It had been a long time since I had made any actual personal calls to clients who existed on a lower end of the financial spectrum. I had nothing against taking their money, that wasn't the reason for my absentee presence in that limb of my business. There were plenty of customers for any niche of the drug market, and none of their dollars held a different weight â€" I simply felt no need to be present for deals that yielded low sums of money; I had hired a handful of low level dealers to distribute for a cut of the profit. Negotiating profit, income... those two subjects were something of a specialty for me, and although my degree was not in economics or business, my personal economy and the latter were flourishing and would continue to do so until there was no longer a need or demand for any drug I was capable of producing. Who are you kidding? The need and desire would always exist, and therein lay the key to my success. It wasn't that I wanted to sell drugs or weapons, though undoubtedly I enjoyed both pursuits, but any vice would remain lucrative while there were those willing to participate. If I had a knack for offering up services special to black markets, who was I to keep said services to myself? Rarely did I have time for attending my actual day job, let alone acting as a drug dealer and doling out grams of marijuana to teenagers at the edge of the park well past their bedtime. And while I might have complained about doing a job or "business meeting" with a client that one of my inferiors surely could have handled, it was with a vested interest in the individual that I kept complaints from my lips, and my schedule free for that tell tale phone call.

Like many of the deals that occurred in the South side of the city, this one afforded me the chance to park my car several side streets back and plant a cigarette between my lips as I padded down the sidewalk towards the shadows that would swallow my figure from the streetlights and allow me to greet my client in the peace of darkness. It was with little curiosity I noted a figure lowering itself to the ground beneath the shade offered by a large tree located in a remote part of the park, that was supposed to be empty. Except for me and whoever it was I was meeting. Eyes narrowed, I allowed myself the moment to scrutinize the figure and though it was minorly familiar, my Shadow in all it's typically useless glory swelled itself up to swallow our transaction, enabling me to walk out of the absolute darkness closer to the tree than I had originally intended as curiosity fueled every step I took while veiled by my Shadow. So I had been right, noting that the figure was familiar. Beneath the tree sprawled the body of a man I had done business with before, though his ... current locale didn't seem to be as stately as those he had worked out of in prior times.

"Where is your cash can and sign?"

What a lovely opening remark. The words were laced with a lilt of good humor, but mostly they effused the curiosity that had drawn me out of the darkness and off of my charted path back to my car on the other side of the park. Spencer was a familiar face, yes, but that familiarity lacked any kind of proximal relationship. I hadn't seen him in quite a long while, the surprise must have clearly registered in my all too expressive blue eyes. Mindlessly, I lit another cigarette to ease between my lips while he assessed who I was and how he knew me before replying. And after a brief pause, I extended a hand to him to offer assistance to the land of the upright before feeling my eyebrows knit together in unbidden thoughtfulness.

"What's brought you back to the city, Lombardi?"

As if offering him the generosity of my attention, between my fingers in my outstretched hand was a cigarette, and a lighter resting between the next two fingers. No question like that was ever answered in a brief moment.