Running Deep, Saints Row fic (part 2)

[girlofprey]

Title: Running Deep
Fandom: Saints Row series (video game)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Saints Row universe and I'm not making any money off this.

Part 1


11.

Expansion was slow in the south, but in a sense that worked in their favour. As Darcy, in her own way, had pointed out, the prices Ultor charged weren’t for every market, and there was no point paying rent in an area that wouldn’t pay it back. Better to go slow, make a name for themselves, and let the customers who could afford it come to them.

The Dome was an easy exploit – as soon as they started licensing Sharks’ strips and rolling out sportswear, people were clamouring for a shop to buy it in. They opened up just across the street. From there it was easy enough to go West to the University, and look into who supplied the Skeeters’ uniforms. Getting that contract gave them an opening to make links, and open a store of their own in a prime location. Then there was a neighbourhood just to the South – which Dane privately thought was ripe for development – with a lot of beautiful waterfront property. When they were established near the campus, they started looking for properties there. All the stores did well, with the support of head office behind them, and Dane recommended leaving them to settle in.

There was some trouble, naturally – getting security seemed to be an issue, and there were quite a few early insurance claims. But the premiums Dane had arranged really worked out for them, and eventually things ran smoothly. Dane’s superiors were very pleased, and he got another promotion.

He’d personally been down to look at a few of the sites for new stores, and got a look at the South island himself. He didn’t mention that to Darcy. It was interesting. In some places, it looked almost no different than the suburbs, but the mood seemed a little more - harried.

He’d seen more than a few groups of people dressed in red, or all in yellow, hanging out on street corners, staring at him and his men as they worked. He didn’t look at them for too long. He wasn’t looking for a fight.

Darcy brought up one of the new stores, long before they’d announced they’d taken over the property. Word got around, clearly. She glared at him, and he ignored her. Progress had to happen. She went back to her food a little more aggressively than before, but they didn’t discuss it, so they didn’t argue about it.

It’s not like he didn’t have security with him.

Chinatown would be a tough neighbourhood to crack. But potentially rewarding. He wasn’t sure they should consider opening at all in the Projects or neighbourhoods like Rebadeaux – they had to think of their image. And Saints Row – that was right off the table, according to his contacts. It should have been a short hop – just across the water from the Downtown stores. But it wasn’t. Which basically left the Barrio – another tough neighbourhood. But they could do it. They needed to get down to the airport, without making a mockery of their entire logistics system. But it was all moving along pretty well.


12.

He’d never planned to ask Darcy about the gangs again – no point trying to get blood from a stone. But things didn’t work out like that.

He noticed she was a little more agitated than usual at a couple of their lunches. She’d gotten a job at garage near their usual meeting place, and she’d been happy about it, initially. But had slowly gotten quieter and quieter about it. She was smiling less, watching every person who came through the door, whipping around to look at every car that drove past the window. Then she dyed her hair a dark, almost midnight blue – Dane thought it was black the first time he saw it. He asked her about it, and she just scowled and muttered something angry. He decided not to push.

Dane thought she might be in trouble. She seemed hunted. But she never said anything about it, and Dane assumed if it was dangerous, or she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

And then one day, they were eating lunch at their usual Freckle Bitches, when loud music and the squeal of brakes sounded from outside. He looked up to see a garishly painted yellow and blue car parked up, just on the other side of the window, and a bunch of teenagers getting out. Maybe four or five of them, all laughing and joking together.

It wasn’t an unusual sight out in the Suburbs, barring the car, so he turned away –

And saw Darcy staring at them, completely still.

He looked back at them – they came in through the restaurant door, still laughing. Everyone looked around. They followed the waitress, but almost ignored her. They didn’t seem to be looking for anyone in particular. But…

They were all wearing blue.

And Dane knew enough by now to know that was a bad sign.

He looked at Darcy. Her eyes were tracking the group as they walked to the back of the restaurant. Her head was ducked slightly, but she was completely intent on them. When they all sat down, her shoulders dropped, but she still looked nervous. She met his eyes – tensed up again and tried to cover for it. She started eating her fries, mechanically.

Dane wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Something was clearly happening. But they didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. So – like Darcy – he went back to his salad, quietly.

Blue was new.

When they left, Darcy walked a little quicker than usual. As they stood on the kerb, her nervous look transformed into one of blistering hatred.

As soon as he got home, he called his police contacts. Asked if they knew about any new criminal groups starting up near the suburbs? They paused, and said no. Nothing like that. Nothing was going on in the suburbs, except a few more street races than before. A few more fights breaking out, at those street races. Just kids being kids.

He called Darcy and asked her to come over again.


13.

She couldn’t come over that night, said it would have to be the next day. Dane did his paperwork, and had brunch with a new contractor, and told his doorman to expect her. The man looked a little nervous this time.

She showed up around 9pm. She looked annoyed, but more deflated this time. She came in and took off her shoes without him even asking her.

They went down to the main room.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked.

She considered.

“What’ve you got?”

“What do you like?”

“Whiskey?”

“I’ll get you a scotch.”

He poured the drinks and handed one to her, gesturing for her to sit on a couch. She wrinkled her nose a little at the square, neat leather, but she sat down.

She took a sip of her drink, and then frowned at it.

“What?” he asked

“Is this whiskey?”

She looked genuinely disbelieving.

“It’s scotch, it’s – top of the line…”

A thought occurred to him.

“Where do you normally buy your whiskey?”

“Brown Baggers.”

Jesus Christ.

“Well, it’s the good stuff. Not paint stripper.”

She still looked dubious.

“It’ll get you drunk faster.”

Well, that seemed to do the trick. She eyed the glass again, and then shrugged and threw back half of it.

Good liquor was basically wasted on her. Noted.

She lowered the glass and tapped on it with her nails.

“I know what you’re gonna ask me, Dane.”

She looked at him. He held her gaze.

“If something’s going on, I’d like to know about it,” he said. “I know you weren’t acting like that over nothing.”

“Can’t your police buddies tell you anything?”

“No, they seem to think everything’s fine over in New Hennequet. Just a bunch of rowdy teenagers.”

She snorted at that, smiling unpleasantly.

“Is there something going on?”

She shifted uneasily.

“I’ve just heard some things,” she said, taking another hit of scotch.

“Like?”

She scratched at her brow, and a hard, irritated look came over her face.

