Disclaimer:I do not own Sky High, its setting, premise, or characters -or related characters named and unnamed. All is the property of Walt Disney Pictures, Buena Vista Pictures, Andrew Gunn, and Mark McCorkie.
From Out of Town
Chapter Two: An Incident at the Paper Lantern
Warren specifically chose a time when his mom was at work –her day job, not hero work, she was retired as a superhero- to invite his friends over and have them help him look through the attic.
Their house in Maxville Adjacent was small and didn't offer much in the way of closet space and storage. But, Mara refused to throw away, or donate, or surrender Baron Battle's old things. There were trunks, and cases, and boxes upon boxes of his father's things shoved up into the attic. Since it was his grandfather, his father's father, that lurked in the woods around what would be their hero base, Warren thought that looking through his Dad's old things might give him some clues. And, since the base was going to be a shared base between all of them, Warren felt the others should help.
He didn't have to let them know that the monster in the woods around his father old house –what everyone else had taken to called the Murder Cabin- was his paternal grandfather.
"We're just looking for something that might give us a better idea of how to find the thing." Warren told them as he pulled down the panel in the ceiling. The ladder attached to the panel slid down at his feet accompanied by a cloud of dust.
"Right. Right." Nodded Magenta. "We're just gonna keep this strictly business and not pry into Daddy-Battle's personal stuff at all."
She was totally gonna snoop. Warren almost never talked about his father. When other people discussed the man around him, he got pissy and yelled for them to stop. But they all already met Barron Battle. A year ago. They had a face, and a personality, and mannerisms to put to the name. The thing was, the man they met last year during his impromptu escape did not match up with the 'avatar of evil' everyone depicted him as in school. Yeah, he was a bit violent and took a casual, almost flippant attitude to killing. He was definitely a villain. No one was questioning that. But he was also kinda funny in a weird way. Teasing the Commander. Flirting with Flamebird. He even gave a few helpful words of wisdom to the team. In short, he was a dorky dad.
A dorky dad that was also a supervillain. It was hard not to be curious about him.
"We're just looking for stuff about the cabin." Warren insisted.
He climbed the ladder and disappeared into the attic.
It was a cramped space. The floor high and the ceiling low. Warren had to bend on his hands and knees to move around. Even Ethan, the shortest member of their groups, had to crouch to move around in the short space. The only one who had any kind of ease moving around was Will, who just hovered around in an almost-plank position.
In addition to being cramped, the attic was also a mess. Mara Peace was fastidiously organized when it came to her books. She was a librarian by profession. But with everything else in her life, the storage of her estranged husband's things most of all, she was not quite so disciplined. The terms 'sloppy', 'hot mess', and 'heaps' came to mind.
Some of the boxes were labeled, most were not. The ones that were labeled, their labels did not actually correspond to what was in the box. Magenta opened one such box that had 'dishes' written across it in magic marker, but inside were multiple red or black leather-bound photo albums. She pulled one out, curious.
"Carful with those." Warren warned her.
"Don't worry, I'm not gonna damage your old photos." She assured him.
"No, I mean- uh…" His face flushed a shade of red they usually only saw when his mother was embarrassing him. "Black bound ones are wholesome family memories, safe for all ages. The red bound ones are, um… Mom and Dad's private collection and I'm not allowed to look at them."
The one Magenta was holding in her hands was a red-bound one. She pursed her lips. Unsure of if she wanted to look inside or not. She was curious. But –judging by Warren's face- she also knew she would regret it. In the end, her curiosity overrode her sense and she lifted the cover, just taking a peek at the first page.
"Oh." She was equal parts relived and disappointed. "It's just you're Mom's old Flamebird pin-ups. That's not so bad."
She held the book up so that everyone could see a magazine clipping from 'Costumes Today', February 1987. It was a full body photo of Mara Peace in her Flamebird costume, posing with her back to the camera, the shorts of her costume riding up her backside and exposing the round bottoms of her butt cheeks, her back was arched to make her butt stick out more, and her head was turned so she could smile at the camera.
"No offence, Warren, but we've all already seen your Mom's pin-ups. They're kinda all over the city. Nobody cares by this point." Magenta turned to the next page. Then her expression changed. Going as red as he was. "Oh." Her mouth fell open. "That's, uh… that's… more of your parents than I wanted to see. Your Mom's got more tattoos than I thought."
