Lars Rossi And His Merry Men

The full moon shone on Rossi's conference room. The modern, sleek room was liminal, with only a nice rectangular table and many chairs accompanying it. The boss himself was standing at the end of one of those tables, looking out the large windows as he thought of what to say. As it was after hours, he took off his blazer, leaving only his black vest and white shirt, with a smooth black tie. The sleeves were rolled up, showing off his expensive watch and rings. With Rossi were two other men. The one to the right of Rossi was Quinn Holden, fidgeting in his seat. To the left was Dan Heartly. He leaned back in his seat, keeping a grin as he looked at the boss. Dan had a look that screamed shady. Low mohawk, skin pale and wrinkled from the sun, intense brown eyes, and uneven stubble. He was the least formal, with floral shirts and khaki pants.

Rossi finally spoke. “I heard the news about Sander, Quinn. My apologies.”

Dan said his piece in a thick Aussie accent. “Sorry your old flame kicked the bucket, mate.”

Q rolled his eyes. “I’m no queer. I’ll be fine. I’m worried about myself, however. Mr. Rossi, I cannot work under threat of duress.”

“You’ll be fine,” Rossi said. “This masked freak is just a small distraction. Sander was a good boy. He’d never crack.”

Q sighed. “Fine. Maybe he didn’t say anything. But I’m still worried. I think I should leave town–”

“Pfft.” Rossi interpreted that thought. “80s Night is coming up. That’s my biggest money maker, you kidding me?”

Q looked down in fear. “I’m sure that somebody else would–”

“No. Nobody else can. You own the club. Might I remind you how expensive the upgrades were? How expensive this entire party will be? I’ll beef up security. You will manage 80s Night. Understood?”

“Yes, sir…” Q said, fixing his glasses, the fear of the masked killer sticking in his mind.

Rossi finally turned and leaned against the table, looking at Dan. “You secured our presents?”

Dan smirked, licking his lips as he spoke. “What kinda guy you take me for, boss? I got the present, mate.”

Rossi smiled. “Good. Where’s your partner? She’s still good for the weapons?”

“Of course. Yuliana’s my best friend. She got top of the line weapons, bossman.” Dan kept a confident smirk. “All I need is the docks clear. And we’re golden.”

“That’s taken care of. Now. You two gentlemen know the stakes of this deal. The Yakuza are offering big money. We need to make a good first impression. You have your orders. Dismissed.”

As the two shuffle out of the room, Ryan steps in, phone in hand. “It’s Chairman Okane.”

Rossi’s eyes widened at her as he grabbed the phone. Okane Yasuhiro was the Chairman of Yasuhiro-gumi. Not everyday that he comes calling. “Mr. Okane.” He finally said, shaking off the surprise from his voice.

“One of our own is dead,” Okane said, his old, experienced voice cutting through the bullshit. He was nearing 75, after all. “Do you know about this?”

“I saw something on the news maybe,” Rossi said, remembering what he saw an hour or two again. “About as much as you.”

“I’ve seen the feed. It was a man in a mask. I would assume he’s doing the same to your operations?”

Rossi groaned to himself. That little fucker was becoming a problem. “Yes. Very much so. We got it under control.”

Okane was quiet for a moment, saying something in Japanese to an unknown thug before speaking to Rossi again. “Our meeting is in a few weeks, Mr. Rossi. I am sending you my best soldiers for you to finalize this deal. I would trust these men won’t come back to me in pieces.”

“This man,” Rossi spoke with a bit more frustration. “Is just killing thugs and lowlifes I pay scraps for. With all due respect Mr. Okane, I can handle one masked killer. I’d appreciate the respect and trust to make a partnership work.”

“Of course,” The chairman responded. “My apologies, Mr. Rossi. I trust he will be dealt with. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“The masked man had written something after killing my man. UV. Remember it well.” The call ended.

Rossi grumbled as he gave the phone back to Ryan, who was idly waiting as he talked. She looked at him with worry as he tensed up. He sighed to calm down. “It’s ok, Ryan. Go home.” He grabbed his wallet and gave her 300 dollars. “For overtime.”

Ryan happily took the money. “Thank you sir,” She said, walking out the room, leaving the boss alone.

Rossi looked out at the window. His kingdom. His domain. He began talking to himself. “I don’t know who you are UV and I don’t give a shit. I built this empire brick by brick. This city was in turmoil. The Irish. The Chinese. The Koreans. All of them crushed under my fucking thumb. You think you can wear a little mask and think you can tear me down? You’ll find out. Your arms are just too short to box with God.”