11. Upstairs in the foreman's office, Sciorrenzo sat in attendance with a number of other local drug barons throughout the sprawling Pacific Northwestern regions. Assembled with Monty, Hattrick, Denesia and Sakuya, the fat old crone clinked a fork against a wine glass, emanating a crisp humming ring. With their attention gathered, Sciorrenzo began the meeting. "So as most of you know, we are here tonight in attendance to come to terms with a particularly… troubling issue." Nods of agreement, murmurs beneath the dull tobacco-scented air. "Even now as we speak, there are a number of informants present down below, among all those fucking jive-dancing faggots and furry pricks. Most of these cocksuckers are currently unaccounted for, snooping around in hopes of getting their grimy spic paws on heavy contraband that we've struggled for many months to conceal from prying eyes." Sciorrenzo grunted, pointing through a large mesh-screened window that looked down upon the primary carving floor below, now littered with drug-fueled crazies, dancing their lives away. He shook his head with disgust, cleared his throat, hocked deep and spat a bloody-green luger on the floor. Denesia cringed and groaned to himself while the others seemed to take no notice. Sciorrenzo looked at the partners and cracked a dismal smile, fraught with evil. "Little do they know that they won't be getting a goddamned thing. We've all sent our own men - and women - in to retrieve, with no hope and no avail. This is a decoy, a contrived effort to weed 'em out and knock 'em down into the dirt, so that our current operations can't possibly be compromised by their belligerent bullshit. Can I get an A-MEN, brothers?" Sakuya nodded, folding his bony hands together, resting them upon his turgid breastbone. Monty and Hattrick both swigged down their glasses, filled to the brims with top-dollar liquor, illegally imported. "You sure they don't have any other tricks up their sleeve, sir? Y'know, like outside interference? Who's to say we aren't being spied on right now? Right out there, in those goddamned woods?" Denesia asked. "Indeed. Could be recipe for disaster. We not safe here, Sciorrenzo-San, not for long." Sakuya added, nervously rubbing at his elbows. "What more you need to be convinced, anyway?" "Well, at least we can get fucking hammered before then, eh?" Monty blurted out, gap-toothed guffawing grin pasted upon his cheeks. "Good enough for me, anyways! We'll get our grimy mitts on their nuts all in due time, sallies!" "Yeah, where'd dem hookers y'all promised us go to anyways, Sciorrenzo? I ain't seen a single sugar-mama up 'ere the whole time, man! I need me some pussy! Ain't no doubt 'bout it, dog!" Hattrick snorted from laughing, spinning his shot-glass like a toy top across the table's surface. Hattrick and Monty gave each other a high-five, snickering with sophomoric hilarity. "Both you mother-loving cunts should learn how to shut the fuck up." Denesia growled beneath his breath, stern frown rippling his aged canine brows into a V-shape. "Pussy for later, gentlemen. Right now we conduct business. Priorities first. You understand, black face?" Sakuya asked Hattrick condescendingly. "I'll show you business, you goddam stinking gook basta-" "Ah! That what I want hear all night! You give me reason to kill you now! You good man! Good man! Sciorrenzo, may I?" Sakuya asked, clapping his hands hard together. He placed one hand down on the table while the other resided against his hip, ready to whip out his piece and drop Hattrick in cold blood, yet another black body riddled with smoking bullet-holes. The fat, bald Italian slammed his fists upon the table, causing the ground to vibrate, even over the thumping bass-notes from downstairs. All four men froze in place, faces devoid of expression, eyes wide open and glued to Sciorrenzo, who was now fuming red with anger. A gunshot echoed from below, seemingly coming from the building's only bathroom. Denesia looked to the foreman's office doorway and nodded to a large renegade anthro with a carbine rifle and a toothpick jutting free from his canine-blackened lips. He returned the gesture with a nod of his own, looked toward the staircase that led up to the office and twirled his finger-paw in a horizontal circular motion. Movin' on out, boys! A tall and rather anorexic woman with an alarmingly pale-white complexion dressed in