A/N: Wanted to say thanks to shadow182angel, HeartWritingM, Double H19/Red's Revenge, and High Mage Lady Hawkmoon – all very talented writers in my opinion - for their encouraging reviews and everyone else who has been reading.

Episode 2: History

Part 2

Sommerset Neighborhood, Apartments District, Stilwater

Monday, April 11, 2011 – 11:23am

"Jesus, Artemis," Bert addressed his fellow Saint, "what'd you guys do?"

The smell of burning grease filled the air inside the Freckle Bitches where Artemis, Bert, and Mongrel were enjoying a quick bite. The recent fires at Shivington had made the headlines, as Bert was so keen to point out.

Bert Jensen was a large white man in his early twenties, clean-shaven, about 5' 10" and 215 pounds with short brown hair. He was muscled but heavy-set with a slight beer gut, or if you asked him – solidly built. Bert was the kind of guy who always made fun of other people, who always told the worst jokes or would cause shit just to do it. However, he remembered his friends and was always one of the first into the fray defending his fellow Saints. Of course, this had the unfortunate side-effect of getting him injured a lot – usually by his enemies, but sometimes by his friends and not always by accident.

Bert had just recently been promoted; he was now in charge of a four-man crew. He had been with the Saints since the earliest weeks of their newest incarnation. In fact, Artemis had been one of the Saints that canonized him. He almost didn't make it and had been close to giving up, but Artemis, while 'inducting' him into the gang, told him he could make it if he really wanted it, if he was strong enough.

Somehow he did it; he found the inner strength to survive. He took the punishment, pushed on through, and was canonized exactly ten days after Artemis. They became good friends and a rivalry of sorts developed between the two. Artemis was undeniably one of the best marksmen to have joined the Saints, so Bert tried to outdo him in other areas.

Whenever Artemis volunteered for a dangerous assignment, Bert wanted one as well. As Artemis gained enough respect to start rising in the ranks, Bert worked for the same recognition. When Artemis purchased his car Clementine, Bert bought a Wellington station wagon. After Artemis had the Stiletto reinforced to survive punishment, Bert armored his car even more and nicknamed it 'The Tank'. He practiced his driving skills to rival just about any of his fellow Saints save maybe Tamara the Wheel Woman or the Boss herself.

Pierce noticed their constant work and rewarded them for their efforts until each was now in charge of his own crew. They became well known – Artemis for his leadership skills, tactics, and deadly accuracy, and Bert for his loyalty, mad motor skills, and being the guy you always wanted at your back. They became two of the most trusted Saints in Pierce's crew and were treated accordingly. Well, Artemis was anyway. Bert's mouth usually got him hit, a lot.

"I mean," Bert remarked, dipping some of the fries from his Three-way Combo into his ketchup, "I know you guys were supposed to send a message to the Samedi and their pet thugs, but damn!"

"Actually, burning down Shivington wasn't the plan at all," Artemis replied. He took a long sip from his Big Swallow soda before continuing. "We were told to check out the middle of Shivington, but try to keep away from the western edge of the neighborhood, where the fires originated." He paused. "Those were Pierce's instructions."

"So, what, we were like a distraction… bait?" Mongrel asked, glancing at Bert then at Artemis. "Pierce wouldn't set us up, right?"

"Naw, man," Artemis said with a wave of his hand. "Pierce isn't like that; he's cool." He thought a moment. "The Boss came down the exact street we were at. There are easier ways to get out of Shivington." He speculated. "I think we were the back-up. That's why Pierce said we wouldn't need it. We were it. The Boss didn't need us, so she never called us. I don't honestly believe there were suppose to be any Samedi where we were sent. We just got lucky."

"You call runnin' into Taibot and his thugs lucky?" Bert asked.

"Yeah, and we beat'em," Mongrel smirked. "Messed up that punk Gressor's leg pretty good, too."

"If by messed up, you mean totally shattering his damn kneecap, then yeah I guess you did," Artemis replied. "Dice tore up Mance's face pretty good, too." Artemis finished off his burger before continuing. "Although, you really couldn't tell." Bert laughed at that, Mongrel just smiled.