“I don’t know why you always try to get involved, Dane,” she said. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“We’ve got stores in the suburbs, Darcy.”

She laughed, harshly. Then fixed him with a look.

“It’s not just the stores you need to worry about,” she said. “I heard they love doing laps of the Ultor Dome.”

“Who?”

She looked away again, scowling.

“They’re calling themselves,” she said, “the ‘Westside Rollerz’.”

“Is it a new gang?”

She was quiet for a second.

“Do you know who Ben King is?” she asked.

He blinked. Well, that wasn’t exactly irrelevant.

“Yeah, he’s a businessman, runs a record company. And the…is it the ‘Vice Kings’?”

She was staring at him like maybe he could tell her something she didn’t know. She looked away again.

“You know about the Vice Kings?”

“Yeah. They run most of the city, except in the Southeast. Wear yellow.”

“’Wear yellow’. Is that all your friends in the P.D. would tell you?”

She gave him a look. But he’d put up with her trying to irritate him before.

“You know he’s big buddies with the Chief, don’t you?”

Well. That he didn’t know. Huh. Explained why people were so happy to let a known crime lord go to City Hall functions.

Darcy was rubbing her forehead again.

“Ben King’s – going soft.”

She tensed suddenly, glancing around as though someone might be listening, besides Dane. Then she seemed to force herself to relax. She looked at him and narrowed her eyes, studying him. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

“The police, the music company, that’s where he wants to be these days. Everybody knows he doesn’t give a fuck about what’s happening on the street anymore. Everybody.”

He waited for her to continue.

“So people are popping up, pushing his boys around. And getting somewhere, because he’s not pushing back.”

“So this new gang, they’re challenging Ben King?”

She shook her head.

“No, they’re challenging his boys, who are out on their own. Well – it’s where the ‘kids’ live. In a way, they’ve got every right.”

She curled her lip, despite her words.

“Kids from the suburbs?”

“Yeah. Rich kids, with rich parents, who think buying a decent set of wheels and having a daddy that can spring you from prison means you can run the streets.”

“And they want the Vice Kings out of their neighbourhood? What’s wrong with that?”

She gave him an unpleasant smile.

“They don’t want the Vice Kings out – they want in. They want respect. In Stilwater – the way they want to run, the only way to get it is to take it.”

She had another drink of scotch.

“Even if they didn’t, the Kings wouldn’t give up. Especially now Ben King doesn’t care. So there’s one way it’s going out there.”

“It’s gonna get heavy?”

She laughed a little. And then her shoulders stiffened.

“Yeah,” she said, looking over at the wall.

She looked back at him. Gave him one of those up-and-down looks. Pressed her lips together.

“I don’t think we should meet at that Freckle Bitches anymore,” she said.

He blinked. Well that was…drastic.

“You really think it’s going to be that bad?” he asked.

She nodded, solemnly.

He thought for a minute.

“But what about the stores? We’ve got a lot of money in the suburbs –”

She scoffed.

“Fuck the stores, Dane! They’re fucked! Think about your goddamned self.”

“This is my job, Darcy! If the suburbs are gonna tank, I need to know.”

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

He thought for a minute.

“The police won’t – ?”

“Won’t go after the Vice Kings while Ben King’s around, and won’t arrest a kid from Quinbecca, no. Wouldn’t risk their life against any gang for a store, anyway.”

Well shit.

There was silence for a minute.

“Dane –” She broke off, scratching her head. “I only told you this because I think you’re smart enough to stay out of trouble, if you know where it’s coming from. You’ve gotta listen to me.”

She looked at him almost earnestly.

He sighed, looking away.

Her glass was empty.

“Do you want another drink?” he asked, gesturing it.

She looked down at her glass, then sighed and held it out.

He thought as he poured both a fresh glass. They could up the insurance in the suburbs. Hire a more security maybe – but would they just be pouring it down the drain if it was all going up in smoke anyway? Then there was the Dome – shit.

“Your office is round here, right?”

He glanced at her, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said.

She was looking towards the window, rubbing her arms slightly like she was trying to keep warm.

“It won’t come out here,” she told him. Like she was trying to reassure someone. “Ben King wants this neighbourhood.”

He came back over with the glasses, and held one out to her. She seemed startled out of her thoughts, and took it.

He sat back down as she took a hit of scotch, and he realised she looked a little red in the face. She couldn’t be drunk already, could she? She was talking alright. She was moving a little restlessly, trying to spread herself out now, and reached up to brush the hair off the back of her neck. He realised she was still in that goddamn hoodie, and it was late summer, in his perfectly heated apartment.

“You can take that off, you know,” he said. She looked at him and he tipped his glass towards her torso.

She stilled, and for a minute it was awkward. He’d hardly ever seen her out of a hoodie or jacket, besides – that first day. He wondered for a minute if he crossed a line – but then she put her glass down, and raised her arms.

She had a red vest on, underneath. She threw the hoodie down on the couch beside her, close enough that she could still grab it. She had more tattoos than he remembered. There was one on her right forearm that was new, but he couldn’t make it out. He looked at her left arm, and saw the bullet wound he knew would be there, and the rose-and-thorns band he hadn’t seen since that day four years ago. For a brief moment he felt sand on his neck and could taste saltwater, feel it dripping on his forehead.

He held still and the moment passed.

She still had one hand on the hoodie. She was more muscular than he remembered, broader in the shoulders. He wondered if the baggy clothing was really to cover that up – so no-one could see what she was capable till she wanted them to.

“What did your father train you in?”

She stiffened. Made to glance around the room again, then stopped herself.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said.

Her look said that wasn’t funny. She looked down at her hands.

“Guns,” she muttered, shrugging.

“Handguns?”

Another uneasy shrug.

“Yeah.”

She looked up at the far wall, not at him. He narrowed his eyes.

“Anything else?”

She sighed. And looked at him.

“Rifles,” she said. “Submachine guns. Shotguns. Fighting with a knife. Hand-to-hand stuff. Explosives.”

“Explosives?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a lot of C4 on Saints Row?”

She smiled wryly at him.

“More than you’d think.”

“Anything else?”

She shrugged again.

“Daddy had some friends who were pilots. They gave me a few lessons at the airport.”

“You can fly?”

“Sort of.”

He stared at her.

“So you’re basically a soldier.”

She looked off at the wall.

“I’m not a soldier,” she muttered.