Zach looked up from the trunk he was about to open. The lid falling shut again with a soft THUD. He moved around to peer over Magenta's shoulder.
"Okay, stop!"
The book in Magenta's hands burst into flames.
She dropped it and scooted away. She was unburned and unharmed. Magenta looked back at Warren. One hand was extended out, aimed at the album. Nobody ever even saw him throw a fireball. He just glared at it and it got hot enough to ignite. It was a new trick her was working on with his powers, creating fire without having to start it on his body first.
"That is not what I brought you up here to look at." He informed the room.
Will hovered over to the box. "But you said the black ones were clean, right?"
He reached in and pulled out the first black-bound photo album his hand touched. Someone had stamped 'School Year 1998-99 into the cover in silver letters. Barron Battle was arrested and sentenced to prison in 1999, Will realized he might be holding some of Warren's last positive memories of his father. He flipped the album open to a random page.
"Aw… little Warren!" He cooed. "Wait, are you wearing a uniform? Your elementary school had uniforms!?"
"Yeah." Confirmed the pyrokinetic not quite understanding why his friend was surprised. Didn't everyone's elementary school require uniforms?
"Lemme see." Ethan straightened, trying to get a look at the page Will was holding.
Will angled the album so that everyone could see.
It was a photo of three boys, all wearing the same school uniform. A navy-blue blazer over gray slacks, white collared shirts and striped ties. The one that had to be Warren –even back then, his hair was long and it already had those two streaks of red in it- was on the right side of the frame, leaning into the boy in the center whom was holding something that looked like a Gameboy Pocket. The one on the left side of the frame was also leaning in, and all three of them were holding Pokemon backpacks. The one in the middle, a Squirtle. The one on the left, a Bulbasour. And Warren, unsurprisingly, a Charmander.
Ethan leaned back, fighting a wholesome smile. "There's a lot to unpack in this photo."
Warren had friends before them. Warren wore a school uniform and it looked neat, not a single part of the pants ripped, the blazer was polyester not leather, and the shirt was collared not a tee. Warren played Pokemon!
"Wait, is that the crest of Wātis Academy?" Asked Zach. "That's, like, the most expensive school in Maxville. Only, like, the super-duper-uber rich can afford to send their kids there. It's a school for foreign Princes, and or people who own gold mines, or the guy who invented Apple!"
Warren visibly cringed. "My Dad did make a lot of money as a supervillain."
"So," began Magenta, "ignoring the adorable Pokemon backpacks –which we will be coming back to, by the way- you are literally rubbing elbows with two of the richest kids in Maxville." She announced. Taking the photo out of its protective sleeve, she moved closer to Warren. "Who's this?"
"That's Amir." He said, pointing the boy in the center holding the Gameboy. "I think his last name was El-Hashem. His dad did… something." He only had a child's memory of his friend's parents. But they all lived in nice homes. So did he back then. He moved his finger to the boy on the left. "And that's Sid, it was short for Sidao. He and I were in the same Mandarin class. He lived with his grandmother who was some kind of business woman. She always had lots of guys in suits around whenever we would go over to Sid's house. I'm not sure if he had parents."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Magenta nodded, more interested than Warren felt she should be. "Okay, so, first shocker, you had friends before us. But, not quite so shocking, one of those friends appears to be an Arab prince, and the other is the grandson of an old woman who ran a business out of her own home and made enough money to send her grandson to the same school as you, the son of a supervillain."
Warren glared at her. Her tone sounded like she was implying something, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was she was implying.
Ethan pulled out his phone. "Okay, so, I Googled the name Amir El-Hashem and there is an Amir El-Hashem who's our age, and has dual citizenship to both the United States and Saudi Arabia. He is the third son of a family that owns half the oil refineries out there."
"Saudi Arabian oil baron, got it." Nodded Magenta. "Okay, now do the other one. Sid- Sidao. Hey, what's his last name?"
Warren frowned. He did not like them looking up his childhood friends on Google. It also made him wonder what kind so things could be found about him –searching the name Warren Battle, not Warren Peace- on a casual Google search. His father's trial had been a media circus.
"Sidao seems to be a common name in Chinese." Ethan announced. "I'm gonna need a surname if I'm gonna find anything on him."