a swank black dress smiled wide and leaned up against a half-cut barrel filled with ice and various bottles of hard liquor. She giggled, winking at Sciorrenzo, suggesting bloodshed before the night grew long and dull. She took a peek towards a small broom closet located in the office. Soft feminine sobbing could be heard from within. "You need to understand something. All you fucking stupid nigger-bitches need to understand." Sciorrenzo pointed out the window down toward the dance floor. Hattrick scoffed and bit his lower lip, holding back a snide remark towards Sciorrenzo and his bullshit racism. "Somewhere out there is an old devotee of mine, a young pup I took in from the 'pen' when he had nowhere else to go. He was my best client, my go-to stick-up guy." Sciorrenzo shrugged, smirking. A glint of sadness reflected in his eyes for a brief moment. "Now? Why, now he wants to see me killed, one way or another. I've been responsible for things in the past, crazy things that have been done to him, that caused him to lose his trust in me. Can't say that I was ever proud of myself, but it was only what had to be done. You understand how such a motive of strife operates… right, gentlemen? I sure hope so." Sciorrenzo sniffed deep and hawked another luger against the windowsill, creaking his neck. Sciorrenzo's fellow drug and arms-dealer committee nodded in agreement, confirming their understanding. Hattrick gave Sciorrenzo a forlorn, untrustworthy gaze. He was about ready to bitch-slap this stupid midget cracker if the man didn't quit behaving so belligerently. "Before the night is over, I'd like to wipe the ground with that fucking coon-dog's brains. He won't come in here and expect to make it back out alive unless I have something to say about it directly, and there's a promise you can bet I'll keep!" Sciorrenzo hollered, rolling his fat-fingered hand into a large ball. "No matter what, Mr. B. is going to bite the dust and our enterprises won't - no, can't possibly be compromised." The gentlemen in attendance gawked at each other, issuing not a peep. Denesia broke the silence casually with a low voice, standing beside Sciorrenzo. "Even now as we speak, I've sent an order to my crew downstairs to retrieve this… 'Mr. B.' whom you speak of, sir. By all accounts, we should be in the clear before long and not have a damn thing to worry about. Business will continue as usual and this place, this mill, will stand true. It’s a perfect location anyways! No interference from the outside, no fucking pigs sniffing around, no restrictions or curfews. And the best thing?" Denesia rolled up a dollar bill and stuck one end into his hyena nostril. He leaned down toward the table and dragged the other end along a carefully-constructed line of cocaine placed upon a circular mirror, inhaling the powder with rapid speed. After he'd finished one line, he reared his head back, snorted, coughed and sniffed deep. He cracked an insane smile. "No fucking witnesses." Denesia's psychotic expression caused Sakuya to rear back with fright and Hattrick to damn-near piss himself. "In other words, boys…" Denesia placed the currency-tube into his other nostril and dragged it along yet another line of coke, inhaling deep. He finished, let the tube fall to the table, pinched a small ample amount of coke between his paw-padded fingertips, sprinkled it upon the crook of his thumb and forefinger-paw, snorted back a couple more hits, rubbed the remaining substance upon his gums and chuckled wildly. "This place is a fucking gold-mine." Sciorrenzo smirked, nodding sincerely, happy to see that he wasn't the only one intent on seeing the infiltrators burn at the stake. Just how long the process would take was what irked at Sciorrenzo's conscience. He wanted to murder Maxwell so much, but he wanted to do it correctly without any flubs in the bigger plan. Especially if it involved explosives. Sciorrenzo kept his stubby fingers crossed behind his back, staring out through the grimy foreman's office window, reassuring himself that Denesia's troops had things covered down below. Of course they did. How hard could it possibly be to take down one stupid fucking shep-coon hybrid?
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![Guadalupe [chpt.5]](https://va.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/1902/1902078_GratitudeAdvocate_guadalupechpt5.jpg "Guadalupe [chpt.5]")