“But I mean, training-wise. Did he show you everything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything he knew? Like how you are with a handgun.”

She shrugged.

“I guess. Yeah, I think so.”

She seemed to be an odd mixture of proud and uncomfortable.

He stared at her.

“So why’re you so afraid of the gangs?”

She gave him a humourless smile.

“I can’t take out a whole gang, Dane,” she said. “And none of it means shit if you can’t afford ammunition. Unless you think I should take them all out with a kitchen knife?”

Silence again.

“So why did he teach you?”

She shrugged.

“He wanted me to live.”

There wasn’t a lot he could say to that statement.

“Are there a lot of fights on Saints Row?” he asked.

She looked around at him, so the scar was in full view.

“Yes,” she said, patiently.

“Is that…where you got that?” he asked, carefully. He raised his hand towards the scar.

She raised a hand like she wanted to touch it. Then pushed it down again.

“I did this to myself,” she told him, looking him square in the eyes.

He blinked. He had honestly never considered that.

“Why?” he asked.

She held his gaze for a minute.

“A pimp told me with a face like mine I could make some real money,” she said. “So I cut it to make him go away.”

He blinked again.

“That seems a little dramatic.”

“He wasn’t the first to ask. I wanted them to stop.”

“Huh. Didn’t want to be a hooker, then?”

She snapped her eyes up to his.

“I didn’t want to work for a pimp,” she said.

There was clearly a distinction. He decided not to chase it up.

“So you got that to put them off?”

“Yeah,” she said, taking another drink.

“Forever?”

She gave him another smile.

“It’s still here, isn’t it?”

“What did your dad say?”

She paused.

“He looked upset about it at first. Then he told me he was proud of me.”

“What about your mother?”

“She wasn’t there.”

“What – since you got it?”

“She’s a truck driver, does long-haul jobs. She’s not around much. She saw it after about six months later. She looked surprised. Didn’t say anything.”

She reached up and rubbed it.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Feels a little weird when I smile, sometimes.”

She smiled, as if to demonstrate. She studied his completely unmarked face, and looked away, still smiling.

He stretched. It was late. She noticed, and sat up.

“I should go,” she said, throwing back the last of her scotch and pulling her hoodie back on.

“So where’d you want to meet next month?”

They never did discuss that. She paused, blinking like she was surprised by the question. Then frowned. Seemed to give it some thought.

“Amberbrook?” she asked.

Amberbrook was where the Amphitheatre was, a relatively pleasant waterfront neighbourhood. It was also, if he recalled correctly, right in the heart of Vice Kings territory, because it was right next to the business district. Which meant it was probably about the safest place in the city right now, if Darcy was correct, but it was also somewhere Dane was more likely to be seen by someone he knew.

He stared at her for a moment, as awaited his answer.

Well. He had his story in place. He was handing over tickets to a girl who’d saved his life. He was grateful.

“Yeah. Sure,” he said.

She looked relieved.

“Freckle Bitches?” she said.

Of course.

“Yep.”

“There’s one by the museum.”

“Right. I’ll find out the address.”

Maybe he could convince her to try sushi one day.

She gave him a scrutinising look he couldn’t quite work out. And then smiled at him.


14.

He did what he could about the suburbs, which wasn’t much. Upped the insurance, upped the security, organised conflict resolution training. As for the Ultor Dome – he recommended security ignore whatever went on out of hours. Apparently there was nothing much they could do about it, and there was no point pouring employees down the drain.

The calls started coming in pretty quickly, maybe a couple of weeks after he’d talked to Darcy. It was just one store at first, reports of damaged property, then increasingly alarmed reports about fighting in the streets. More and more started calling, and the reports got worse. One of the clerks got knocked down by a car, and had to go on leave. Dane couldn’t tell them anything except to sit tight, remember their training, and wait for it to be over.

Darcy had assured him it would be over. At one of their meetings, when he was clearly distracted by work problems, she told him it would settle down eventually, that things would get back to normal – in a roundabout way, of course, out in public. She hinted that everyone wanted neighbourhoods to keep making money, really – that it was in everyone’s best interests for things to keep running. They’d try not to do too much damage.

Which was nice. It was just a matter of whether they could keep things afloat in the meantime.

He got it, really. Essentially, this was a takeover. He’d seen enough reports to know that gangs were essentially a business, and he knew personally that business could be brutal. Changing management was always tricky, especially across an entire area. It was just a shitty thing for normal people to have to deal with.

The news reports started coming in not long afterwards. There might have been Ben King and well-off parents trying to keep things quiet, but it was still the suburbs. There was shaky footage of bodies covered up in parking lots, brightly coloured cars speeding away. Ultor got more and more panicked calls from the local stores – they told them to keep calm, and weather it out.

Ultor’s current range was largely blue, and while sales went up in the suburbs, they went sharply down everywhere else. Dane put in a call to product development and suggested a drastic change for next season. But not too much red or yellow. His superiors wanted to stop funding expansion on the South island, focus on shoring up the suburbs, and he had to talk them out of it. They were trying to open a store in Chinatown, and they’d only get one chance at a neighbourhood like that. If they didn’t support it, they may as well have poured all the money so far down the drain. And they were doing well across the South island – he suspected people didn’t want to have to go to the store near the Dome.

He saw Ben King for the first time at a fundraiser for Alderman Hughes’ fledgling mayoral campaign. He couldn’t say he was exactly impressed, given the circumstances. But he certainly had presence, Dane would give him that.

~ ~ ~

His meetings with Darcy got better, out of the suburbs. She had a habit of eyeing up everyone in yellow, and occasionally would mess nervously with her hair, but she was clearly happier. Dane found he much preferred the new neighbourhood. There was a lot of beautiful waterfront there, and he was puzzled, as always, that the city hadn’t done more with it. It was such a waste.

Darcy quit her job at the garage, which Dane assumed was for the best. She came to their third lunch with a black eye, bruises along her jaw and favouring her left leg, and all she’d say about it was something about “trouble at Madam Wu’s”. Dane had never been so worried about someone he knew seeing him with her. A kid with scars and blue hair, a decade younger than him, in a Freckle Bitches. But nobody did. Or if they did they kept quiet about it, which was good enough for him.

It turned out to be Darcy’s friends they should have been worrying about.