Warren glared at all of them. "I have not seen or spoken to either of them since Mom took me out of that school after Dad's trial." He informed the room. "And that is not what I brought you all up here to look at. I need info on the monster in the woods around my Dad's old house. Or do you not want to have a shared base up there anymore? Now can we please get back to work, and stop asking me about Song Sidao!"
"Song Sidao!" Ethan nodded. "Last name first, got it!" His thumbs raced across the keypad to type the name into his Google search. "Oh." He looked up. "Well, it makes sense that his grandma would send him to the same school that a supervillain sends his kid to."
Now Warren was concerned, and he could not help looking up again. "What, why?"
"Well," began Ethan, "I mean… I did say that Sidao is a common Chinese name, but… the first hit I got on the name is for a guy –who is our age- that's an underboss in the Song Triad. The Chinese Mafia."
Magenta grinned wider. "So, the son of a supervillain, an oil baron, and a mafia prince."
"I'm sure it's not the same Song Sidao." Warren insisted.
...
Setting his bucket of dishes down next to the sink, Warren heaved a heavy sigh. "Wǒyǐwéi zuìhòu yīzhāng zhuōzi yǒngyuǎn bù huì líkāi." (I thought that last table would never leave.)
"Shì de!"(Right!) Commented Su Xinyi, Warren's boss. She looked up from her books to comment. "Tāmen huāle jiāngjìn yīgè xiǎoshí de shíjiān. Wǒyǐjīng guānménle. Tāmen zài xīngqíwǔwǎnshàng méiyǒu dìfāng kěyǐqù ma?"(They paid almost an hour ago. I already shut down the till. Don't they have somewhere to go on a Friday night?)
"Zhèxiētiān háizimen bù chūqù."(Kids these days don't go out.) Called Xinyi's husband from the kitchen where he was scraping off rice stuck to the inside of the cooker. "Tāmen jiāng suǒyǒu shíjiān dōu huāzài shǒujīhuò hùliánwǎng shàng." (They just spend all their time on their phones or on the interwebs.)
"Hēi, zhèxiētiān wǒháishì gè háizi." (Hey, I'm still a 'kids these days'.) Warren reminded them. He was only twenty, still not even old enough to drink. Sure, he was an adult now, but he was still young enough to have more in common with the average high schooler than the average working adult.
Xinyi only. An affectionate laugh, but at his expense all the same. "Méimén. Warren chūshēng yú liùshí suì, fènshìjísú, zǔmǔ." (Yeah right. Warren was born a cynical sixty-year-old grandmother.)
Warren had no idea what to say to that, so he said nothing and began washing the pile of dishes he collected from the last table. Xinyi's husband finished scrapping the rice cooker, took out the inner pot, and set that down next to the sink for Warren to wash too.
It was a pretty average night at the Paper Lantern.
Until Chris, the server for the night, came in early from her smoke break. Her cigarette still in her hand, lit, but not smoked. "Aunty," she said in English, "the insurance guys are here."
Warren looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall, confused. It was way too late for an insurance adjuster to be coming to assess a claim.
"Warren, nǐwèishéme bù zǎo huí jiā." (Why don't you go home early.) Xinyi suggested. She never let him go early. Not unless he had a 'personal emergency' (a superhero emergency) and even then, she could be stubborn about it. Xinyi did not suggest employees leave the worksite early. He glanced at the sink full of dirty dishes. She certainly would never suggest an employee leave when their work was not done. "Chris, nǐyěqù." (You go too.)
Both employees exchanged a look, recognizing the strangeness.
"Go. Go." She insisted in heavily accented English. "Young people should enjoy their Friday night! Get a girlfriend. Get a boyfriend. Get one of each!"
She stood from where she was going over the books and practically pushed them both to the employee lounge –a semi-large closet off the kitchen- where they stowed their personal belongings.
"Use the front door. I'll lock up behind you." She informed them.
It didn't take Chris long to get ready to leave. All she had to do was take her apron off and throw his jacket on over her nice white waiter's shirt. Warren, on the other hand, preferred to change out of his bleach stained tank top and put on a clean shirt. And considering that his normal outfit was not one shirt but two or three (long sleeves under a regular tee, fire users liked to be warm) this process could take a while. Chris waited for him though, so that Xinyi would only have to lock up once.
He was already moving to the exit when he threw his backpack over his shoulder.
