"Ah." Randy's smile was a razor's edge.
"I thought you looked familiar. You're a big shot from the Black Country Boys. What'cha doing all the way here in my city? Last I checked, the United Kingdom was halfway around the world."
As he spoke, Orson took out another cigarette, which was lit by his lieutenant with a silent, practiced motion.
He drew in a long smoke, butt flaring.
"Last I checked," He spoke, fumes puffing out softly.
"I'm not obligated to answer your questions."
Then he blew out a plume of ash, not deigning to look Randy's way.
"I'd advise you get a move along soon," he offered, his tone low and final.
However, Randy's sharp eyes shifted to Rainer and Rommel, catching the tell-tale glint of bronze on their hat pins.
"Hmm. Well, I'd never," he said with theatrical surprise.
"To think the GBGs' shadow has stretched this far..."
Rainer glanced at him, a smirk pulling on his lips.
"You sure did your homework, didn't you?"
Randy scoffed softly, tilting his hat.
"Son, between you and me—I'd say you look more like you should be doing yours at this very moment."
Rainer's smile widened as he glanced at the folder in Rommel's hand.
"Luckily, I already did mine on the way here."
Randy paused, his bravado faltering for a moment as he took a better, more measured look at the young man.
Rommel groaned, the sound dripping with raw impatience.
"Listen, Officer. We're simply distinguished men having a little chat. You standing around here isn't doing shit for any of us."
He then glanced back at Esmeralda, and his tone softened marginally.
"The lady's tired, and the child shouldn't be here. If you want to help, escort them home."
Randy licked his lips, his gaze following Rommel's to the lightly trembling woman.
Their eyes met and he tipped his hat.
"Ma'am."
"...Officer," she nodded back, her arms locked around Maple.
Offering a fleeting, gentle smile to the child, Randy glanced at his partner.
"Mia, come help them into my noble steed."
Mia rolled her eyes at the quip but approached without hesitation.
"Ma'am. Please come with us. You're safe now," she whispered, brushing a consoling hand across Esmeralda's arm.
Esmeralda nodded, casting one last, uncertain glance at the duo before being guided away.
Maple waved a tiny hand over her mother's shoulder.
Brows tense, Rommel fought to keep his expression neutral. Rainer, however, grinned and offered a small, confident wave in return.
Soon, they were secured in the back of the cruiser and the door thudded shut.
That done, Randy gave the men a final, pointed nod.
"Gentlemen. I'll be heading out now, but make no mistake. My gaze is now upon this neighborhood, and I'll be coming down on you like a fly on shit if you cause any trouble under my jurisdiction."
He slowly began walking backward, a faint, dangerous smile on his face.
"So be good, okay? At least, while I'm here." He winked, then turned on his heel to climb into his cruiser.
Soon, the cruiser roared to life and drifted away, its taillights vanishing around a corner.
Orson's deadly eyes tracked its departure until the silence returned. Then, he looked back at the duo.
"Forgive me, friends, for the interruption," he sighed, tossing his cigarette into a puddle where it died with a hiss.
Rommel and Rainer exchanged a glance. Then Rainer cleared his throat, gesturing flippantly at Orson.
"So...you gonna pull out your gun again? You know, get back to killing me?"
Rommel frowned.
"Rainer!" He whispered heatedly.
However, Orson eased their worries.
"That, friends, was a test," he stated flatly.
At that moment, a lieutenant handed him a file, which he glanced through with a quiet air of stability.
"You must be Rommel and Rainer. GBG enforcers, right?"
He handed the file back without looking, his attention focused on the duo.
"Now, when I heard the GBGs wanted to deal with the Beach Boys, I was thrilled. I almost burst out laughing for joy. Imagine that."
He rubbed a thumb across the bridge of his nose, his expression soon shifting to one of profound disappointment.
"But then I look at the message, perusing the files to find out only two were being sent?" He scoffed, glancing away in disbelief.
"You GBGs must underestimate the Beach Boys. Those Americans may be bad shots, but they have numbers and lots of assault weapons. You go in there, you'll be fighting an army! Forgive me for getting curious about the sort of men being sent to represent the GBGs."
He then shifted his weight, a faint amused smirk gracing his lips.
"Imagine me getting here to witness you both talkin' smack. Of course, I had to see if you at least had the spine to hold up your hubris."
He let out a hard breath, then shrugged.
"But then you passed. High marks. What else can I say? Good job."
Rommel sighed wearily, looking a little disgruntled.
"So you're our contact here? The mysterious gang said to have a grudge against the Beach Boys? Who's willing enough to give us aid?"
The folder they'd received had mentioned a contact in Gray Town who would provide better guns, equipment, and a safe route into the docks.
Apparently, Orson Strickland, a high-ranking member of the Black Country Boys, was that contact.
Orson took off his hat and placed it over his chest, bowing lightly. His lieutenants mirrored the gesture in perfect unison.
"I wish to formally apologize to the GBGs on behalf of the Black Country Boys for my doubts."
Rommel sighed in acceptance, and Rainer looked away with disappointment for a moment.
"It's fine. Time's of the essence. Let's go," Rainer finally said, cutting through the formality.
Orson straightened and settled his hat back on his head. Then he turned on his heel, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Let's hope this leads to a long and prosperous relationship between our families."
He revealed a faint, calculated smile and started down the road. His lieutenants gestured for the GBGs to follow.
Rainer and Rommel shared one last look, a silent conversation passing between them, before they fell into step behind the Englishmen.
Minutes passed as they were led through a labyrinth of darkened streets, cutting across alleys and shadowed backyards; the lieutenants' torch lights beaming pillars of cutting light across the oppressive gloom.
Rainer felt the weight of judging gazes from behind grimy windows; whenever he turned to look, a curtain would twitch shut, and the lamplight within would dim.
The very neighborhood was on edge.
Bored, Rainer decided to break the silence, calling out to their guide.
"Hey, my man OS. Mr. with the golden cane."
Orson glanced back, squinting with a gaze that could curdle milk.
"OS?" he queried, a dangerous curiosity in his tone.
Rainer gave a slow, unbothered blink.
"You know, Orson...Strickland? O-S?"
Orson looked forward again with an annoyed sigh that spoke of immense restraint.
"You know, you're lucky I consider you fine men dead already." He scoffed, shaking his head.
"Mere strays of your Don dare give me a nickname? Only Mr. Nile was so bold... But if you would be granted such a privilege, then surprise me with the assault on the Beach Boys. For now, stick to my name, Mr. Orson."
"Sure." Rainer shrugged, a light smile on his face.
He placed his hands behind his head, the picture of nonchalance.
"So what's your beef with the Beach Boys?" He queried lightly. "I'm sure you already heard about them blowing up our front. What about you Black Country Boys? Why do you seek their ruin?"
Orson was silent for a long moment, the only sound their footsteps on the cracked pavement. Then he spoke.
"They made our initial arrival...difficult. And our stay, hell. Knowing of the danger we posed, they sought to purge us. But so far, we proved too resilient for them."
Rainer's head tilted curiously as his voice cut through the dark.
"Why haven't you attacked them yet?"
They soon arrived before a large, foreboding warehouse, and Orson stopped, looking up at its rusted facade as if in thought.
But then his mouth opened, and he tutted once.
"Perhaps," he said, glancing back with an ominous finality, "you will discover why, soon enough."