out of your body. I had a great joke set up but hey fuck it right?" I walked up to his body and ashed my cigarette on his eye. Stepping back to the door and grabbing the Molotov's , I lit their tops, the toss ended in a room full of flames. I ran to the first floor and lit another throwing it on the carpet. Once outside I had one more. It lit up and I threw it, not giving a single fuck where it landed. I ran for the car and sped off in a hurry. It was time to head to the headquarters. All I had left to say was "Dont fuck with Paradise. How about that for a label?"

First word: Label. Last word: Plug. If this is the last post then the last word is: Politician.

Disorder had labeled this day bizarre right from the start. From the moment of the mixed feelings from the call about Disappointment Burger being burnt down, on. Yes he was affronted by the attack on one of the family businesses but at the same time he saw a light at the end of the very dark tunnel of heart and respiratory illness, the family's morning routine was leading them down. He took a deep wheezy breath and smiled, making mental notes to get out for a run later and make a start at getting back to fighting weight. Everything that was being told had two sides to it.

He started drinking immediately. Knowing that hard liquor had only the most beneficial properties for health, he felt good about the day's new healthy outlook. The first few drinks cleared his head and the origin of the attack on Camp's Burger shop became clear. He grabbed some old parchment, a blotter and a quill from his desk. SweetNothing's was understandably confused but she was out the door before he could explain. He finished his feathery writing and sealed the parchment with a red wax stamp. Calling downstairs he found Gladys Chivalry in an unusual state of being dressed and semi-presentable.

"Gladys! Just the woman. Get Tony to take you over to Donald dis Repute's house. Fast as he possibly can. When you get there I need you to work your seductive magic on Donald. Be formal and polite and give him this."

He handed Gladys the rolled up parchment. She looked at him with understandable confusion. He smiled.

"He's a blithering imbecile. He has pretensions of grandeur and tries to cover his insecurity with any tacky shit he feels looks even slightly sophisticated. Trust me, the insult to humanity will be all over this like it's the dead sea scrolls. Once he's read it he'll look at you with a really smug smile. When he does that you suggest he comes back here with you to meet me. You're a magnificently persuasive woman Gladys, you have what he wants. I've no doubt he'll jump at the chance of being shut in a car with you."

Gladys looked suitably flattered and hurried off to fulfill her duty. Disorder gave baubles' office door a knock.

"Hey, that offensive cretin dis Repute will be here in a little while. When he gets here I need the place looking presentable and wall-to-wall insincere grins to meet the fat prick when he arrives. Can you shake up some of the lads and get us ready?"

She gave him a withering look but nodded and got up to go make a start on fixing the after party disaster the downstairs of the building had become. Disorder went back to his office and put on some trousers. He needed to look officious and serious. Walking over to the mirror he tried a few serious faces. Coming to the conclusion they all looked a bit murderous, he tried some smiles instead. They all looked more worrying than the scowls. He gave up and resigned himself to try and look sincere, however that ended up looking. 

The phone rang. It was TyeDillinger. He had a quite incredible tale of how he'd single-handedly saved half the city from near extinction and was still standing with hardly a hair out of place. Along the way he'd saved DanTurner and uncovered a plot by dis Repute to use the Godfather of St Louis to move United and Redemption out of Paradise.

"That's remarkable Tye. Remarkable!"

Tye went on to explain that Junkrat was to be dispatched to put the St Louis problem to bed and that Tye would carry the near lifeless bodies of Hank and Dan, one under each arm. All the while looking unruffled and dazzlingly handsome. Like a proper hero. Disorder could imagine the reality violent slap-stick calamity that lay behind Tye's story but now wasn't the time. He thanked Tye.

"Thanks Tye, you're an inspiration to us all. Now if you could get those lads some medical attention and stay safe out of the way, I'll try to deal with dis Repute and end this shit once and for all."