It was maybe their fifth meet-up in Amberbrook, and they’d eaten, and were wandering along the waterfront, finishing up a conversation. Darcy was a laidback, easy person to talk to. Mostly because she didn’t really give a fuck about anything.

Suddenly, this guy came storming up to them. Dane nearly moved to get out of his way, but the guy was staring right at them. And walking straight up to them.

Then he stopped, agitatedly, right in front of them.

“This the guy?” he demanded, of Darcy. He gave Dane a once-over, sneering. “This your sugar daddy?”

Dane looked at Darcy, and saw her giving the angry man the flattest, most unimpressed look imaginable.

“Fuck off, Terry,” she said.

‘Terry’ seemed more upset than ever by that response. He balled his hands into fists, glaring at Dane.

“This is the guy you won’t see me for?” he asked. He bared his teeth slightly. “This asshole, what, is he paying you –”

Dane put his hand up in attempt to start calming the situation down, but before he could, Darcy’s hand shot out and grabbed the guy’s collar. She drove a knee up hard into his stomach, then let him fall to the pavement. Then she kicked him in the stomach. Then again, and again.

She dropped into a crouch, and leaned over the guy, grabbing his collar.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Terry,” she said, while he gasped for breath. Then she dropped him again and stood up. She looked round at Dane.

“Come on,” she said, and stepped over the guy, walking off.

Dane looked down at Terry, who still seemed to be having trouble drawing a breath. He looked around at the rest of the street. There were a couple of people looking over, seemingly concerned – but they didn’t come over. Most people just kept walking. A couple of guys in yellow, sitting on a car across the street, were nearly killing themselves laughing.

Darcy had gotten nearly 50 yards down the pavement. Dane looked back down at Terry, still gasping – and then stepped around him. He walked briskly to catch up.

It took him a little while, since he wasn’t going to run. When he did, she didn’t look around or say anything, just huffed in irritation. They walked a little further, and then she swung round, up against the low sea wall, stopping with her hands jammed in her pockets.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, shortly. “That guy – I banged him a couple of times, and then he started getting all clingy. Thought the only reason I wouldn’t be his girl is because I must be seeing someone else. There were a lot of reasons.” She scoffed. “Asshole.”

Dane looked out over the water.

“Did you need to kick the crap out of him?”

She gave him a sharp look.

“I wanted him to get the message, Dane. The guy was fucking following me. Or should I have waited until he swung at you?”

Well. Put it like that.

“Is he going to be a problem?”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

He met her eyes.

“I didn’t think anyone from your neighbourhood knew about – you and me. Is it gonna be a problem for you? Is he gonna start talking?”

She stared at him for a minute, and then looked out over the water, frowning.

“He’s not gonna say anything,” she said. “Not now I kicked his ass.”

She furrowed her brow for a second. Then it cleared, and she sighed.

“Do you want me to take care of him?” she asked, looking back around.

He looked at her, then did a double-take. It almost sounded like…she was offering to kill that guy. If he asked her to. Like she was offering very casually.

She just looked at him evenly.

He considered it for a minute.

“He’s not connected, no-one’ll miss him,” she said.

He thought it over, looking out at the water. Was he gonna order a hit on some lowlife from Saints Row, who was obviously not that stable? Did he care about what people in Darcy’s neighbourhood thought of him? Then again, if it got out – but what was the guy gonna do, talk to the papers?

He looked back at Darcy.

“If it’s not a problem for you, I don’t care,” he said.

She looked out over the waves.

“If he does say something, I’ll just tell them the truth,” she said. “You get me Sharks tickets. Nothing wrong with that.”

He looked at her. She smiled a little. He smiled back.

“No,” he said.

They stared out at the water together for a few minutes.

“But if you see him again, let me know,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Noted.


15.

As Darcy promised, things calmed down in the suburbs. Ultor cleaned up, calmed their staff down, and restocked. Happily for them, most of the action had taken place on roads or empty parking lots, away from most of the stores. The Dome, too, seemed to settle down, although there were still late night races. Things at the University got a little tense, but not for very long, and then everything stabilised again. The police reports, which he was paying a lot more money for now, suggested the borders had been redrawn and no-one was pushing them, so it was likely to stay calm for a while. Dane hoped that in a few months, they could turn their attention back to expansion, rather than damage control.

He kept looking at Saints Row on the city map. It was ridiculous. There was hardly anyone there who could afford their stuff. But it was such an obvious route down to the further reaches of the South island. They wouldn’t have the culture clash of the Barrio – and there were stores there. They’d have to go through the Barrio eventually, but if they had another store, something to re-establish Ultor as a brand before trying to appeal to a new customer base…

But it was ridiculous. Even apart from it being a low-income area, some of the security reports he was getting didn’t bear thinking about, and made him seriously question how Darcy was living. But it was interesting – looking back at the history of the city, Saints Row used to be the most desirable neighbourhoods in the city. Back in the 60s and 70s – before the gangs came along. He stared at the old pictures, and tried to Darcy on those streets. Born into the city’s elite. He couldn’t quite shake the image of blue hair, or the scar. He laughed to himself about it.

Fortunes changed.

They were always changing in Stilwater, apparently, because they suddenly started getting reports of violence around the airport. Then in the neighbourhoods around the airport. His police contacts informed him that the Carnales, the other Stilwater gang, were starting to push their borders. Clearly losing so many neighbourhoods in the suburbs had made the Vice Kings seem weak, and now all the sharks were circling. It made perfect sense of course, but it was – irritating.

The news stations didn’t seem that interested in covering the South island, and his people at the police station were as tight-lipped as ever when it came to Vice Kings incidents – no matter how much he paid them – but between them, various results from Ultor’s market research, and Darcy acting a little more edgy and distracted than usual, he assumed it was a situation that was likely to continue.

He invited Darcy up to his apartment again, but this time she refused.

Ben King was doing better than ever in the business world though. Aisha was a smash hit, and Kingdom Come records was going from strength to strength. It only irked Dane that the man wouldn’t either look after his other business assets or cut ties altogether. This was what happened when you split your focus.

He did what he at Ultor. The Barrio was less and less appealing by the day, and the stores in the suburbs were still regaining their equilibrium, so he focused on that. But it only reinforced why expansion was so important – you could deal better with a problem area if you had assets in other areas to fall back on. It was just going to have to wait, that’s all.

