Monolog

What the hell are you thinking? That I'm some kind of fucking parasite? I provide a simple service. I organize and run the largest criminal syndicate in this country. Do you even know what that means?

Of course not. You probably think all I do is have my underlings set up schemes to steal from people so that my cut keeps me in a decadent lifestyle. That perspective is shortsighted... and borderline retarded. If the head of an organization does not contribute, it gets replaced. I have to provide a service to the people under me, or they won't have me. I perform a useful service to the city too, of course.

Oh? You don't think a criminal syndicate can do some good? You're not really aware of what the fuck we do around here, are you? Yes, we bring drugs into the city. There's a market for it. Simple economics will tell you that you can't outlaw a good, you can only affect availability and price. We control that market. We keep it... quiet. There's no dealer hanging outside the high schools. Little old church ladies don't see a bordello across the street from the library. The good people of this city only have to see the seamy realities of life if they want them, and only when they want them.

And it's not easy. Last month, this kid was caught selling dope in his own school. Tragic story, of course. He was found dead of an overdose in his family home. I mean, of course the DA was curious about where he'd gotten the drugs. Of course the kid was willing to cut a deal. Which... made him a narc, an independent, a kid-pusher, and not part of the family. I think you take my meaning here.

Since I keep things quiet and give the local government plausible deniability, I'm providing a service. If I go away, crime rates appear to go up; nothing gets hidden. Out of sight is out of mind.

Different proposition for the folks working under me. Most of them just want to make a shit-ton of money, and to hell with the consequences. Not an uncommon mentality in this day and age, but one that tends to destroy the business. Sure, our various rackets are pretty easy to rebuild. Drugs just require a new batch, a hitman gets replaced, a prostitute finds a new corner, and shit rolls on. But the benefit of organization is fronts.

You know, a front? I rent an office, file taxes, everybody gets social security, health care... all the benefits of living in society, instead of against it. Income gets laundered. Legbreakers can tell their parents they're working collections for that bright and shiny new firm. Proud parents, happy psychopaths.

Some people, of course, don't give a shit. They think it's gotta be all about the cash. Young shits who never had anything to live for. Old fucks who never saved for retirement suddenly doing the math. I can give 'em the carrot of easy money. But they'll always need more. They could own Ohio and think they should also buy Michigan. They could take over France and Italy and still think it was a smart idea to invade Russia in winter. They will not learn from someone telling them.

So, them... they get the stick. They gotta get burned. Maybe I don't stop a police raid that'll catch 'em with their pants down. Maybe I just have a fellow in jail give 'em a bit of a talk. Probably with lube. People need to understand they are not invincible, even if they are, for a moment in time, powerful. People are some dumb shits tho. Some can be scared straight, or at least back on our crooked little path. Others... too dumb to live.

Sheesh. You know, I lose about a third of my manpower that way? I get some that make it to retirement, but, boy... they are some rare ones. I've been paying some of them to do workshops for the young shits and new hires. Don't know if it helps or not, but anything that makes a kid think "Hey, I have a future if I don't fuck up."

Ah well, I'm rambling. Tends to happen when I have to kill some time. Heh, get it? Ah, right, it's not all that funny when you've got cement drying around your ass. But, hey, you tried to shoot me in my own home, in front of my kids. That's your ass, you know?

Now, sure, you're dead. Give or take a few minutes, right? You get to call in one favor though. You get to tell me what drove you to this point, where you thought you had to kill me. Maybe I gotta whack one of my boys, since someone's stepping on some toes, eh? Maybe your family's in peril, and you're not even really my enemy. I'll saddle up a posse and rescue what I can of your people. Maybe you're just an idiot who picked the wrong house to burgle... but you got through my security somehow.

You tell me how the fuck you ended up here, and maybe you get to go to your imminent grave satisfied that your death wasn't in vain. You make it a secret you take to your grave, and I will find if you have any living relatives, and I will involve them. Oh do not give me that look. You waved a gun at my fucking children. You don't tell me, and you can find out how little it helps you in this world and the next.