"Speaking of which," Mongrel sat upright as he continued, "we did okay, right? We're going to get paid for this?"

Artemis nodded as he started on his second cheeseburger.

"Any idea when?"

"We're supposed to meet Pierce at Phuc Mi Phuc Yue around 10am this Friday. He's going to go over a few things and give us our pay-outs." Artemis ate the last of his food. "I think Pierce and the Boss lady were both pleased, so it should be good, maybe even a couple hundred."

"Seriously?" griped Bert. "The four of you take on like twenty dudes, and you only get fifty bucks each? Screw that!"

"Bert," Artemis sighed, "that's a couple hundred for each of us."

"Oh," Bert said quietly, "yeah, I knew that." He finished off his meal.

"Good," Mongrel mumbled, lost in thought, "Friday will leave enough time."

"You need cash, bro?" Bert inquired as he got up for a refill of his soda. "Ol' Bert's got you covered if you need some green."

"Huh? No, I'm cool," Mongrel shook his head. "I don't need the money until the 20th anyway, but thanks."

"What's happening on the 20th?" Bert asked as he sat back down. "You're stayin' with me at the moment and we're all squared 'til the end of June, man. You need to be somewhere?"

"April 20th is Dice's birthday," Artemis replied before Mongrel could. "It's her twenty-first, right?"

"Yeah," Mongrel said with a smile. "She can drink legally now."

"Because us being criminals," Bert commented, "we never do anything illegally."

"What are you getting her?" Artemis asked. "Not a stupid shot-glass I hope."

"No, nothing to do with drinking." Mongrel paused, then a look of concern crossed his face. "Why, you think I should have?"

"Naw, man, calm down." Artemis reassured him. "Whatever you got her will be fine. Hell, you've known her longer than any of us. So what is it?"

"Okay, get this," Mongrel spoke with animated gestures. "Over at On Thin Ice they got these earrings, okay?"

Bert whistled, "Going for the expensive stuff, huh?"

"Just listen," Mongrel continued. "These earrings, they're in the shape of a pair of dice, ya know one for each ear. They're solid silver…"

"Solid?" interrupted Bert. "How far these gonna set you back?"

"Let the man speak, son, damn," Artemis ordered with exasperation. "Go on, Mongrel."

"Well, they're specially weighted, ya know to hang on her ears properly or something. But I asked the clerk if they could be adjusted, the weight that is."

"For what?" Bert was lost.

"Well," Mongrel grinned, "I wanted them weighted regularly so that in case Dice wanted to use them as, you know, actual dice, she could. The hooks can be detached, too. They'll be kinda neat, I think."

Artemis smiled and shook his head. He always liked Mongrel. He was dependable, kept his cool for the most part, followed orders and gave his best. He wasn't the type who complained about this or that. Far from it. However, Mongrel almost never smiled, hell, he rarely became excited about anything. He kept to himself and tried not to bother anyone. Artemis was pretty sure there was something dark in his past, but just about everyone he knew had some black secret which made them who they were.

It was always interesting for him, then, to watch Mongrel talk about Dice. Just like 'Lil Sister' (his own nickname for her) suggested, Dice was like family to Artemis, she was like a little sister; but as much as he cared about her, he had to admit that she had a tendency to get on everyone's nerves. While basically a decent person, Dice was known more for being reckless and her temper was a thing best avoided. Somehow, though, this crazy girl brought out something different in the tall blond man sitting across from Artemis - a spark of life, a light that wasn't usually there.

Artemis was aware that Mongrel and Dice had known each other before joining the Saints. Their friendship was evident and he was fairly certain they had been more than friends at one time, but something happened – what exactly he wasn't sure, but it drove them apart for a while. The saddest part was that the rift seemed to have healed over long ago. Whatever else they had been before they kept buried, but hints of it surfaced on occasion if one listened carefully. Why they kept it buried eluded him. Maybe they were afraid to let it out. Perhaps they thought their friendship would be in jeopardy if things turned out wrong. It seemed a risk they weren't willing to take, at least for now.