He started noticing a correlation between news reports mentioning Saints Row and Darcy being quieter at their meetings. The airport was a long way from Harrowgate, but the Carnales seemed to be gaining ground fast. Chinatown was a lot closer, and from what he heard that was blue now – Ultor had barely even noticed that. The predators were circling – and from what he’d heard, of the area and Ben King, Saints Row was easy pickings

Dane offered to get her a job again, at a store in the suburbs maybe. She considered it for a brief second, and then gave him one hard looks and turned him down. He’d have thought any chance to spend some time outside of Saints Row would have been a relief, but she’d made her feelings clear. And she could take care of herself.


16.

In a few months, things calmed down again. The Barrio had changed hands again, and Dane started looking around again. The recent troubles had brought the property values down, and the new ‘tenants’ seemed eager for new business.

And then – Darcy suddenly wasn’t just edgy at their meetings, she was nervous. She messed with her all the time, glanced up at the door every couple of minutes. She’d lose herself, just staring out of the window. There was clearly something up, but she wouldn’t say anything. Just went back to her food, not meeting his eyes.

He paid attention when they mentioned Saints Row on the news, so he noticed when it started getting mentioned more. A couple of shootouts, a couple of ‘altercations’. And then a new name got bandied around: ‘the Third Street Saints’. A new gang, apparently. Coming straight up out of Saints Row.

He called his police contacts. According to them, this new gang were basically just residents of Saints Row rising up against the other gangs. Just a bunch of no-marks and well-known psychos who weren’t going to take it anymore. They didn’t have the money or the contacts of the Westside Rollerz, and from the sounds of it they were fighting off every gang at once. Dane didn’t imagine they’d last long.

It was hard for him to picture what this meant for Saints Row – it wasn’t like there was much property down there worth defending. But he didn’t envy Darcy. She seemed anxious enough when a new gang sprang up across the city from where she lived. Now she was basically living at ground zero.

He offered her a job again. She said no again. She didn’t even meet his eyes. These days she wasn’t so much quiet at in lockdown. He asked her to come to his apartment, where they could talk more freely. She said no.

She kept coming to meet him though. Spent most of her time staring out of the window, but she came. And then sometimes he’d look up and she’d be staring at him like he was the most important thing in the world. He was never quite sure what to do when that happened. She never said anything – just went back to staring out of the window, shortly afterwards.

It occurred to him that she might die. Suddenly, while he was getting dressed for work one day. He’d never really thought about it before, not even when she was in the hospital, but she might die, and he wouldn’t even know about it. He’d just miss a call from her, miss a lunch, not be able to find her even if he called the hospitals. He’d never know for sure.

He went back to tying his tie. There was nothing he could do about it. And Darcy was pretty good at not dying.

The news reports…got worse. Dane had assumed that, like the ‘Westside Rollerz’ (no prizes for branding), the Saints would just want to push the other gangs out of their neighbourhood, and then leave it at that. But they didn’t. They seemed to be going after the Rollerz specifically. Blue racing cars were blown up in the middle of traffic, in the middle of the day. There were car crashes and pile-ups every day – liberally peppered with gunfire. A truck crashed directly into the Ultor Dome, and they were very lucky not to have significant structural damage.

Dane didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like they were consolidating territory, gaining a little batch of neighbourhoods they could hold. They were going after the gang, all over the city. Like they wanted a war. Or to wipe them out.

He wanted to ask Darcy about it. So badly. He called her, and she interrupted him to tell him not to call so much, it was making people suspicious, and then hung up. When they met, he opened his mouth to ask her to come over, and she looked afraid of what he was going to say, afraid to hear it. So he stopped trying.

Darcy sat at their lunches with a fist clenched, white knuckled. After a while she started having the most mechanical conversations with him he’d ever had in his life. And he’d made a lot of small talk. She talked so smoothly about things she was obviously barely even paying attention to. Sometimes she didn’t even look up from the window.

They couldn’t discuss what was happening on the streets, and she knew he didn’t like to talk about Ultor too much in public. So they discussed cars, sports. Civic issues.

He asked her once what she thought about Alderman Hughes, just out of curiosity. He assumed she’d be a Winslow girl, given his policies – but she actually didn’t give a fuck about either of them. Barely even recognised Winslow’s name when Dane said it. He asked her what she thought about the mayor’s promises to ‘revitalise’ the poorer areas of the city, including Saints Row. She smiled at him hollowly, and said it was a ‘nice idea’.

~ ~ ~

The fighting went on for months. Car crashes and gunfights nearly every week. The Saints weren’t going anywhere, but they weren’t making a lot of progress either.

Darcy got paler and paler, until she was almost a ghost of herself. Dane knew enough about stress to know there was only so long you could go until you either snapped or couldn’t feel it anymore. Especially if your situation didn’t get any better. He wondered which one she’d be. As for Ultor – well. The stores in the suburbs were calling again, and he was genuinely having to look into hiring a PTSD counsellor.

And that was just one problem. Employees kept having to take compassionate leave to bury their kids. The roads weren’t safe. Their trucks were getting hijacked. A couple of security guards got shot, in what Dane was sure was a very important territorial dispute, and they had to hire cover. And who they paid protection money to kept changing. Sometimes, they had to pay it twice, rather than risk a fight.

As the months went on, it became less and less clear that Ultor could weather this storm. Any business could survive problems for a little while, with good management – but there had to be a break some time, there had to be a chance to get back on an even keel. You couldn’t haemorrhage money forever. Their stock prices were going down, and down.

Dane did what he could. They focused on the flagship stores Downtown, on special promotions to draw customers there. He pushed for them to open the store in the Barrio, and they did – and it paid off. People seemed happier to walk the streets there than in the suburbs, which meant more footfall, and more people interested in shopping. And there were apparently a lot of residents newly flush with money, and ready to spend it.

But the fact remained that Saints Row’s problems had suddenly become the city’s problems, and no-one he knew knew quite what to do with it. Attitudes to Saints Row and the gangs had always been simple before – you ignored them. Now it wasn’t quite so easy.

That was never more clear than when a well-known attorney got run off the road in his own limousine. Dane’s entire office seemed to hold their breath the next day. News reports suggested the man had been dirty, maybe even pulling some strings within the Westside Rollerz themselves, and while that didn’t surprise Dane, the fact it had come back on him did. It surprised everyone.

