The next morning, Em Cal woke up to the sound of gun shots and police sirens, but he was too used to this to be concerned. He ate a quick breakfast of leftover pizza, washed down with Cherry 7-Up, before feeding his python, Reaper. He was in the middle of watching Reaper strangle the poor defenseless rat when there was a knock at the door. Wondering who it could be that early in the morning, Em Cal answered.

A man in his early 60s stood at Em Cal's door. He was about 6 foot 2 with salt and pepper covered hair, an aqualine nose, and a cleft chin. Under the Hugo Boss suit that he wore was a body that was the result of hours spent at the gym.

"V.K. McMahon, " Em Cal said slightly surprised. "What brings you here to dampen my doorstep?"

"Em Cal," said McMahon, in a voice that would befit a company spokesperson and not the # 1 crime boss in Titan City. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"You ain't no friend of mine, McMahon," said Em Cal, the temperature dropping 20 degrees with the cold honesty in his voice. "You are merely a former employer."

"Same Em Cal," said McMahon with a broad grin that would make the Kool-Aid pitcher jealous. "Always bitingly hostile. Alright, I'll get to the point, may I come in?"

Em Cal opened the door wider. McMahon strutted in and sat down on Em Cal's sectioned sofa.

"I guess you'll be wanting a drink, McMahon?" Em Cal asked

"Yes, a vodka martini, shaken on the rocks, triple olives, please," said McMahon.

Em Cal raised his eyebrows.

"Right, I'll get some gin on the rocks." he said, heading to his liquor cabinet. He returned with two glasses, ice, and a bottle of Tanqueray Rangpur.

"You can pour it yourself," he said as he sat himself on the leather recliner chair he often occupied.

Em Cal watched the old man pour himself a generous measure of gin. He sank it in one gulp and smacked his lips in appreciation.

"That hit the spot," he said. "This has a nice lime taste to it, you have a fine taste in liquor, Em Cal, "

"I believe I said something about getting to the point, McMahon," said Em Cal.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that," said McMahon, shaking back his sleeve, showing off the expensive stainless steel Cosmograph Rolex. "The reason why I showed up unexpectedly is because I have a problem at my hands and you're the only man competent enough to free me of this burdensome problem."

"Incase you've forgotten, McMahon," Em Cal started, "I'm retired, you know what that means, right? It means 'no longer working', 'withdrawn from business," which means I don't have to do a damn thing for you. Now show yourself to the other side of my door."

But McMahon didn't get up to leave.

"I've known you for nearly nineteen years, Em Cal," said McMahon, "You can't possibly sit here and say that you like the way things are going for you right now, with no cash flowing in and not really doing anything productive."

"I am not like the rest of the world, whose main concerns are monetary gain," said Em Cal in the usual cold tone. "I do not waste my time worrying about such mundane bullshit. And I believe that after years of working for you, I deserve a nice quiet life."

"Yes, one cannot argue with that, after all you've done for me," said McMahon. "But if I know you, I'll know that the bloodthirsty, trigger happy psychopath inside you still craves some action. The beast inside you is hungry, I know it is. I've got something that'll satisfy that beast's appetite. What do you say, Em Cal?"

As McMahon poured himself another glass of gin, Em Cal thought about what the man had said. Except for taking out those four punks last night, things were very dull. As much as he hated to admit it, McMahon was right; just a tiny part of him wanted violence that his soul so desperately fiends for.

"Alright," Em Cal said, "I'm in."

"That's the answer I was looking for," said McMahon, happily sinking the glass of gin. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Indeed," Em Cal said, helping himself, this time, to some gin. "What's the problem?"

"Well, as you know, they call this city 'The Jungle'," said McMahon, "and rightfully so; This city fraught with a bunch of wild animals. But out of all of those animals, I think it's only appropriate that I'm the most preeminent animal in the Jungle; The lion. That's right, I'm the King of the Jungle, the Alpha male. And my men are my pride. Of course, there's always another lion who thinks he's dominant enough to knock me off of my perch, which is the case now.

"There's a new high on the street, goes by the name of theTriple Effect, a combination of speed, ecstasy and LSD. Some asshole's distributing it on my streets. Whoever it is, they're cutting into my profits. Since Triple Effect came into existence, my business has dropped by 7 percent. That's as good as 100%, which is not acceptable. This can't continue to happen."

"So, what do you want me to do, McMahon?" asked Em Cal

A maniacal leer came across the old man's face.

"I want you to find the source," he said, his voice coming out in a gravelly whisper. "Find out whose distributing this Triple Effect crap, find out where the Triple Effect's coming from, and you find the people whose responsible for creating the Triple Effect, and when you do, kill them! You hear me? I'm talking expunction! Total annihilation! You've got my clearance, Em Cal"

An evil glint flashed in Em Cal's piercing cold green eyes.

"You've got it McMahon," he said, sinking his glass. "I tell ya what, after I'm done, I'll even send you pictures of the bodies."

"Yes, you do that," said McMahon standing up. "Do this for me and your payoff will be one with a plethora of zeros."

Em Cal stood up also, shaking McMahon's hand.

"Nice doing business again, McMahon," he said

McMahon nodded a salute to Em Cal and swaggered out of the apartment.