In all his experience, Bakura had never seen a car like that one drive down the street at night.

Rather, this street at this time of night. The street where the elite lay, and the time where all the competition was at its best.

The car was a fancy sportscar; and though many a nice vehicle had passed through this section of the city looking for someone to hire, never a car of this luxury. Blue, with two white racing stripes. Brand new. Or appeared to be.

The competition eyed the car hungrily, but Bakura knew how to get a client like this. One had to be very subtle – glance at the car like you think it's a worthless piece of trash and walk indifferently down the street, not once looking back over your shoulder.

Bakura did just this, and even so he was surprised as the sportscar pulled up beside him, rolling down its tinted window.

The driver wore dark glasses – obviously expensive – in a futile attempt to hide his identity. At once Bakura knew who this was, and he smirked as the driver quickly gestured at the passenger seat, and Bakura laughed inwardly as he climbed in and shut the door behind him.

They had driven a little ways before the driver spoke.

"What do you charge." This wasn't a question – this was a command.

"Fifteen thou an hour, sir," Bakura teased. This to him was hysterical - out of all the people who could be in the driver's seat, this man, this man who had made so many people's lives hell, had decided to give himself a bonus and spend it on a goddamned prostitute!

"Funny. Here's your payment then." The driver tossed a wad of bills at Bakura – he had evidently preplanned this.

Bakura unfolded the clump of money and started to count.

10,000…

20,000…

50,000…

"Shit, baby, there's got to be over 350 in the whole stack!" Bakura exclaimed. "What the hell are you planning to do with me?"

"I'm taking you out to dinner."