"So," Bert pressed, bringing Artemis back to the conversation at hand, "How much are we talking?"

"Around two-seventy," Mongrel admitted, "plus another fifty or so for the service plan."

"Fuck my mom with a frozen banana, say what?" Bert was incredulous. There was a brief pause before he spoke again."Uh, you got that much?"

"I will if we get paid enough by Pierce," Mongrel said glancing between Bert and Artemis. "Well, mostly. I'll still need to come up with a bit more."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "So you need the rest kinda fast, huh?" Mongrel nodded. He thought a moment. "Bert, didn't you use to work for Sykes over at Tee'N'Ay doing… uh, stuff?"

Bert narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you think he'll take the job?"

Mongrel's face lit up. "Hey, I'm available for whatever."

"Well," Bert started, "I know you don't have a car, but you got your license, right?"

"I have a license. Pierce had Legal Lee hook me up with a friend of his at the Stilwater DMV. I can drive, uh, kinda legally, I guess."

"Alright, well ya know Sykes, right, the manager of Tee'N'Ay?"

"Yeah, I know who he is."

"Well, he kinda runs a side business…" Bert trailed off.

"Go on."

"Some of the strippers earn extra cash on the side, ya know, entertaining their clients."

"Prostitution, Bert. Yeah, I know."

"Okay, then," Bert continued, "Sykes is always looking for guys to protect the girls. Sometimes the clients may want something weird or sometimes they get a bit rough."

"I can do protection. Being a bouncer's easy."

"No," Bert shook his head. "He needs drivers. The girls are officially 'escorts'. Ya gotta wear a chauffeur outfit and all that."

"A what? A chauffeur?" Mongrel made a face. "You're serious?"

"Hey," Artemis interjected, "the Boss lady used to do it when she first joined the Saints back in '06. She did it again when she came back last year to reestablish old contacts and to make some money to build the Saints up the second time around. You sayin' you're better'n the Boss?"

"Uh, no," Mongrel paused. "It's just…"

"Remember, you'd be doing it for Dice's present," Artemis said with a wink. "She's worth it, right?"

"Yeah," Mongrel sighed, "she is."

"Cool," said Bert. "I'll make the call. You can meet up with Sykes this weekend."

"Speaking of which," Artemis turned to Bert. "Chaz's thing is this Thursday night. He survived his first outing as a Saint. We're going to Tee'N'Ay first to celebrate then heading to On Track. I know you're coming, but what about your crew?"

"Thursday night?"

"Yeah, we can avoid the crowds from the weekend and they'll be less of Stilwater's finest out asking about age restrictions and whatnot."

"Hm, makes sense," admitted Bert. "But it'll probably be just me. Rico's out doing whatever it is Rico does." Bert finished off his drink and went for another refill before continuing.

"As for Dennis and Dominic, they got pulled for night duty guarding the Brown Baggers in Shivington. Pierce said the Boss just got control of the business and she needed some really good people to guard it." Bert puffed out his chest. "Yeah, I'm surprised none of your people were asked." He paused then winked at his rival. "Well, maybe I'm not that surprised."

"Oh," Artemis leaned forward with a smile, "that's because it's just a cheap-ass Brown Baggers. Now once the Boss gets control of… oh, I don't know, a high-end jewelry store like On Thin Ice or a Federal Bank perhaps, then I'll be expecting a call. Until then, that small-time crap's perfect for your crew."

"Fuck off!" Bert said with a laugh.

"Anyway," Artemis looked at the time, "you got Chaz, Mongrel and Dice covered for me Thursday, right?"

"I'll be there," answered Bert, "but why do I have to pick up your crew?"

"I'm working on something and have to be at Tee'N'Ay early."

"Whatever, man. Leave it to good old Bert to take care of things," complained Bert.

"I always do," smiled Artemis.

