Down at the docks, some say they might see things. Ships passing each other in the midst of the night, cargo being shipped in to Masqopolis…or perhaps, some deals being made.
Of course, the people who see these things, they’re mistaken. No business is handled down at the docks, especially not this late at night. And even if it WAS being done this late at night, it’s not like there’d be any proof of it happening.
After all, what witnesses are there to be had, at such a late hour?
SPLASH!
Another wave hits the shoreline, and watching over it, El Padrino stands.
“What a fine night, this is.” The Don states, lit cigar in hand. Taking a drag, The Don sighs out a puff of smoke, which dissipates into the night sky. “On a night like this, I should be spending time with mi familia. But alas, I am dragged away from them by my own work once more.” Another drag, another smoky sigh. “You would think that, people like them, they’d know better. Stepping on the toes of us fine businessmen, trying to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The Don drops his cigar, and stamps out the flame beneath his boot. The camera pans back up, and The Don stares right into the lens.
“El Masko, you and Pirata Aterrador both sully the name of legitimate businessmen, like myself and Medico Muerte.” El Padrino’s hand clenches, before releasing the tension seconds later. “You try and shut us down, try and spread heinous rumors about us, yet when the truth comes out, you are nowhere to be found.” El Padrino shakes his head. “Why? Because you know that, at the end of the day, your claims hold as much weight to them as one of those plastic boat toys you give to your child in the bath.” The Don gives a slight chuckle, as he looks out to the calming waves of the ocean once more. “And just like those plastic toys, all it takes is a little bit of weight placed upon them, and they sink straight to the bottom. Just like what will happen to you, El Masko, if you continue to stand against me, or any of my potential business partners, here in Masqopolis.”
After a few seconds, The Don turns to leave, walking off into the night, as the flicker of a lighter is seen, and a puff of smoke comes from the direction The Don is walking. The camera turns down to where The Don had been standing, and laid beside the remnants of his cigar, a pair of broken shades lay motionless, with a dark coach jacket accompanying them both.
Just another day in the life of The Don.