Chris and Xinyi were waiting for him by the front door. The older woman said 'good night' to both of them and wished them a safe trip home. Then slammed the door shut behind them before either Warren or Chris would repeat the same to her.
"That was weird." Warren commented.
He and Chris weren't, like, friend-friends. But they were work-friends. They were close in age and worked in the same restaurant. Warren knew she had a dog because Chris asked him to cover a shift once when she had to rush said dog to the VCA because it ate 'something that looked like chocolate'. Chris knew Warren had a mother because she came in to pick up his paychecks when he was having his mysterious 'personal emergencies' that he never explained to anyone.
"They probably came early this month because the Aunty was a little short last month." Chris commented as if there was other background information Warren already knew.
Warren did not already know what she was talking about and he blinked at her. "What?"
Chris just blinked back at him. "Wait, you don't know?"
"Know what?" Now Warren was getting suspicious. His hero-instincts telling him something less than legitimate was going on here, and those 'insurance guys' were not actual claims adjusters sent by a licensed insurance agency.
Throwing her arms up, as if in surrender, Chris back up a few paces. "Ya know what, you're better off not knowing." She said. "And we're better off not being around here."
She crossed the parking lot to her car –an old relic of a sedan from 2002- slid into the passenger seat, and peeled out of the parking lot as if the devils themselves were chasing her.
Warren glanced in the direction of his bus stop. Considering taking Chris' advice and just leaving. But, something in the back of his mind told him not to. Some feeling in his gut that told him a superhero might be needed tonight.
Instead of heading to his bus stop, Warren slunk around to the large dumpster bin behind the building. Using it so shield him from sight, he pulled his Phoenix costume out of his backpack.
A skintight body suit. Mostly black, but with the emblem of a bird splayed across the chest in red, the wings curling over his shoulders, and turning into red stripes down his arms. The black gloves had corresponding red on them that continued the stripe down to the tips of his middle and ring fingers. The mask was liquid latex and adhered to his face with a skin-safe costume glue.
Stuffing his regular civilian clothes into the back pack in the costume's place, Phoenix emerged. Ready to fight the good fight and be a hero!
Keeping to the edge of the building, Phoenix slunk up to the nearest kitchen window to peer inside. Get a feel for the situation.
"Tīngzhe, yěxǔwǒzhīqián bù tài qīngchǔ." (Listen, maybe I wasn't clear before.) A man Phoenix had never seen in the restaurant before was saying. "Cānguǎn shì wéixiǎn de shēngyì. Shénme shìqíng dōu kěnéng fāshēng. Méiqì xièlòu, huǒzāi, rénshēn shānghài... Dànshì wǒmen kěyǐbǎohù nǐ. Wèntí shì, bǎohù bùshì miǎnfèi de." (A restaurant is a dangerous business. Anything could happen. Gas leaks, fires, personal injury… But we can protect you. The problem is, protection doesn't come free.)
That was about all Phoenix needed to hear. He knew what this was and what was going on here.
It was a protection racket.
That guy was a representative of an organization that was exploiting the Sus. They called it 'protection' but the only thing the payments 'protected' business owners from was retaliation from the Collector. If they didn't pay, the Collectors would vandalize the property, injure the owners, or even destroy the business all together. It was exactly the kind of thing Phoenix became a hero to stop! The Lieutenant could fly around in the sunlight and rescue kittens from trees, but Phoenix actually hit the streets with the dirt and grit of the city.
The window Phoenix was looking through was a bit small, but from his vantage point, it looked like the Collector was circling the kitchen with faux casualness. He picked up a greasy dishtowel from the laundry bin, twirling it in his hand as he walked. The other hand gliding over the appliances.
But he paused when he got to the stove.
He turned on one of the burners. Turned the flame on full blast. So that it wasn't just the normal blue of the gas, but climbed above the grill with tongues of yellow fire.
"Zhèxiēgōngyè lúzǐbiàn rèle..." (These industrial stoves get so hot…) He was saying. Then grabbed Xinyi's husband and slammed his head down on the stove dangerously close to the burning grill. "Yǒurén kěnéng huì bèi shāo sǐ!" (Someone could get burned!)
That was all Phoenix needed to see. This wasn't just idle threats and demands for payment. This was very real threats of bodily harm backed up by physical assault. Dashing from the window, Phoenix yanked the kitchen door open.