Artemis arrived home around 2pm. He and his girlfriend Darcy were renting a three story refurbished townhouse. It had recently been rehabbed; the old brownstone façade had been replaced by a soft white granite face. The house was in the southwest Bavogian Plaza Neighborhood facing north. Across the street and two buildings to the east was the mission housing the main Hideout of the 3rd Street Saints. Despite the house's new condition, it was located in an area going through urban redevelopment. So, since there was a business named 'Sex Palace' half a block to the north, no rear or side parking and the insurance companies rated it an extreme high risk neighborhood, they were able to rent it for only $850 a month, all utilities included.

Entering, he called out, "Dar? You home, baby?"

Getting no response, he went to the living room. He tossed his keys into the empty glass bowl on the coffee table and got out his phone. Searching through his numbers, he found his sister's and dialed it. After a few rings it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Donna, it's me Artemis, I mean William. Just calling to check on you guys." He eased into a recliner. "Haven't heard from you or Mom in a couple of weeks and wanted to make sure you all were alright. Give me a call so we can make plans to go out some time, okay? Love you, bye."

He clicked his phone shut and slid off his shoes. He wasn't needed at the moment and with no one around he actually had a chance to rest. Darcy told him he didn't do that enough nowadays, but he had responsibilities. Too many people counted on him and in his line of work if you messed up someone could get hurt or killed. Life had been easier when he was younger, but not now.

He closed his eyes. As he began to relax he heard a dog barking somewhere across the street. It reminded him of… Sammy. How odd, to remember a pet from nearly eighteen years ago. From a simpler time. He tried to remember Sammy's big black face, wagging his tail, and then other memories started to surface. He remembered Pops, the man from whom he learned so much when he was growing up. So much of what Artemis was today was because of Pops. So many memories. Those were better times...

Without realizing it, he soon drifted off to a light sleep…

...

His name was Willie and he was… five years old? A low bark caused him to look over to the right. It was Sammy, his black Labrador. It was the last year Sammy would be with him. Yes, Willie was five.

Pops was working on the garage. It always needed repair. What the Brown family really needed was a new garage. But Pops couldn't afford it. There was always another bill, another payment. Willie didn't know why grown-ups had so many bills, but there sure were a lot of them.

It was a hot day and Pops sat with Willie in the shade taking a break. Mom came out with lemonade and everything was fine. Willie wanted Pops to play with him, but Pops had to finish his work.

"Always finish what you set out to do," Pops said. "Never leave something unfinished. It ain't right, son. A man, a real man, always sees his job through."

It was good advice and Willie remembered it.

...

He was currently eight? Donna, his sister, was two. Yes, Willie was now eight.

Pops had served in the army and had a neat collection of… what was that big word? Memorabilia? Yes, Pops had lots of that: an old uniform, a knife, a pistol, ribbons, and even a medal for valor. That meant Pops was brave. But Willie already knew that. He worked as a security guard at one of those big factory buildings. One with all the big steel tanks and machinery.

Pops said it was important stuff, guarding everything. Pops always took pride in his work.

"Always do your best," Pops said. "Sometimes people may count on you and it's your responsibility to do your job as well as you can. Always one hundred percent, sometimes a little more. A man, a real man, never does any less than his absolute best."

It was good advice and Willie remembered it.

...

Will was currently eleven? There were problems with the money and Mom had to get a job to help with the bills. Yes, Will was now eleven.

Pops was kinda sad nowadays and talked a lot. He talked about when he served in the army. He talked about his fellow soldiers and how they were like his family. Will thought that was silly. Mom, Donna, and Will were Pops' family. How could other people not related be his family? But they were. They were like brothers and sisters. They protected each other and looked out for each other. Pops had a medal for valor but so did some of his brothers and sisters in the army, some of whom never made it home.

"Always watch out for your family," Pops said. "Not just the one you was born to, but the ones that you find out in the world. The ones that love you just like your real flesh and blood. The ones that watch out for you and take care of you when things get rough. A man, a real man, never stops taking care of his family, never stops watching out for those he loves."

It was good advice and Will remembered it.

...

Will was now twelve. The car had broken down and the money problems increased. Mom and Pops argued a lot. Yes, he was now twelve.

