Ramon Salazar

Just like anywhere else, Texorami has newspapers. They're more laid-back than a lot of places though, because life is pretty easygoing here and no one gets that up in arms about things. So, while the burning of two nightclubs and the deaths of five prominent 'businessmen' do make the front pages, it's muted and with more than a little air of big deal. It's especially evident when other club owners are quoted. It's not like people don't know why those particular men were targeted, even the journalist writing the story.

No, the buzz on the ground is more along the lines of who?

Ramon throws the paper down and lights a cigar, before looking up at the man standing in front of his desk.

'My name hasn't been mentioned?'

'No. Everyone thinks you're too new. Although there have been one or two questions about where you came from. It's rare when no one knows a contact in another city that's heard of you.'

'Don't worry about that, Carl.'

He knows Carl has been wondering too. His accent sticks out a little too much, his colouring a little out of place. No one really cares, it just causes a few eyebrows to raise when the mystery person is rich, starts up a business, and makes a move on the drug trade with no one having a clue where he came from. Ramon lazily thinks that he and Random should take a trip to other places on this planet and find somewhere where he can set up a history, just in case. It had been a nightmare finding someone willing to completely invent a tax history when he got here.

Ramon pours Carl a drink and slides the glass over to him.

'Don't leak it was me. The cops will know soon enough anyway, no sense giving them a heads up. Just send people out tonight and buy up all the street guys that belonged to them. Give them a small bonus and tell them they have a new employer.'

His tequila is thrown back and he grins.

'And get my shit on the streets.'

And just like that, he's back in business.

Ramon approves of the new design on the office. It gives him space for a huge desk and private bathroom, so life is good. But he's restless at the moment and he knows why. It's time to act.

The club has been open again for about six weeks now. Everything's going well, the staff know what they're doing. He mostly leaves things to the manager, Carl, because this is small time for him. The office is generally used to plan bigger and better things.

Like now, for example. He's looking over the paperwork for three more clubs in the city and one bar round the corner. Yesterday he finalised the deal on a ranch that lies about an hour up the coast. It's a fairly isolated place and it'll be used primarily for starting up the illegal arm of his business. But that's not important right now. What's important is that the group of men who own these particular clubs and bars need to be gotten rid of.

The reason he wants them is because he knows perfectly well that they're used to distribute a lot of the drugs in Texorami. Street dealers visit the back rooms to drop off money, pick up new product, sort out territory. Occasionally get killed. Ramon's got someone talking to him who knows how they work here and it's a good operation. Instead of one person overseeing the whole area, the city is divided up. He personally thinks that's stupid - and it's time to show these people that the drug trade is not a democracy.

He considers hiring people here to take them out. The problem with that is that everyone knows someone who talks eventually. And there'll be plenty of time to announce his arrival in the right circles after he's taken a hold on the area. But for now, subtle is the way to go - and it just so happens that he has a few favours owed that he can call in. No one can point in his direction if they can't pin the murders on him, right? It's not like he's a well known criminal on this world.

He'll go to the bar later. For now he's working, looking at accounts on his computer and trying to figure out the best way to transfer money, and the drugs hidden on Haven, to here.