The Collector looked up startled.
Phoenix took advantage of his hesitation. Extending one arm out in front of him, he reached out with his pyrokinetic power, took control of the open flame and called it to his outstretched hand. Pulling the fire away from the stove, but more importantly, the face of an innocent civilian.
The Collector shouted an expletive that Phoenx had never heard before and didn't know how to translate, but was sure was very rude.
"Shìfàng tā!" (Let him go!) Phoenix ordered the protection Collector.
He did let his would-be victim up. But still held onto him, twisting one of the hostage's arms behind his back. "Tuìsuō, chāojí! Zhè shì sān hé huì de lǐngtǔ, tāmen bùzàihūnín shìfǒu yǒngyǒu lìliàng." (Back off, Super! This here is Triad territory and they don't care if you've got powers.)
"Dànshì, nǐyǒu quánlì ma?" (But do you have powers?) Phoenix asked. This guy might be working for the Triad but, at the moment, he was just one guy alone. He was here, and the rest of the Chinese Mafia was not.
He must have realized this the moment Phoenix asked the question, because his face suddenly flashed with concern. Eyes moving quickly, taking stock of the situation. There was a super blocking the kitchen door. The only other exit was the main entrance on the opposite end of the dining room. It was a bit of a distance. But he had a hostage. And if this super was a hero –not likely considering the black costume- then he would do everything he could to protect the hostage. If this super was a villain on the competition's payroll –more likely since he was dressed almost all in black- then he was probably trying to set up his own Protection racket in this neighborhood and would want to protect the hostage because it meant protecting his own interests and the interests of his employers.
"Wǒyǒu méiyǒu quánlì dōu méiguānxì." (It doesn't matter if I have powers to not.) Collector Informed him. He groped around the stove top and counter, and grabbed the first thing his hand touched. An unwashed cleaver, one of the dishes Warren hadn't yet cleaned before Xinyi kicked him out. "Nǐhuì ràng wǒbù shòu shānghài de zǒuchūzhèlǐ. Fǒuzé zhèlǐde lǎorén tài guāhúzile!"(You're gonna let me walk out of here unmolested. Or else the old man here is gonna get too close a shave!)
Xinyi's husband began sputtering so fast, Phoenix could barely even catch the words, never mind translate them. Phoenix tried to reassure him, speaking in calming tones.
It didn't work very well. Phoenix was still a relatively new hero –only in operation for a year- and the media tended to overlook him in favor of featuring more palatable and marketable heroes like the Lieutenant. The result being that no one was even instantly put at ease by Phoenix's presence, not like they were for the Lieutenant- and, in fact, most people didn't even realize he was a hero at all. Most people just saw the black costume and assumed he was another villain.
That, and people held hostage with cleavers to their throats were not calmed so easily.
He was sputtering and sobbing so much, in fact, that it actually became a bit of a distraction for the one holding him. The Collector took his eyes off of Phoenix to scold his hostage. Giving the other man a shake, the hand holding the cleaver unconsciously relaxing the blade away from the neck.
It was all the opening the fire wielder needed.
The whited out eye sockets of his mask narrowed as he focused his attention on the metal. Channeling his power through his hands was easier. But his ability was to create fire, there was no rule that the fire he created had to start on his body. He could burn anything.
Or, in this case, heat anything.
Anything, like the handle of the cleaver the Collector was holding.
The man yelped in mingled shock and pain. Dropping the cleaver where it clattered loudly on the kitchen floor.
Collector released his hostage, cradling his hand instead. The palm was red all over and blistering in some places. A second degree burn.
"Rúguǒwǒshì nǐ, wǒhuì kàn yīxià." (I'd get that look at if I were you.) Phoenix informed him. "Shāoshāng tèbié róngyì gǎnrǎn. Nǐbù huì xiǎng yào de." (Burns are particularly susceptible to infection. You wouldn't want that.)
"一块狗屎火混蛋!"Collector snarled, then ran out the front.
Phoenix did not follow him.
Instead, he helped Xinyi's husband up from where he'd fallen when the Collector released him. "Nǐhái hǎo ma?" (Are you okay?)
"Wǒhěn hǎo, xièxiè nǐ, Warren." (I'm fine, thank you, Warren.) He managed between gasps. He was breathing hard. Not yet coming down from his panic.