Pops seemed tired all the time, and there was a good reason. He was taking extra shifts up at work. He was gone a lot now. Pops mentioned Mr. Philips, one of the business people at the factory building. He was a lawyer and seemed very interested in Pops. They got real friendly. Pops even brought him over to his house one day. After that, Pops seemed a little worried, not much, just a little.

Pops told him that he'd love Will no matter what. Will was always supposed to remember that.

"Sometimes, son, you have to do things that you aren't proud of, but may be necessary," Pops said. "Sometimes bad things need to happen so that good things can happen, too. Sometimes, a man, well a man may have to do bad things himself, so that those he loves don't have to suffer… so that the ones he loves can be safe and happy."

It sounded like good advice and Will remembered it.

...

William was thirteen. He knew because his father was arrested when he was thirteen.

Important documents that his father was guarding went missing as well as certain equipment. The documents were legal papers, titles and such with confidential information. The equipment was specialized machinery - very rare and very expensive. His father was supposed to guard it but was not at his post. It was an 'inside job' and his father apparently was the inside man.

Suddenly, their money problems stopped. His mother cried a lot at this time, but was very careful with the money, the special money that she kept hidden away from everyone. William saw it one time and knew what happened. His father went to jail for money to feed his family. His father wasn't the real criminal, but had gotten paid to help. He wanted his father back but his father told him to wait.

"Always be patient, son," his father said. "Sometimes things happen, events conspire and you can't just get what you want right away. You sometimes can't be with who you want to be with. But a man, a real man, knows how to wait, knows how to be patient so he finally gets what he wants."

It was good advice and William remembered it.

...

William was fifteen when his father was killed in Stilwater Penitentiary. He knew because he was fifteen when he went to the funeral.

Mom and Donna cried a lot and everyone was sorry. Pops always was nice, even in prison. He died defending a prison guard who was jumped by three men wanting him dead. His Pops was a hero, but got only a poor man's funeral. A lot of people came, though - a lot of Pops friends, some of which had been in the army. Mr. Philips came as well and acted all sorry, but William was smart. He knew Mr. Philips was the real criminal and had stolen the documents from the factory. William knew it and told Mr. Philips so.

Mr. Philips laughed and never denied it, at least not to William. Mr. Philips had given Pops money so he could pay the bills, a lot of money actually, but there was a catch – Pops had to take the blame. William wasn't going to stand for it and said Mr. Philips needed to pay. Mr. Philips said there was nothing that could be legally done to him. He had planned too well.

"Planning ahead and thinking things through, son," laughed Mr. Philips. "That's the key. Always be one step ahead – thinking of all of the variables. That's how to beat your opponents. A man, a smart man, always plans his actions carefully before implementing them."

It was good advice and William… William made sure to remember it.

...

Artemis's phone buzzed on the coffee table, waking him. It seemed as if not all of the memories were pleasant, but they soon retreated away. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and picked up the phone. It was a text from Barry, the bartender of On Track. Everything on the club's end was good to go for Chaz's party Thursday night. Artemis smiled. It would be a good week as long as no unforeseen problems arose.

Rebadeaux Neighborhood, Red Light District, Stilwater

Tuesday, April 11th, 2011 – 9:53pm

The pimp named Papa Pants entered the Diamond in the Muff club and scanned the interior. The booths were all upholstered in black leather with shiny steel stubs. The brick walls were painted hot pink and the atmosphere smelled of hard liquor and cheap cigarettes. A brown mahogany bar ran the length of the entire western wall broken only by a rhinestone-encrusted stripper pole positioned exactly in the middle – the 'Diamond' from which the club derived its name.

Through the blue haze of lingering cigarette smoke, he caught sight of his target at the far north end of the bar. Nodding to Danell, the leader of the three men that accompanied him, Papa Pants gave him their orders.

"Alright, go play while I have a word." His guards nodded. "But keep an eye out in case there's a problem." He sauntered on over to his contact, Big Fizzy. It would be hard to miss him.

