[i][center][h1][color=f26522]TONDE[/color][/h1][/center][/i]

	A night club, a bar, a restaurant, a quote-unquote "gentleman's club;" Tonde was many things, but most importantly, it was neutral ground. Without regard for who they worked for or where they came from, criminals of every variety and background had a habit of gracing Tonde's walkways. That even included those at the top of the proverbial food chain, if rarely. Usually, though, there was at least one major player within the city choosing to enjoy some manner of Tonde's many offerings.

Tonight, that man was Patrick Peterson. An older man, and one of few unafraid to show it, Patrick was a somewhat round and bald-headed man. The last of his hair hung from the sides of his head, short and mostly gray. While he didn't need them, he had a habit of wearing glasses with dark lenses. Where many men and women chose to wear their money as artificial youth, he chose a more traditional show of wealth. With a suit, fitted with diamond cuffs and gold buttons, perfectly fit to his frame with a thread count at the limit of what can be created by human hands. If nothing else, Patrick was a man of refined taste and excellent judgement.

Which suited Michael just fine, as Patrick was one of the only crime lords on the planet with his number. That, of course, was the reason Michael was present at all. Tonight's affair was fairly straightforward, if somewhat tedious. Patrick had hired him to act as a bodyguard-something he'd done a dozen times before, and would likely do again as the man paid very well-during a business transaction between himself and an informant. As per the usual, someone had gotten their hands on valuable information, and Patrick was offering them a very large sum of untraceable money to find out what that information was.

That whole business was over with, and had been for nearly an hour. Patrick, known to celebrate, had ordered foie gras with filet mignon and truffles. A meal fit for royalty, but one that takes time to prepare and longer to eat. Given the selection of brandy Tonde offered, though, Michael was happy to stay the extra time. He had even considered joining Patrick for his meal, but then something happened.

Given his assignment, Michael had chosen a spot where he could see the front door. The usual crowd had come and gone, much like the contact Patrick had met. No one looked any more suspicious than anyone else had, until those three. The first one was a big fellow, a bruiser if ever there was one. Muscle was a common sight, especially in a place to look for work. After him followed a woman, tall but seeming short next to the man. She was attractive, in the way only a mature woman could be. Whoever she was, she was not to be trifled with; Walking into a place like this, without a shred of hesitation, was not something just any woman could do.

And then the cop walked in.

He wasn't in uniform, and he had no badge to be seen. Still, in a hole filled with rats, it's fairly obviously when a cat walks in. There was something about the way they carried themselves, a kind of certainty that very few could hide. This one was too tall and a little too lean. In fairness, Michael couldn't take all the credit for noticing him. Others around the bar took notice, the easily spooked crowd making themselves scarce. From the looks of things, he was carrying a hidden weapon, based on the reaction of those with obvious cybernetic eye enhancements. Those looking to work as bodyguards found that particular upgrade generally worth the pay increase, though Michael was not personally a fan of such gadgets.

That alone wasn't enough to prompt a response, though. Some were getting scared and running, but that happened almost every time someone walked in. Though it had a reputation, Tonde was still a legitimate business, completely unconnected to all the crime that went on under its roof. This could be something as simple as an officer looking for a place where his authority would be respected to impress guests, or as elaborate as an exchange of information between two interested parties.

When Patrick waved the three of them over, Michael had a feeling he knew which it was. Patrick, after all, was a man known for making himself available to those looking for what he had to sell. Either he thought this was a good chance to offer his services, or he knew these people were coming and had waited specifically for them. Whichever it was, Michael knew it was time to get closer. Until now, he'd remained open to the world. Patrick didn't know he was there either way, and Michael was quite good at blending in, even without his ability. Now that it was active, though, nothing except the rubber ring on Patrick's finger would give the slightest indication he had ever been there, let alone was there still.