"Wǒhěn gāoxìng nǐméiyǒu shòushāng- …uh…" (I'm glad you weren't injur- uh…) Phoenix froze, the older man's words catching up with him. "Uh…Wǒde yìsi shì, shéi shìWarren? Wǒde míngzì shìPhoenix." (Uh… I mean, who's Warren? My name is Phoenix.)
The older man just stared at him, as if not understanding.
Xinyi knelt next to her husband, but with was Phoenix she was looking at when she said in English. "We have been putting up with your American accent for four years. Do you think we won't recognize you just because we can't see your eyebrows?"
"Uh…" Was all Phoenix could think to repeat. He hadn't counted on people he knew personally recognizing him in costume. They never covered this in school! "Uh…"
"Is this why you've had so many 'personal emergencies' lately?" She asked, hauling her husband back to his feet.
"Uh…" Phoenix's brain seemed to have stopped working.
Xinyi blinked at him for a moment longer before realizing that this was just as shocking for him as it was for them. But Xinyi was a practical woman, she gave the poor boy the time he needed to process while she helped guide her husband out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She deposited him in the very first booth off the kitchen and went back in to get him a glass of water.
Warren, or 'Phoenix' was still sitting on the floor at a bit of a loss of what to do.
"That man worked for the Triad." She informed him, continuing to speak in English because she wasn't sure if his over-stressed brain could handle another language at the moment. "They used to only collect from us twice a year. It's only recently they've been coming every month. We've tried to keep up with the payments, but- …people just aren't eating out as much as they used to."
Clearing his throat, trying to reclaim some version of 'heroic dignity', Phoenix finally stood from the kitchen floor. Pushing himself to his feet slowly. "Would- would the Collector actually have burned Mr. Su's face?"
Xinyi just gave him a sad little look. "You haven't been in costume for very long, have you. The Mobs –all of the Mobs, not just the Chinese- do things far worse than just disfiguring faces."
Phoenix bit his bottom lip. "I'm glad I was here."
"I'm not." Xinyi announced, sounding genuinely upset with him. She glanced back to the dining room to see if her husband was listening. He was shaking a little, still coming down from the adrenaline of what had just happened. He wasn't paying attention to them. And even if he were, his English was not as good as hers. Xinyi turned her attention back to the young –and inexperienced- hero in front of her. "A disfiguring or a maiming is bad and would require a rush to the hospital. There would be a bill, and a scar. But that would be it. Now, because of you, the Collector is going to report back to his employer and the Triad will retaliate."
Her tone implied that said retaliation would be much worse than personal injury.
Xinyi filled a glass of water and brought it out to her husband.
His hand shook as he took it, but his voice was even and clear when he spoke. "Zhè shì yīn wéi láizì xiānggǎng de liánjūn zhèng shìtú zài zhèlǐjiànlì jīdì." (It's because the Luen Triad is trying to set up a base here.) He informed them. "Song zǔ-wǒmen dāngdì de hēishǒu dǎng-xūyào gèng duō zīyuán cáinéng jiāng qí chè chū." (The Song Triad, our local mob, needs more resources to push them back out.)
"Nǐbù zhīdào." (You don't know that.) Xinyi reminded him. "Bù quèdìng." (Not for sure.)
Deciding it was best not to argue with this wife, the man only shrugged and sipped more of his water.
"So, it's a gang-war." Phoenix asked. "Between our local Mob, and one from out of town. And you're caught in the middle."
Setting his glass of water down, Mr. Su launched into a long speech. Speaking very quickly and using a slightly more formal variation of the dialect Phoenix wasn't as familiar with. It was hard to follow.
"He says it's more like the feudal system." Xinyi took pity on the poor costumed hero. "We're not so much caught in the middle, as we are peasants being taxed by a Lord to fund their war." She gave her husband an affectionate smile. "He used to be a professor of history before we left Beijing."
Phoenix nodded, understanding. They were not 'caught in the middle' in the sense that the gang-war was over them in particular, they were 'caught in the middle' because they were being squeezed tighter to make sure the local Mob maintained control instead of being replaced by this new faction that was trying to muscle in.
"In any event," he began again, summarizing for himself more than them. Making sure he understood the situation. "The problem with not the Triad itself, but the turf war between Maxville's local Mob, and this other one from out of town."
…