It wasn’t all bad though. Dane’s immediate superior got caught in a pile-up and broke both her legs. Dane got a temporary promotion while she recuperated, and set out to make sure it wasn’t temporary.

A week later, the news reported that Saints Row was on fire. Dane…wasn’t really sure what to do with that. He wasn’t due to meet Darcy for another couple of weeks, and she’d asked him to stop calling. But she didn’t call him.

After a few days he gave in and gave her a call.

It rang for a little while. But then picked up.

“Danny,” Darcy said quietly, flatly. He almost didn’t recognise her voice.

“Darcy?” he said. He felt relief bloom in his chest – ignored it. “You okay?”

She sighed.

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice was raspy. She sounded tired. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Don’t call me, Danny,” she said, with no particular energy behind it. Then she hung up the call.

She was alive, at least.

The next day there were reports of a truck running wild in the city. Eventually it ran into a gas tanker, and they both blew up. Somehow the tanker’s driver survived, but it caused massive amounts of structural damage to the freeway. Leading to a long, long clean-up operation and an entire slip road being closed, messing with the traffic in Stilwater for the foreseeable future. But the news reports claimed that the last figurehead of the Westside Rollerz had been killed in the explosion, and most of the gang’s remaining leadership with him. The Westside Rollerz were done in Stilwater, and whatever grudge the Saints had against them was finished. Hopefully, it was all over.

He didn’t call Darcy, as she requested. Eventually she called him, sounding pretty subdued, and they set up another meeting.

He expected her to be relieved – although he supposed he didn’t know exactly what had happened over those days in Saints Row. She looked more ragged than ever, and just as pale. She stared out of the window most of the time, barely even seeming to notice him.

Dane watched her over his salad. She did not look like someone who thought it was all over.

That Monday he recommended Ultor consider bolstering their security across the city, if they could afford it.


17.

Things were quiet for a month or so. The news anchors almost didn’t know what to do with themselves, but Nick McGee’s antics were always around to fill the gap. And then two drug labs were blown up in Carnales territory. The work of a ‘lone bomber’, apparently. But everyone knew who was behind most of the random bombings in Stilwater.

Dane couldn’t understand it. Were the Saints after all the gangs? Were they after the whole city? He had to applaud their ambition, but…this was like nothing he’d ever heard of before. From some nobodies from the slums.

And it wasn’t like it wasn’t costing the Saints anything. Some names came up again and again – Little, Gat, Bradshaw, always involved somehow, always making some lucky escape. But there were considerably more who didn’t make it. A series of names and faces flashing across the TV screens, suspected to be associated with the Saints – and then reports that they were found dead, killed in a shootout, killed in an attack on another gang’s property. But the Saints just kept going.

When he saw Darcy again, she was – jittery. She looked about ready to snap. She kept clenching her fists and unclenching them, looking around like she’d forgotten to do something – then realising it was nothing, forcing her hands back down to the table again. Staring off into space.

They finished their meal quickly, and Dane suggested they go for a walk. She sped off down the street, barely even looking back at him. He jogged, slightly, to keep up. When they reached the end of the boulevard, he sat down, and watched her pace in front of him, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It took her maybe ten minutes to look up and catch him. Then she stopped herself, clenched her jaw, and balled her fist. Like she had to be ready for a fight.

“Come to my apartment, Darcy,” he said.

She glanced at him, and for a minute looked a little lost. Then, she sneered.

“Why, do you want some more advice?”

“Because you look like you could do with a talk.”

She looked at him doubtfully. Then looked away. She raised a hand to her face – and then forced it down again. She squared her shoulders, and her eyes hardened.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He took a breath and rolled his eyes.

“Are you?” he asked.

She glanced at him again. Then round at the street. There was no-one within hearing distance. She actually leaned forward and checked over the sea wall.

She leaned against it, heavily.

“I don’t know what they want,” she said, quietly.

Dane leaned forward. She was staring off into the water.

“What?”

“I don’t know what they want, I don’t – ”

She cut herself off and sighed, turning around. She looked – frustrated. And scared. The scar looked different, somehow, on that expression.

She glanced around the street again and straightened up.

“It’s nothing,” she said brusquely, turning back around to the water. “Forget it.”

He sighed.

“Come to my apartment,” he said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s nothing to do with you,” she hissed.

Which was what it always came down to. He wasn’t from Saints Row, so he wasn’t involved.

She looked back at him. Gave him a lingering up-and-down look. Then sighed and looked back out over the water.

He leaned against the backrest of the bench.

“Have you got somewhere to stay?” he asked. “Somewhere safe?”

“I’ve been staying with my cousin,” she said, shrugging uncomfortably.

He felt the breeze off the water in his hair.

“Good.”

~ ~ ~

The Barrio changed hands, again. It was considerably quicker than it had been the first time. But then came the gunfights. Ultor’s security department was getting calls night and day about them – because they were continuing night and day. If Dane thought he knew what a shootout was from the suburbs, he had no idea. ‘Siege’ might be a better term.

The clerks said even when the fights were nowhere near the store, they could hear gunfire, all day, until they were cashing up at night. People ran into the store just to get out of the way of the fighting – Dane figured it wasn’t an issue as long as they actually bought something. Then some days would be completely quiet because an entire street leading to the Barrio shops was a no-go area. The front lines moved back, and forth. And back. And forth.

His colleagues blamed him for pushing to open a store in the Barrio. He pointed out that the store had helped keep them on their feet when the suburbs were being torn up, and now they had to focus on getting the suburbs stores back in top condition again to help out with things in the South. It was Dane’s job, so largely people left him to it, to win or fail under his own steam. Which was largely how he liked it. It was tricky though, because if the Saints lost, the suburbs would probably be changing hands right back again – but for now they were out of the fighting, so besides the stores Downtown and in the Retail district, they were the safest bet. They were just lucky they didn’t have a store at the airport yet – you could only spin so many plates.

Saints Row got attacked again. He got into the habit of leaving the news playing while he worked these days. The reports were vague and alarming – first they just said the whole area had been cordoned off, then there were reports of armed gunmen, and then something about a rocket launcher.

He didn’t call Darcy. She’d asked him not to, so he didn’t.

Later reports claimed the Saints had survived the attack. All the big names at least. – Little, Gat, Bradshaw, some guy named Dex. But plenty of residents hadn’t. Plenty of Carnales too.

