[center][hr][url=https://fontmeme.com/cool-fonts/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171210/ec82ff83bed1b5364f94dab3b09e89f3.png[/img][/url][hr][color=B22222][h3]Downtown Sol City, Undisclosed Location - Early Friday Morning[/h3][/color][hr][/center]

Work for a cartel could be one of the more dangerous jobs in the force and showed how varied every police officer was. Some unlucky sobs could be stuck as a traffic officer or bike patrol for most of their career. Those sort of duties were boring but were sought after by the cowardly men and women who shied away from the hard choices and dirty work. And there was a lot of dirty work to be done around here. The mayor, though kind, had allowed some unsavoury characters to fill the urban streets and some of the suburbs due to his own weakness. They were scum of the Earth, as far as most officers went. There was no mercy for many of the criminals here, a hardline attittude adopted by most during their first few patrols. One can easily see the corruption that seeps in the underground of this fair city if one knows where to look. This corruption was headed by several men. Gangsters, hoodlums and cartel snobs that thought the city was ripe for the picking. They were the predators and the citizens were the unfortunate prey. Many active officers wished they could face this corruption and take them down but due to the mayor's own inaction and his leash on the Police Chief, only the undercover officers could do any real work.

Sure, the normal officer can take down a few crooks a day or some detective could link a crime to a top mafia member to bring him down but the undercover boogeymen were the ones who did the work. They brought the evidence, gained the trust of influential criminals and they were the ones who eventually brought them down. They led second lives, strained their existing relationships and went down the loner's path to achieve victory. Sometimes, these lone wolves would fail but the rewards were all too sweet. They were the silent ones, tough enough to stand amongst the worst the city can offer. The negative psychological impacts were plenty, many undercover police could fall too deep in their second lives and were too disfunctional to work in the force. Some fell to the level of the scum they worked with and some... well, some could be found. These unlucky bastards weren't killed. They were maimed, laid broken for the rest of their lives as a reminder to those silent few that dared to infiltrate the ranks of dregs. But that didn't stop them, it merely fed their silent anger. It was here, where the death danced in your shadows and the worthless scum surrounded you, that those brave few thrived.

One such police officer stood under a broken lamplight, arms crossed and gaze forwards. The dark figure had been working as a bodyguard for the Delossantos Cartel. They were a jack of all trades sort, trafficking humans, drugs, firearms and anything of value. They were known for being incredibly strict in their recruitment and as far as the law was concerned, Margaret Delossantos was a clean lady who had little criminal links beside her grandfather. But he knew better. She was shrewd and cunning, able to evade police and keep assets safe without any visible connections with any of her traffickers. She was the figurative Queen around these parts but had lacked the muscle to beef her influence. That was where Jamal came in. His fake name was Jimmy Ray, from the major African American apartment comnplexes in the inner city. He was a thug but smart, knows his way around the city and can talk to the right people to get what he wanted. This disguise piqued Margaret's interest and he was fast becoming a trusted member. The closer he could get, the more evidence he could gather.

Jamal stopped himself from rubbing his eyes. He was given a job to transfer two grey duffel bags from one of the hideouts to a marked car. He wasn't informed of the contents and was warned from opening them by the one who gave it to him. He had just grunted. He knew how this worked, this was a loyalty test, probably issued from Margaret herself. Test if he was going to double cross her. The cop almost snorted in her arrogance. Like any self-respecting undercover officer would fall for a bait so obvious. A blue Honda Civic that has seen better days began tutting down the road he was on. The mark changed every two weeks, differentiating normal cars and cars which were owned by the cartel. Marks differed depending on what the car was used for. A pink 'Hello Kitty' sticker was proudly stuck on to the dashboard of the oncoming car. He grimaced. A money dealer was approaching him and guessing by the weight of the bags, the man was going to be rich very soon.

The officer picked the two duffel bags up, the weight not bothering him the slightest. The Honda pulled up to him, the tinted windows rolling down to reveal a bald, rat-like Latino teen. He looked Jamal up and down and snorted. [color=khaki]"So you're the one eh? One of the new muscle pussies that Margie picked up from the hood."[/color] The boy snickered, as if amused by the weak insult. [color=khaki]"You look like the steroid-filled version of Bob fucking Marley [i]hermano[/i]. Raggedy ass motherfucker."[/color]

Knowing that he was probably going to have to look tough, responded in a hard tone [color=IndianRed]"You're what, fifteen? Your momma sick of yo' ass sittin' on her couch, watchin' Mickey Mouse? Shut the fuck up, I eat kids like you for breakfast."[/color]

Mickey, a nickname he was going to call the kid, just snorted harder. Some mucus escaped his nose and he hastily wiped it away. [color=khaki]"'Least I don't look like a fuckin ape [i]hermano[/i]. You look like one of those soft types, you know? The weightlifting, grunting types but on the inside, you love the big banana. Mmmmmm, the big banana likey likey, aye big boy? Big banana wanty wanty?"[/color]

The undercover officer just sniffed and dropped a bag to open the door. [color=indianred]"Fucker, the more you talk about big bananas, the more I think you're obsessed with it. It's like you're a closet [i]puto[/i]."[/color]

