[center][hr][url=https://fontmeme.com/cool-fonts/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171210/ec82ff83bed1b5364f94dab3b09e89f3.png[/img][/url][hr][color=B22222][h3]Centre Point - Friday Evening[/h3]
[sup][@PrinceAlexus], [@Rabidporcupine], [@valckyriie], [@Pilatus], [@aladdin_sane], [@Silver Fox], [@Almathia] or anyone else who wants to mess with Jamal[/sup][/color][hr][/center]
If you spent long enough as a police officer, you get to discover the traits which a person has when they are "scared". Even subtle ones got easier to notice. Twitchy fingers, tapping feet, gulping, coughing and scratching. When dealing with criminals who were not used to be locked up, fear was a common reaction to the sight of the police approaching. Begging, crying and lots of denial. As a thug, it was much the same thing when most normal people looked at him. They averted their eyes or paused in their conversation slightly. Most just tried to avoid his gaze. Jamal had to give it to this Russian girl however. She was holding quite well, despite the slight tremble in her eyes. It was unusual for a girl two feet taller than him to be able to talk to him so confidently, it was commendable. [color=IndianRed][i]'Definitely trained.'[/i][/color] he thought, giving a little grunt of acknowledgement for her mistake. But as she turned away, his thoughts broke away from something as simple as observation. Her response brought more questions than answers and his mind began filling up with thoughts. She wasn't aware of who he was working for? Any self-respecting Mafia member would inspect and research the area they would be working in before entering a city. The name Delossantos held weight in the underground of Sol City (and the cities which surrounded it but he was yet to confirm that) so only the inexperienced would come here without any recognition of the name. He narrowed his eyes at the girls back as she walked away to her friend. She wasn't a normal girl but it was likely she wasn't a criminal either.

The undercover officer glanced back over his shoulder at the pair he was looking at earlier. The woman seemed to be talking with another man, a muscular figure but was definitely a civilian. Despite the calluses which adorned the man's hands, there wasn't enough grit in his eyes. The elderly man still looked suspicious however, those eyes were far too sharp. Maybe a smuggler? Some sort of criminal which goes in and out of cities all the time? A trafficker perhaps? This "family" posed so many questions that it was starting to annoy him. There were too many unknowns and two conflicting sides that told two very different stories. He internally groaned and wished that he had invested more in working with the Investigation department. Those nerds could solve a case of multiple suspects, locations and victims with contradicting evidence in what seemed like a jiffy. That type of skill would have been useful right now. Alas, beggars could not be choosers and he would not be caught near any police stations in the foreseeable future. Would've been too suspicious and as previously mentioned, the man was paranoid to a fault. He narrowed his eyes at the back of the leaving girl, frustrated at the amount of questions she made instead of answers. Approaching her now would be too forward, too aggressive. The police around here already seemed jumpy enough and the party had become a powder keg waiting to explode.

And a drugging? So more criminals, potential rivals, were bound to show up in the party. If he wasn't so frustrated by the conundrum the girl posed, Jamal would have pitied the girl in her past experiences. Things like that were all too common in this city, despite the glamourised reputation it held. But if people like those scum, powerful fools, got to do their merry way with the citizens he was sworn to protect, he sometimes doubted if the glamour of Sol City could be upheld. It was his job to make sure it was safer after all and nothing seemed to make things better. And mysteries like this girl and her connection to previously mentioned pair just made the job a whole lot harder. He wasn't pleased by this turn of events, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in mute frustration. His lips turned thin as he absentmindedly walked through the crowd, doing his job as an intimidating grunt while thinking about the future of his city. He barged through the crowd, nudging a drunkard in his way who thought it would be funny to sing "Santa Baby" to him. By "nudge", the finely dressed drunk tumbled out of his way and into a sitting woman's lap. The female cop did not look pleased.

Jamal walked in and around the crowd, noting that his fellow companions had been doing the same but one of them seemed to come closer to him. Taken out of his thoughts, he set himself in character and nodded at the approaching man. He was tall, bald broad shouldered and had darker skin than him. He looked far more serious than the other two but he was still a thug. Arrested for possession of a firearm and crystal meth, he was still a criminal but was tolerable to work with. The man grabbed his arm and took him away from the crowd, pulling him to the darker parts of the town as he protested. The bald man came to a stop andhe made a show of brushing the man off, pulling his arm out of his grip. The man just glared at his fake bravado. At least he took his job seriously.