She called him after four days. Said she was fine, she’d been working when everything started and spent the night in a garage. She arranged to meet him for lunch in a couple of weeks.

He put the phone down and wondered whether she’d have a funeral, if she did die. Would he go to it? Would he even hear about it?

No, he figured. On both counts.

~ ~ ~

Darcy was quiet as usual, at their next meeting. No obvious injuries. But over the next few months, she changed. All the fear seemed to melt away, and only left anger behind it. Dane couldn’t tell f this was snapping or not feeling it anymore. She dyed her hair back to bright blue, and surprised him by starting to take off the hoodie when they met, and walked around. Her tattoos were on display, and she got a few new ones. A unicorn on her right bicep, rearing up, all muscle and hooves and looking like it wanted to skewer someone with the horn. A golden heart, over her own. He didn’t care about tattoos, but he didn’t wonder, now, if they were supposed to mean something. He noticed that the rose band was actually designed to look like it was pulled tight, the thorns cutting into her skin. It was a particularly striking image with all the taut muscle underneath.

She sized up everyone who passed their table like they were targets, including the waitresses. She probably gave a few of them nightmares. She was restless in a whole new way. Like a cat lashing its tail. Or a rattlesnake, rattling. But she never turned any of that aggression on him. She did give him a few more of those up-and-down looks than before, though.

He had his own problems. On top of everything else happening in the southeast, they’d started having problems getting their stock delivered. A lot of it was flown in from the airport, and had to be delivered to their warehouse, and then delivered back out to the stores – including the one in the Barrio. A lot of their drivers now refused to drive up out of the airport, given what was going on in the streets – or were no longer fit to do so. The rest had started getting hijacked en route.

According to them – the survivors – it wasn’t gang members attacking them, but ordinary citizens, taking advantage of the chaos. Every retailer who had stock delivered through the airport was having the same problem. And the police wouldn’t do anything about it, because they were too busy answering calls about gunfire.

They could have more things ferried in, but that meant hiring more trucks to get their goods to a port, and there were plenty of problems at the Docks too. And it meant matching up a lot of locations that a plane could hit much more easily, and – it was just a logistical nightmare. With all the paperwork and new transport fees, it was still cheaper to get things in through the airport. If they could only get the stock delivered.

Which left him with his only other plan, which was to move the stock in unmarked trucks, driven by the last people willing or desperate enough to do the runs, with some extra – security – to make sure they got there safely. Done off the books, so it couldn’t come back on Ultor.

Which gave him an idea.

“Do you know how I once said you should work security?” he asked, quietly, picking at his salad.

Darcy glanced up at him sharply.

She was obviously having problems, but he knew she was still working. She mentioned deliveries occasionally – and she hadn’t mentioned a genuine job in a while, but was apparently renting apartments, on and off.

“And how much you like driving?” he continued.

He looked up at her. She’d narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve got a suggestion for you,” he said. “I’d like to discuss it, in private.”

She scowled. She knew what that meant. ‘The apartment’. She studied him for a moment. He held her gaze. She finally nodded.

“You’ll need my new address,” he said lowly, looking down at his salad again.

She looked up, probably in surprise. He didn’t look up at her. Maybe if she came over more often, she would know when he moved.

“Call me after you leave and I’ll give it to you,” he said, taking a bite of his meal.

~ ~ ~

She turned up the following Monday, around eight, looking at him suspiciously as he opened the door. She took off her shoes and they went into the main room.

He saw her craning her neck at the ceiling, and smiled as he walked into the kitchenette.

“Drink?” he asked.

He looked up to see her nodding.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at him.

“Scotch?"

“Yeah.”

He poured them and brought them out into the sitting area. They sat down on the couches, and Darcy folded a leg up under herself.

“So,” she said, “what’s your suggestion?”

He smiled.

“It’s more of a job offer, really,” he said. She narrowed her eyes. “You make deliveries, don’t you?”

She kept her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been looking for people to make sure our stock gets from the airport to our warehouse in the retail district. We’ve had a lot of trouble on that route. And I was wondering if you’d be interested.”

She sat up a little straighter.

“Up through the Barrio?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

She looked frowned.

“It’s not the gangs that have been the problem – though, they’re not much fun, obviously. Our trucks keep getting hijacked, by the residents.”

She nodded slowly. Looked off to the side.

“They’re probably hungry,” she said.

Dane frowned. He’d never really considered why they did it.

“Well – whatever the reason, I need it to stop. I’m gonna have to go off the books on this one. And I figured – well, it sounds like stuff you do. And I know you. So I thought I’d give you first refusal. Or ask if you knew anyone else who’d be willing to do the job.”

She gave him a challenging look.

“What’s it pay?”

“$400 a run. Plus expenses.”

“You want me to drive?”

“No, I – can you drive a truck?”

She shrugged.

“Mom used to let me have a go on her Peterliner when I was younger,” she said. “I can usually figure my way out around smaller stuff. What model is it?”

“Uh – Mule. I don’t know. Whatever we can scare up.”

She looked dissatisfied with that answer.

“I’ll let you know when we have things in place. Anyway – I was thinking you’d more be there as security.”

She gave him a look.

“‘Security’?” she asked.

“Making sure the trucks get to the warehouse in one piece. No matter what’s in your way.”

She gave him a level stare for a few moments. He held it.

“And I get expenses?”

“Whatever you need,” he said.

She considered it for a few moments. Then she nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “But only against hijackers – I’m not going up against the gangs for you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said. “I know that’s a fight you can’t win. Just – try to go around them. Or past them, if you have to.”

She nodded in assent. Then sat back a little. She studied him for a second.

“Your bosses know about this?”

“They won’t care. They just want the stock to get through. It doesn’t matter how it gets done.”

She smiled. Took a drink of scotch.

“It won’t be me you’ll be dealing with. I’ve got to have clean hands on this one. I’ll pass your details onto the head of the project, and say one of my police contacts gave me them. She’ll give you a call sometime this week.”

She shrugged.

“Am I gonna be the only one gonna on these runs?”

“No, we’ll have a few teams, and you’ll have a driver, obviously. Not too many though – don’t want people noticing anything odd. And if you get caught, I won’t be able to help you. In fact, you’ll probably be arrested for hijacking our trucks yourself.”

She looked at him irritably.

“I won’t get caught.”

He smiled at her.