Big Fizzy, as his name implied, was a big, heavyset black man with a light beard obscuring his multiple chins, yellow tinted shades and long frizzy hair escaping out from under his hat. Big Fizzy didn't wear a pimp-hat; rather it was a light purple top hat with snow leopard fur around the brim. It matched his long pimp coat perfectly – light purple with expensive snow leopard lining cinched at the waist with a thick gold belt. It his right hand he held a large mug of beer, in the left he gripped a tall, almost obnoxiously large pimp cane of polished wood and gold that put Papa Pants' blue and white cane to shame.

"You came alone?" Papa Pants seemed surprised. "You sure are trusting."

"My brother," Big Fizzy grumbled in a deep, gravelly voice, "jus' cuz you don't see Big Fizzy's boys, doesn't mean Big Fizzy's alone." He took a big swallow of his beer. "Only fools and dead men trust that much, and Big Fizzy ain't stupid or dead!" He then laughed in his deep voice at his own apparent joke. When Papa Pants didn't respond, Big Fizzy sighed. "You ready, playa?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this done with." Papa Pants wasn't that comfortable about this meeting. This secretive crap wasn't his style and he wanted it over.

"Alright, then." His large companion led him through a door in the northeast corner to the private peepshow rooms. They stopped at the third on the left and Big Fizzy rapped once on the door. Papa Pants couldn't hear what the reply was, but Big Fizzy smiled and opened the door.

There were three figures already in the room when the two pimps entered. Papa Pants recognized the man on the far right immediately. He was a fellow pimp dressed in white and green clothing with large garish green glasses and a small green fedora who went by the street name Two-Tone.

Seated in the middle of the room was a white man he didn't know. His height was difficult to judge, but he had short dark hair and was clean-shaven save for a small soulpatch he was trying to grow out. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a black button-down silk shirt and a black tie. He had on expensive black gloves and a black handkerchief was tucked in his suit's breast pocket. He was leaning upon a large, black leather-wrapped cane with a silver skull on top.

Papa Pants smirked; he definitely needed to get a bigger and better pimp cane if he was going to keep up with people like Big Fizzy and the dark-clothed stranger.

The western wall was dominated by a single six-foot tall pane of glass. In a small room behind the one way mirror was a rather scantily dressed young woman gyrating around a stripper pole.

"Welcome, welcome, friends," said the seated gentleman. "I take it you know each other." He indicated Two-tone. Big Fizzy smiled and nodded. Papa Pants just stared at him.

"What is it you want?" Papa Pants asked with impatience. "You called this meeting. You owe me an explanation."

"Show some respect," came a low growl from the third man who had, up until this moment, been hidden in the shadows. He stepped forward. He was a lean man approximately six feet in height. He had an exotic appearance, beautiful even, that suggested he may have been from India, but his accent hinted at a formal British education. His attire, a tailor made black suit and black leather gloves added to this.

The man in the middle of the room finally stood.

"Forgive my associate," he said, "but in our line of work Jaqual has learned to be overly cautious." He looked Papa Pants over. "Any sign of aggression, overt or otherwise, tends to, hmm, end poorly when he is around." He stepped closer to the blue and white dressed pimp. "It would be in everyone's best interest to remain calm and civil."

"What…?" Papa Pants started but the speaker interrupted him.

"My name is Jean San-Pierre. I have the honor to work for the illustrious man who goes by the name of the General." He stepped back with a smile. "I represent the Samedi."

"You work for the Samedi?" Papa Pants looked skeptical. "I doubt that."

"But I do work for the General." San-Pierre's eyes glistened.

He unbuttoned his suit coat. The bottom of the black tie had a green skull symbol on it. He then quickly tucked it away as he buttoned his coat back up.

"See? I'm in disguise," he laughed.

"What do you want?" asked Papa Pants impatiently. "Why did I get called to come here?"

"Our mutual acquaintance," the Samedi indicated Big Fizzy, "heard that you were unhappy with the current establishment of power in the Red light District."

Papa Pants glanced over at Big Fizzy. "So?"

San-Pierre stepped forward to admire the attractive girl. She was a young Hispanic woman in her early twenties with dark eyes and full lips. As she danced her long wavy dark hair flowed behind her.

"Her name is Teresa. Quite beautiful don't you think?" the Samedi asked.

