There is no victory at bargain basement prices.
-Dwight D. Eisenhower
-Dwight D. Eisenhower
THE ARMS DEAL
Nestled away in the quiet suburb of Crestwood lies the massive complex that was once Crestwood Court. At one time the largest mall in the state, the shopping center fell on hard times and permanently closed its doors. Even as debate rages over what to do with the huge building, there are plenty who like to sneak in and get away from any prying eyes.
Today, however, it was not host to homeless vagrants or teenagers knocking back a few beers. Something darker was going on.
Several doors leading from the underground parking garage had long since been removed, so it had been trivial to drive vans and pickup trucks inside the mall itself. They were clumped together in what had once been the food court, waiting for the rendezvous, their headlights providing most of the light. Around twenty white men milled around, armed with assault rifles and submachine guns- and those were just the visible ones. The majority had shaved heads, and more than one sported a swastika tattoo.
As the would-be buyers approached the waiting neo-Nazis, their apparent leader broke into a broad grin. “Howdy, guys. Glad you showed up.” He opened the back of the panel van he had been standing next to, reached inside, held aloft a long olive-green tube for them to see. “The Carl Gustav M4 recoilless rifle. A Swedish 84 mm man-portable anti-tank weapon. We got thirty of these babies ready to go, and plenty of ammunition. All for the low, low price of a hundred grand per unit. A steal, really.” The man grinned, his teeth revealing his fondness for meth. “Got a pretty good idea why you want these. Just make sure and get The Golden One, right?” He and his men broke into laughter.
Cesare had made sure to stash a suitcase with three million in cash in the buyers' vehicle- but he had also done nothing to discourage them from bringing weapons. How they handled it was up to them.
ROY PATTERSON
Meanwhile, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Those who had gone to see Roy Patterson had reached their destination- the 26th floor of The Plaza in Clayton, one of the most exclusive residential buildings in the city.
The negotiating team was admitted into Patterson's condo by a dreadlocked man. His thick dark glasses and lack of eye contact seemed to suggest he was blind, but he showed no difficulty in getting around or finding anything- no cane, no dog, no guide. “Mr. Patterson be waiting on the balcony,” the blind man said, his accent unmistakably Jamaican. He led them through the tastefully decorated condo out to the balcony. There, a well-dressed man waited, bundled up against the chill of the day. The Jamaican hardly even seemed to notice the cold.
“My mind is not going to be changed,” Patterson said bluntly, his bass voice a deep rumble. “I respect Capizzi, but I am an independent operator. I don't want to get involved, my people don't want to get involved. That's all there is to it.” He sighed. “I'll pay you one million to leave me alone and use in your stupid war. Just don't expect me to fight in it.”
ARGUS
Unlike the other two meetings, Argus insisted on a public place- the World's Fair Pavilion, in Forest Park. Even with the cold weather, a few idlers and groundskeepers were still around the structure- possible witnesses if any violence broke out.
Cesare had told them that Argus would be identifiable by a red scarf- sure enough, an older man bounded over, red scarf flapping in the wind. He seemed excitable, kindly, but there was no mistaking the intelligence in his eyes or the purpose of the two burly men trailing behind him.
“Ah! So good to meet you! Thank you for coming!” Argus said excitedly in an Eastern European accent. He was around seventy, wiry and thin but still vigorous. In a fussy, fatherly way he reached out to zip up the open coat of one of his bodyguards. “You young people all think you're invincible,” he scolded. “You have to be careful of the cold! These drafts carry germs, you know!”
Argus turned back to the supervillains who had come to meet him with a grin. “I am Argus, the giant with a hundred eyes. A little joke, but only a little one. I used to work for the Securitate back in Romania- Ceaușescu's secret police. We spied on our own citizens, and believe me, we were quite good at it. We made your NSA look like amateurs, even with their fancy technology. Ha!” Argus barked a laugh. “Wiretaps, secret cameras, informants, all very good things to have in your position. Many people on the wrong side of the law pay me quite handsomely to find things out for them.”
“Now, I've been doing a little looking around on my own time, trying to find out what I can about The Coalition. Some of them are quite good at keeping their secrets, but there is one who is young and inexperienced and naïve.” He wagged his finger in mock scolding, before laughing again. “You guessed it. I figured out Damselfly's secret identity. I know everything about the poor dear- her name, her address, her Social Security Number, her bank account balance, even her bra size. I am willing to offer this information and my services in discovering the other's identities in exchange for a retainer of five million to cover my expenses.” Argus smiled. “I like you guys. I want you to win, and I think I can help you do that. Win-win, yes?”