He sat back and drank his own scotch. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“So how’re things on the Row?” he asked.

She grimaced, and gave him a hard look. Then just glared at the coffee table.

“Everyone’s an asshole,” she muttered. She rubbed at her forehead.

“Is that particular to Saints Row?”

She gave him a sarcastic look.

“Right now, yeah.”

“What are the Saints up to?” he asked, sitting forward. “Are they trying to take over the city?”

She looked up at him, and then gave him one of those hollow smiles.

“They’re trying to stop the gangs fighting,” she said, brightly.

He blinked at her.

“What?”

She nodded, losing all but the traces of her smile.

“They’re gonna save the city, by getting rid of all the other gangs.”

“So…what? They’ll be the only game in town? No – no more turf wars.”

She nodded. He sat back. Wow.

“Well that’s a…creative approach to the problem.”

She was back to staring at the coffee table. Like she wanted to scorch a hole through it.

“So they’re starting shit, and now we’re expected to be grateful for it.” She was rubbing at her right arm – where the unicorn tattoo was. “Every motherfucker on the Row’s jumping on the bandwagon. ‘We’re gonna save people, we’re gonna show those gangs!’ It’s fucking horseshit. Never seen so much goddamn purple as when they wiped out the Rollerz. And those assholes – the fucking wannabes – they want to show how much better they are than the rest of us, that they deserve to be in the gang. So they dress up, slap hookers, kick the shit out of anyone who looks at them wrong, and what can you do, what can you do when they’re wearing purple – !”

She cut herself off. Closed her eyes.

He watched while she gathered herself.

“Nobody cares,” she said. “Nobody really gives a fuck. But they’re trying to get the whole Row involved. “Stand up for your neighbourhood!” It’s shit.”

He paused for a moment. Sipped his drink.

“Is your dad okay?” he asked. “Your cousin?”

She tensed a little, looking at him warily. Then relaxed and nodded.

“They’re fine,” she said. “They’re staying out of the way. It was –”

She sighed, closing her eyes again. Then glared at his blinds.

“It was easier with the other gangs. They just wanted the drugs. Or the brothels. Or for you not to step to them. These guys…I don’t know.”

She looked lost, again, staring into space. He suspected he was hearing her real feelings on the matter. Which suggested just how bad things were.

She closed her eyes again, and took a breath. When she opened them, they were stony again.

“So it’s fucked up,” she finished, looking at him.

He nodded.

“You think they’ll win?” he asked.

“The Saints?”

He nodded. She looked away again.

“I don’t know,” she muttered.

It was pretty amazing they’d gotten this far.

“They’ll be after Ben King next, won’t they?”

Her brow twitched, and he supposed it was the closest she ever got to a flinch. She glanced, slightly, around his apartment.

“He won’t let that happen,” she said. But she didn’t sound sure.

~ ~ ~

They showed the southeast on the news sometimes. Not for very long – no-one really cared – but they showed it. The whole place looked like a ghost town. There weren’t many people on the streets, and anyone who was was clearly heading somewhere else very quickly. The gang members were behind windows, broken-down doors, just out of sight. He could see buildings literally crumbling – couldn’t tell if they were stores or houses.

But Ultor’s stock started getting delivered to the warehouse. The trucks were battle-scarred, as often as not, but they got there. So Dane’s superiors were happy. And he could get on with running the actual stores again. Darcy’s settling in was apparently a little bumpy – she went through a few drivers at first, and all she’d tell the project manager about it was that they ‘hired a lot of pussies’. Eventually, though, she found someone who suited her, and they became one of the project’s most reliable teams. She was also apparently a great help in keeping the trucks running without having to bother any outside mechanics. And at their lunches, she talked about staying in the same apartment from one month to the next, so as far as Dane could see it all worked out for everyone.

Things were quiet for a few months, more or less. Then one of the leaders of Los Carnales got murdered – assassinated, apparently, and the police claimed they’d gotten hold of a large chunk of the gang’s drug supply. As far as Dane was aware, drugs were the Carnales’ main business in Stilwater, so he hoped that meant things would be over for them pretty quickly.

It was never that simple though. A strip club got shot up in Carnales territory, and the police suspected the Saints were involved. Dane didn’t know what it meant, but Darcy had a run the following day, and the project manager informed him they may need another driver for her again soon.

Things settled down, happily, and nothing came of it. But a few weeks later Saints Row got attacked. Dane didn’t call, again. Darcy apparently turned up for a run, the same as ever, the following week.

The shootouts gradually started moving further South, from what Dane could piece together from news reports and information he was getting from the police department. Again, Dane hoped it would be coming to a head soon.

Then the Saints blew up a police station. His contacts certainly didn’t see that coming. That feeling of panic came back over the office, over everyone Dane met. They stole a lot of drugs, apparently – all of the stock that had been taken from the Carnales. Another business changing hands. Dane wondered how that was supposed to stop turf wars in the city.

Controlling the supply, he supposed.

Then the airport blew up.

The silent panic reached a crescendo. Not least because a good chunk of people were suddenly ‘trapped’ in Stilwater, without warning. The following few days were a strange, queasy experience.

News reports came out suggesting that a plane had taxied into the terminal. Further news reports suggested the plane had belonged to the final leader of the Carnales, Angelo Lopez. Then they reported that they’d pulled his body out of the rubble. For all intents and purposes, the Carnales were gone in Stilwater.

There were still reports of gunfights on the news, but minor compared to what they’d already seen. It was clear the Saints were just cleaning up. And suddenly things were quiet in the southeast. Quiet in the city. Ultor cleaned up the Barrio store and reopened it. Hired new staff – lots of people were desperate to work.

The airport ran a very limited service – just deliveries of cargo, on its furthest airstrips. Dane strongly suggested Ultor use whatever money they had spare and do a few favours to support its rebuilding, and make sure their cargo was top priority. Which it was – right after the planes flying in from Colombia.

Everything was damage control, damage control, damage control. Do what they could with the stock they could get in. Dane’s mother sent him the contact details of some of the shipping companies she worked with, and that was a great help. They stood by Alderman Hughes as he made speeches about the ‘terrible, destructive greed’ of gangs in the city, and all the lives lost, and they made a few more friends in City Hall.

Ben King was also there for those speeches. In a black suit, with a yellow tie. Dane carefully didn’t stare at him for too long.

Two down. One to go.

Part 3
Part 4