[color=khaki]"The only [i]puto[/i] here is you, big boy. You look like the sum of the Jackson 5 and a male prostitute divided by Freddy Mercury's AIDS [i]hombre[/i]."[/color]

[color=indianred]"That didn't make any fuckin' sense and you know it Mickey. Pass first grade maths first before you use the word 'sum', dumbass."[/color] Jamal retorted back, growing tired of the banter that the teen was encouraging. [color=indianred]"Are ya gonna shut yo' mouth or are ya gonna keep yappin' with that mouth of yours? No wonder yo' momma got sick of yo' Mickey watchin' ass, couldn't stop talking about loving Donald Duck at the dinner table."[/color]

The boy just glared at him back and turned his nose, a little put out by the last roast. Jamal opened the side door and placed the two bags inside, ignoring the waft of musky smells coming from the backseats. He slammed the door shut and stepped back, expecting the teenage drug dealer to just leave.

Instead, the boy looked at him again with the a challenge in his eyes. [color=khaki]"You think you're tough [i]hombre?[/i]"[/color]

He just nodded, unsure of where this was going.

The bald, Mickey Mouse watching teen took something out of his pocket. A crumpled up police badge was placed in his hand, blood around the edges. A Delossantos invitation. [color=khaki]"Margie wants you on her fuckin' pussy parade in the party today. The one that the mayor's hosting for all the people in this shit town. I dunno why, you look like some pussy meathead to me, but apparently you've sucked enough cock to climb the ladder. She's gonna make some beef with the mayor about somethin', something about some ninja pigs sniffing around her territory or some shit. Margie wants some pussy muscle there to project her power while she deals with it."[/color]

Marshals? He had heard of some marshals passing through a year ago but Jamal had been so immersed in his cover that he hadn't been in the office for weeks. More of those governmental snobs? He snorted, stuffing the invitation in his jeans pocket. [color=IndianRed]"I'll see what the boss lady wants then. For now, try not to get yo' punk ass caught by the pigs. That dough is important Mickey boy."[/color] With that halfhearted warning and a one fingered salute in response, the Honda sputtered to life and sped away. He kept his eyes on the car as it turned the corner before putting his hood up, preparing for tomorrow. He had a serious opportunity and Jamal Jamali wasn't dumb enough to pass it up.

This type of power play was almost unheard of. Margaret Delossantos' arrogance has gone above her head. This could be a mere threat but any further and he might need to interfere, blowing his cover. The officer sighed and decided to play with it. If anything, it was a chance to climb the ranks and gain more trust. Trust he could use to take his target down. It was his time to dress up and play the big boy.
[center][hr][color=B22222][h3]Centre Point - Friday Evening[/h3]
[sup][@PrinceAlexus] or anyone in the area[/sup][/color][hr][/center]The task was simple really. Delossantos' men were to mingle, flexing their muscles while looking as intimidating as possible. They were gonna walk around and make sure that their right sleeve patch, the red cross shield on a black background, could be seen as obvious as possible. She wanted to show that she controlled the downtown, not some weak mayor. Simple power play and a little covert but incredibly arrogant. Jamal exited the black sedan near Centre Point accompanied by three other meatheads like him. He hadn't bothered to learn their names, they were thugs without a doubt. He frowned at the lack of obvious police presence that was in the area but reasoned that it was like this every year. Why would there be? There hasn't been a power play like this since... ever. There hasn't been anyone ballsy enough to try it. Not that the average citizen could tell what the patches actually meant but the mayor did.

The undercover officer wore a black tuxedo, fitted to be as showy as possible. If you asked him, it was almost suffocating in this ridiculous suit. But was fitting in all the right places and he could appreciate a nice suit when he saw one. He ignored the complaints of the three other musclemen in tight suits and quickly swaggered away from them. The sooner he got away from them, the better. This was one of the simpler jobs he has done for the Delossantos Cartel but was also one of the most dangerous. What if the mayor lost his cool at all these thugs present and called for an arrest? Could he handle another officer? Could he fake an arrest and a successful trial or would it be too suspicious for the cartel? He smoothed the creases at the bottom of his jacket and sighed. He couldn't worry about this in a simple job like this. All he had to do was to look intimidating or at least give an imposing impression upon people. And flash the patch whenever he got the chance of course. 

[color=IndianRed][i]'I can settle there.'[/i][/color] A lamppost near the bank was where Jamal eventually took place. He noted his companions from the cartel setting up in their own positions, stuffing their hands in their pockets or staring ominously at any wall opposite. He resisted to snicker, they almost looked comical to the seasoned police officer. He crossed his large arms and leaned against the pole, surveying the area. It was quickly filling up with people, dressed to the nines. These were not poor people, he told himself. These were the normal citizens of Sol City, the people he was supposed to protect. He nodded at a few people who passed him but they either shied away from his intimidating presence or just ignored him completely. He noted the pair of girls near the bank, taking a picture of themselves. A selfie, it was called? He found his eyes lingering for a little long on them before averting his eyes. He didn't know if they saw him staring but he hoped not. It would be an easier job if no one approached him. At all.

Knowing himself, he would have no such luck.