"This is gettin' fookin' worse by the minute." Mickey grumbled sourly as he spat out the stub of his cigar onto his office floor, starting the first throws of a fit as he heard the goblin's story. Seemed like half the Woodlands building was out investigating the Dust trade, and it was pissing him off to no end. The stuff's profit margin was freaking amazing, but now he couldn't sell a damn ounce of the stuff with these little turds all going about sticking their noble noses into other people's business. Mickey swore up a blue streak as he fished out another cigar, cliping it and doing his best to light it while he went over the plan for how the hell he was going to deal with this.

"I ain't goin' back to bein' a fookin' nobody again. It's gonna be like the old days. Gonna be the damned best again. Jus' gotta deal wit' t'ese little shits..." He paused, rubbing at his stubbled chin. "Call up everyone. Hollis, Michaeles, Shrapes, Deych, Griffin, all of 'em. I want 'em payin' t'ese arseholes a visit. Want Boogey an' t'at little Nip bitch in boxes. Rozalin too if t'ey c'n manage it." The goblin was nodding vigorously with every word. He was a petty crook, desperate to keep the bills paid, and he was a good runner. Perfect for Mickey's line of work. He waited for the goon to leave the office before he picked up his phone and dialed The Boy Who Cried Wolf. He didn't bother waiting for Max to speak to deliver his message.

"Oi, laddy, best be stayin' clear of Boogey's place t'night. I'm sendin' some'a me boys t'shut him up, Momo too. Wouldn't want me best mate gettin' shot loike a fish in a barrel 'cos the trolls got trigger-happy."