"Boss lady says we have a situation so you need to stop it with the showy movements, dumbass. The police are looking now." Jamal snorted loudly. It wasn't as if they weren't already aware of their presence. [color=IndianRed]"With our tall black asses? Cops have had us sniffed ever since we came into this fuckin' shindig. Racist assholes."[/color] He faked a glare towards an officer who was lingered his eyes on him for too long. The blonde man turned his head and the actor smirked. It was a newbie mistake to let your eyes linger for too long. His private moment of amusement was broken by a sharp slap to the side of his head. He glared at the man opposite to him who just glared back in return.

"Keep focused idiot, we have a job to do and I got shit to tell you. Some one percenters were seen approaching this here party and more boys are coming 'round to back us up. They're escorting some limo or some shit, probably some big shot one percenter. If those ballsy bastards think they can show her up, we're gonna prove that we have the biggest cocks in town. If it's a dick measuring contest they want, they're gonna get it. Twelve more boys are waiting in their cars, unmarked and tinted. They're loaded with some new shit that Boss Lady got from out of town. If a turf wars gonna happen, we're gonna teach those inbred, redneck Bubbas how we fight. You ready newbie? If shit goes down and people are killed, I don't need no inexperienced new guy freezing up."

The secret officer just scoffed confidently, even as his mind raced a hundred miles an hour. [color=IndianRed]"I got this shit motherfucker, I ain't no fuckin' New Guy."[/color] The bald man nodded and left, going through the crowd once more. Jamal swore under his breath. This was not how he wanted this to go down. More thoughts ran through his mind. What would he do, if the "shit" truly went down? If things went sideways and he had to fight? What would the officers do, shoot at them? All it took was trigger happy officer and it would become a three way fight. Hell, what would those "Russians" do? Run? Fight? What if they had their own piece in this shit cake? A headache started to form, a dull aching pain starting to come over him. He rubbed his temples, taking another walk through Centre Point. This was starting to go above his pay grade and he considered playing the part of coward and running it. Better to ask for forgiveness later rather than potentially dying for a woman he hated and had no respect for. This was a frisky situation.

Jamal spent his walk trying to keep make a decision and before he knew it, he found himself nearing the entrance. He stood under a lamplight, crossing his arms and scanned the crowd. There were a pair of dancers in the middle of the square but he couldn't see over the mass of the crowd. But he did see one of his companions moving towards the dance floor like an idiot. The cardboard atrocity was out of his sight, so were the three "Russians" and their civilian company. A few new arrivals were of interest. A redheaded beauty had entered the party, catching a few glances with her striking hair. She approached another woman who was currently busy... staring? A pale man started to approach coffee table. Another, more scarred man (woman? he couldn't tell) walked into the square and he found himself gazing up at the giraffe human. He/She was freakishly tall and would have been intimidating if it wasn't for the warming atmosphere he/she seemed to make. Someone with such clear innocence was a sight for jaded eyes, warming his cold heart for a second. What a sweet girl. This small moment of warmth was interrupted by a server who started to walk towards him.

The darker man glared at the server and they swiftly turned, walking as swiftly as they could away from him. Jamal turned his gaze towards the entrance and saw a blonde woman of noteworthiness. She carried herself with confidence and scanned the crowd. Those were the eyes of no mere civilian. His eyes locked on to hers and it clicked. Marshal. He had been informed during his op about a few marshals operating within the city and to be wary of them. He had been shown pictures. They were not "in" on his cover and were more observant than the average policeman. He quickly averted his eyes and walked off, hoping that she didn't do anything. Unfortunately, his luck seemed to have run out a few days ago.

Two weirdly dressed men walked out of a limo, not as lavishly dressed as others in the party but seemed to have the confidence that could only come with wealth. Similarly dressed men began to surround them even as one of the men proudly proclaimed his arrival to the crowd. Jamal connected the dots. Limo? Were these the one percenters that he had been warned about? Warning sirens went off in his head as he watched one of his companions approaching the supposed one percenters, not noticing their arrival. He had to keep their attention away from them or risk a gang war starting in the middle of the party. He strode towards the group of opposing gang members, his mind churning for ideas. But situations seemed to love throwing themselves at him.

He knocked into someone on his walk. He helped them up and apologised but his eyes never left the group ahead of him. However, the other pair of eyes noticed the mistletoe hanging on the lamppost they stood under.

Poor Jamal.