Three's a Crowd

Prologue: Fisky Business

Everyone has been to a restaurant at some point in their lives. Due to this fact, you would know what to expect inside, right. Imagine sitting down with your friends or family, the lights either bright or dim depending on the type of restaurant setting. Guests and restaurant staff bustling about with chatter and clanging silverware, creating a multi-layered orchestra of sounds that you can't quite find anywhere else in the world. The smell of food fresh out of kitchen, particularly the delicate spices and sauces the cooks add to give each meal a zing to your taste buds. The overall experience of being in a restaurant is something that never gets old, even if you've gone to the same restaurant on numerous occasions, you always find some little piece of being a part of the experience that you've never experienced.

On one particular night, the moon's cold light was shining down on a very vintage restaurant. Based on the traffic, one could assume that the place was empty. Unfortunately, not.

The interior was mostly empty and dimly lit, with a single light hovering over a round table in a large parlor. At this round table, sat five people anxiously waiting around for something to happen. These five people were all leaders of infamous crime families and gangs throughout New York City. They glared at each other inquisitively, trying to find some kind of clue as to why they have been assembled. Whenever they weren't eyeing each other, they would give a sly eye to the uniformed FBI agents surrounding them. They were the ones that had collected each one of the crime lords, and delivered them to this restaurant.

"I swear, you'll hear from my lawyers about this!" one of the more hot-headed bosses shouted to the agents.

"No kidding" another crime boss said, calmer than the previous one.

"This is all bullshit" a third boss added, "I mean what good do the feds have for bringing us here?"

"Information" an older voice stung through the air abruptly. The other bosses shifted their attention to the man in formal slacks. The color of grey and black grizzled throughout the gentleman's appearance, apart from his lightly tanned skin. He had a small face, but it seemed that its features seemed like they were sharpening the longer you stared. He sat leaning back in his seat with one arm resting on the table. His fingers were clenched in a fidgeting manner, almost as if he were contemplating the entire situation. His eyes were down until he had to readdress his involuntary audience.

"They collected us quietly without making a big scene with the press" he started. "And if this was an arrest, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Instead, we'd be waiting in a holding cell in the downtown precinct."

"How do you know this, old man" the upset boss chimed in.

"I've been around long enough to know how things go" the older boss replied. "They brought us here because they want something."

A female boss a couple seats to his right scoffed, earning the attention of the crowd. "Well, they're not going to get anything from us." The bosses stiffly nodded or glared in an assuring way, paying respect to their game plan.

The older boss didn't necessarily nod, but he did see the courage in their plan. But there was something quite off about the whole situation. At their table, there were six seats planted around the table, yet only five people were present to take a seat. This troubled the old man, as he knew this empty seat was meant for the negotiator or fixer. The aged boss had seen this scenario a thousand times, but the fact that the FBI was involved to deliver them was a causing  few red flags to go up in his mind.

After some time, he and the other bosses' bothers were soon put to rest when a pair of loud footsteps came approaching from behind the kitchen doors. As they opened, a large, tall figure emerged in a white suit. The figures body language was tense, but you could see that it was trying to restrain itself to maintain a business formal persona. The assembled crime lords perked their heads up at the newcomer's presence. "Fisk?" they all quirked in unison. "What the hell is this?!" the upset boss growled, now getting a bit agitated.