mafia | b.b.

[2] locust

He had been able to find a decent suit and tie for his meeting at the Locust. It was all black except for his dress shirt, which actually was ripped on the sides due to age and most likely being thrifted over and over. He wore gloves to cover his metal hand, hopefully there was a trend for dressy men to wear gloves.

His hair was almost shoulder length, but to maintain his formal-aura, he tucked the strands behind his ears and was even able to buy a bottle of inexpensive hair gel at the corner store.

In the broken mirror of his tight bathroom he looked over his attire, making sure it was suitable for someone with the social ranking of the deadly, Mr. Ambrosa.

Mr. Ambrosa was the leader of the infamous gang, The Crimson Angels. But they were more famously known as the Angels. Mr. Ambrosa was an incredible businessman, which brought him his wealth. He owned real estate, multi-billion dollar enterprises, institutions, all over the world, some say he even owned parts of countries. Those who knew of him, were simply aware of his brilliance in business. But those who knew him, feared him.

Mr. Ambrosa was a killer. He was the head of the mafia. He killed when he wanted, who he wanted, whenever he wanted. This wasn't for the sociopathic delights of himself, but it was to keep him and his own safe. Everyone wanted his power.

The Crimson Angels had many enemies, but within those enemies they all hated each other as well. No one knew the exact number of people who worked for Mr. Ambrosa's mafia, but what they did know, was that they were all ready to murder anyone who tried to step out of line.

The Soldat knew better than to expect Mr. Ambrosa himself at the Locust. When the clock struck eleven, he had fled his apartment. Leaving the month's rent on the small table for the landlord. The Soldat knew he would never be back.

+++

The Locust was filled with people, most wearing black. Upbeat music played in the background, and the clinking of glasses and chattering of people filled the rest. He was unsure of where to go, but he felt confident that the representative of Mr. Ambrosa would make themselves known within the hour.

He walked over to the bar and ordered, "whiskey, straight up."

He looked around and studied the people around him. To his left, one seat over was a woman. Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun, but had several loose hairs around her face. She was talking and laughing with the man to her left. He had just bought her another martini, and was complementing how she looked. To his right there was a man, he was bald and he wore a similar suit to his own. He looked at the bold watch on his left hand, it was a glossy black material, and had sparkling diamonds within it. He was quiet, but eventually a group of other men made their way over and they laughed.

After finishing his whiskey, he glanced at the clock above the bar. He had been there for not even  half an hour, and there was no sign of any Crimson Angel. He decided to walk around the area, maybe he would find someone.

After walking the perimeter of the space, he found no one that struck him as different. Disappointed, he headed back to the bar.

In the seat he had left was a brown haired woman. She wore a red dress that exposed her collarbone, and hugged her entire figure. Her hair was untamed, curly and voluminous, her skin was tan. She looked young, maybe mid twenties.

"Can I see your identification, Ma'am?" the bartender asked.

She simply stared at him and then heard her order a shot of vodka. She turned in her chair, like she could feel him watching her.

She nodded at the long-haired man, and turned back to the shot being slide across the marble bar top. She threw the alcohol back and then got up from the chair.