"I'm outta here," Papa Pants said with a huff. "You wanna play mind games and sneak around like children, that's all right for you." He started toward the door.

"If you help us retake Bavogian Plaza, half of it will be yours."

Papa Pants stopped and turned to look at San-Pierre who continued.

"That's right, half." San-Pierre reluctantly turned away from the glass wall. "The other half goes to Two-Tone. Think of it. All the money your girls will earn. No other competition save Two-Tone here. No other pimps, no more Golden D or his allies, no more Saints and their dictates that you should be serving them. I offer a partnership."

"In exchange for what?" the pimp asked. "There's always a catch. You get like fifty percent of what my girls earn or some shit like that?"

"No catch. Nothing except loyalty to the Samedi. We get the rest of the market. Drugs, money laundering, everything else. You keep what you earn and support us when we need it. Sound fair?"

"What do I gotta do to start this 'beneficial relationship'?" Papa Pants stepped forward. "There's gotta be something you want first."

"Oh, there is. Jaqual?" The Samedi lieutenant glanced at his associate who moved toward Papa Pants. The grim bodyguard pulled a set of photos from his jacket pocket.

"This man here," Jaqual indicated a figure in the photos, "goes by the name of Artemis. Mr. San-Pierre wants him. Alive."

"What for?"

"Yours is not to question…" the bodyguard growled but San-Pierre cut him off.

"It's alright, Jaqual." The Samedi turned his attention once again to the dancer. "This particular young man belongs to the Saints and made quite the fool out of an associate of mine. An associate that I would like to see removed from power in the Samedi. Should I manage to secure this troublesome little Saint and bring him humbled before the General, well, let's just say my status would greatly improve."

"How'd you get these? And how do you know who this guy is?"

"That is not your concern," San-Pierre said with a smile.

Papa Pants flipped through the handful of pictures and stopped at one. He studied it, smiled, and held it up.

"Alright I'm in," he said. "But I want something."

San-Pierre looked over at the pimp.

"This little bitch here," the pimp pointed to a short white girl with dark blonde hair cut in a baggy bob. In the picture she was standing next to the man named Artemis and was smiling while she flipped off the camera. "I've met her."

"Where?" the Samedi asked.

"That's my business." It was now the pimp's turn to laugh. "She mouthed off to me and D a couple of days ago. She needs to learn her place. You let me have her, do what I want with her, and I'll help you get Bavogian Plaza."

San-Pierre thought a moment. "Deal, but little Teresa needs a tip for her excellent performance. A hundred dollars ought to cover it, from both Two-Tone and you." His voiced indicated he would brook no argument.

Papa Pants scowled but pulled out the hundred anyway as did Two-Tone. They slid the money in a slot on the lower right side of the window. The dancer smiled and blew a kiss at the glass. San-Pierre grinned as he turned toward the two.

"Gentlemen, see your way out. I have business to discuss with your companion." He nodded toward Big Fizzy. "He will have instructions for you. Good evening."

After the pair of pimps left, Jaqual turned to his boss.

"If I may, Mr. San-Pierre, I do not like associating with these people. That one in the blue and white in particular. His treatment of women disgusts me."

"Ah, Jaqual, they are merely a means to an end. Big Fizzy has indicated that these two are successful enough that they may be able to help us, but not so important that they will be missed if things go wrong. Is that not so?"

Big Fizzy smiled. "That's right, brother."

"Don't worry, my loyal friend," he turned to his bodyguard. "If this Papa Pants gets too far out of line, you may punish him in any manner you see fit. Is that acceptable?"

"Most acceptable, Mr. San-Pierre," Jaqual said with a vicious smile. "Most acceptable indeed." The bodyguard's mind was already thinking of the most painful punishments he could inflict on the absent pimp. He would have to pick the perfect one.

A/N: Dum dum dum duuummmm…. The plot thickens, or whatever.

This mess of a chapter is my biggest one yet and took forever to get finished. Not even sure if I like how it turned out, but… meh, here it is.

The next chapter will probably be broken up into smaller chapters as I don't like publishing such long ones.

Anyway, let me know how I'm doing.