A dark blue low-rider rode through the streets, the convertible roof was down and the sounds of hip hop music could be heard loudly coming out of the stereo. The driver, a heavily tattooed man had one hand on the wheel and the other over the side of the door. With each drum beat of the song his fingers tapped the exterior of the door. His hair was slicked back, sunglasses over his eyes, a smirk on his face. Sirens sounded in the distance as a helicopter could be seen. Deacon Roberts gave it once look as he stopped at a red light. He still followed driving laws, it would be embarrassing to be arrested  for running a red light.

As soon as the traffic light went green he pressed the gas hard, the engine revved and his car sped ahead. Heads turned in his direction at the action, many of them in the poor neighborhood recognizing Deacon Roberts as he drove back to his gang's hideout. He pulled into a parking spot, turned off the engine then yanked the shades off his head before he slid them into the glove compartment, right in front of some narcotics in clear baggies. 

With a whistle, Deacon exited his car and walked leisurely towards the front of the building. His Blue Street underlings all stared at him as he approached, some smiling, others standing up. He walked right past them, all but acknowledging them with a simple wave. They weren't why he had come back to the hideout, the real beauty stood on the rooftop awaiting his return. His twisted flower, right hand gal. He'd been infatuated with her the moment he laid eyes upon her all those years ago. Had to have her, and he got her alright. No other man would even look at her the wrong way, she was his obsession and his her's. 

Deacon stopped the whistling as he made his way to the top of the building. He approached her in the same stride as before, his shoes clicking against the concrete of the rooftop. He just stared at her as he walked, admiring every inch of her body, each tattoo he had made her get. He paused a few feet behind her, though he was certain Maria knew he was there.

"Oh honey, I'm home." He said, doing his best impression of a 1950's husband speaking to his housewife. Deacon extending his arms out as the words left his mouth.