He got off the phone and sat in his chair. Lighting a cigar he waited until he heard the sound of Tony's car pulling up outside. Gladys had obviously worked her charms as Disorder could hear the jowly chortling of dis Repute making his way into the building. He sounded as smug and disarmed as Disorder could have hoped for. Gladys gave a cursory knock at the office door and walked in, announcing the disgusting walrus with all the pomp and ritual of a visiting dignitary. The fat prick was lapping it up. Disorder stayed focused on the goal and suppressed his urge to cut his head off with the ceremonial sword Datorder had brought him back from a business trip to Bangkok

"Hello Donald. Please, have a seat."

The hideous mess of a man moved his grossly neglected mass across the room and squeezed himself gracelessly into the ample chair across from the desk. Disorder even felt sorry for the fine blue suit being tortured by Donald's grotesque form. Trying not to get distracted by the man's sweating piggish face or shock of carefully faked blond hair, Disorder allowed him to make his pompous speech.

'Now Gladys tells me you are ready to see things my way.'

The offensive monster didn't even have the decorum to address Disorder by name or title. He kept a blank expression and replied.

"Donald. Your interests in Paradise have been noted and your persistent attempts to unsettle my business and undermine my authority have gone on long enough. This morning's stunt of burning down Disappointment Burger was little more than an irritation at best."

dis Repute's face lost none of it's bloated smugness. He smiled at Disorder. The disgusting curve of his mouth being echoed by the several double chin grins under it. Feeling he'd set the perfect trap he almost squealed with excitement at the prospect of springing it.

'Now then Disorder, you see so much and yet so little. That was just a message, a distraction if you like. The reality is that right now the Godfather of St Louis and his people are sweeping across your properties and wiping out your people. Your time as Godfather of this district is over! Any minute now that phone will ring and he will let you know your time is up!'

Disorder blankly looked at his face and they both sat for an uncomfortable period waiting for the phone to ring. It was less than theatrically perfect but eventually the phone did ring. Disorder raised an eyebrow and answered it. Donald's face was positively beaming with victory.

"Hello... Ok. I understand... Yes, he's here right now... I will put you on with him. One moment."

Disorder pushed the phone across the desk to the glowing embarrassment.

"He would like to speak to you."

Donald picked up the phone.

'Hello.. Who's this?.. Wait. What? You... How?...'

Donald's hand fell and the phone clunked down on the receiver. All was lost. His composure was a memory. Totally exposed and vulnerable, the pathetic excuse for a human was bereft of understanding or answers. He looked across the desk, unable to speak. Disorder took his time placing the phone back in it's correct spot on the desk before returning Donald's gaze. 

"You see Donald. You are a fish out of water here. Spending daddy's money and throwing parties for society connections doesn't give you the tools for a life like this. This is our world. Not yours. Your friends in St Louis are all dead. Your plan has collapsed and what's more, all the dirt DanTurner has been gathering on your for years has all been sent to the press."

He looked horrified. The spiraling maelstrom of despair distracted him from baubles who's quietly entered the office and rolled out a large sheet of plastic on the floor behind Donald's chair. Her and Gladys were gently straightening it when Disorder went on.

"Don't worry though Donald. You won't have to endure the shame of your life exposed on the front pages, it will just be your unfortunate family that has to survive the tide of press, endlessly following, harassing, asking cruel questions and broadcasting horrible truths. But you never really cared about them did you? I'm sure Gladys' underwear can bare the most recent testimony to that truth."

Disorder stood up and took a revolver from the desk drawer. Pointing it at Donald, he paused for a moment, enjoying what it was to watch the man's total mental collapse as he descended into tears and soiled himself. He clasped his hands and began pleading but Disorder waved a calm hand as if to quieten any chance of reprieve.

"You were always under control Donald. We just allowed you to think what you wanted as it was easier that way. You were never going to be allowed to get out of control. Dan has collected more shit on you than the FBI has records. We allowed you to live so we could get all our permits and businesses operational. All that is in place now and you have exhausted your usefulness. This has merely provided us with the reason we needed to remove you."

Disorder raised the gun, sent one bullet between Donald's eyes and sent the fool back to God. Disorder looked at he sprawled out corpse lying on the plastic sheet. As the ladies started to fold the sheet over him, he said.

"In the end, you were a worse gangster than you were a politician*."