11.
	Upstairs in the foreman's office, Sciorrenzo sat in attendance with a number of other local drug barons thorughout the sprawling Pacific Northwestern regions. In attendance with Monty, Hattrick, Denesia and Sakuya, the fat old cronie clinked a fork against a wine glass, emanating a dull humming ring. With their attention gathered, Sciorrenzo began the meeting.
	"So as most of you know, we are here tonight in attendance to come to terms with a particularly… troubling issue." Nods of agreement, murmurs beneath the dull tobacco-scented air. "Even now as we speak, there are a number of informants present down below, among all those fucking jive-dancing faggots and furry pricks. Most of these cocksuckers are currently unaccounted for, snooping around in hopes of getting their grimy spic paws on heavy contraband that we've struggled for many months to conceal from prying eyes." Sciorrenzo grunted, pointing through a large mesh-screened window that looked down upon the primary carving floor below, now littered with drug-fueled crazies, dancing their lives away. He shook his head with disgust, clearing his throat, hocking and spitting a lugie on the floor. 
	Sciorrenzo looked at the partners and cracked a dismal smile, fraught with evil.
	"Little do they know that they won't be getting a goddamned thing. We've all sent our own men - and women - in to retrieve, with no hope and no avail. This is a decoy, a contrived effort to weed 'em out and knock 'em down into the dirt, so that our current operations can't possibly be overencumbered with their belligerent bullshit. Can I get an A-MEN, brothers?"
	Sakuya nodded, folding his bony hands together, resting them upon his turgid breastbone. Monty and Hattrick both swigged down their glasses, filled to the brims with top-dollar liquor, illegally imported. Denesia cleared his throat and leaned back to snap his finger, popping his knuckes habitually. A young man dressed in a three-piece suit approched Denesia, attentive and alert. Denesia whispered something into the boy's ear, tucked a fifty-dollar bill into his jacket pocket and wiped crud off the corners of his mouth, patting the suave young man on his rump as he exited.
	"You sure they don't have any other tricks up their sleeve, man? Y'know, like outside interference? Who's to say we aren't being spied on right now? Right out there, in those goddamned woods?" Denesia asked.
	"Could be recipe for disaster. We not safe here, not for long." Sakuya added, nervously rubbing at his elbows. "What more you need to be convinced?"
	"Well, at least we can get fucking hammered before then, eh?" Monty blurted out, gap-toothed guffawing grin pasted upon his cheeks. "Good enough for me, anyways!"
	"Yeah, where'd dem hookers y'all promised us go to anyways, Sciorrenzo? I ain't seen a single sugar-mama up 'ere the whole time, man! I need me some pussy! Ain't no doubt 'bout it, dog!" Hattrick snorted from laughing, spinning his shot-glass like a toy top across the table's surface. Hattrick and Monty gave each other a high-five, snickering and snorting with hilarity.
	"Both you mother-loving cunts should learn how to shut the fuck up." Denesia ordered, stern frown rippling his aged brows into a V-shape. 
	"Pussy for later, gentlemen. Right now we conduct business. Priorities first. You understand?" Sakuya asked Hattrick condescendingly. 
	"I'll show you business, you goddam stinking gook basta-"
	"Ah! That what I want hear all night! You give me reason to kill you now! You good man! Good man! Sciorrenzo, may I?" Sakuya asked, slapping his hand down hard upon the table while holding his wrist close to his hip, ready to whip out his piece and drop Monty before everyone else, body riddled with smoking bullet-holes.
	The fat, bald Italian simply slammed his fists upon the table, causing the ground to vibrate, even over the thumping bass-notes from downstairs. All four men froze in place, faces devoid of expression, eyes wide open and glued to Sciorrenzo, fuming red with anger. A tall and rather anorexic-skinny woman with an alarmingly pale-white complexion dressed in a swanky black dress smiled aloud, leaned up against a half-cut barrel filled with ice and various bottles of hard liquor. She giggled, winking at Sciorrenzo, suggesting bloodshed before the night grew long and dull.
	"You need to understand something. All you fucking stupid nigger-bitches need to understand." Sciorrenzo pointed out the window down toward the dance floor. "Somewhere out there is an old client of mine, a young pup I took in from the 'pen' when he had nowhere else to go. He was my best client, my go-to stick-up guy." Sciorrenzo shrugged, smirking. "Now? Why, now he wants to see me killed in one way or another. I've been responsible for things in the past, crazy things that have been done to him, that caused him to lose his trust in me. Can't say that I was ever proud of myself, but it was only what had to be done. You understand how such a motive of strife operates… right, gentlemen? I sure hope so." Sciorrenzo sniffed deep and hawked another luger against the windowsill, creaking his neck.
	Sciorrenzo's fellow dealer-gathering nodded in agreement, confirming their understanding. Hattrick gave Sciorrenzo a forlorn, untrustworthy gaze.
	"Before the night is over, I'd like to wipe the ground with that fucking coon-dog's brains. He won't come in here and expect to make it back out alive unless I have something to say about it directly, and there's a promise you can bet I'll keep!" Sciorrenzo hollered, rolling his fat-fingered hand into a large ball. "No matter what, Mr. B. is going to bite the dust and our enterprises won't possibly be compromised."
	The attending gentlemen gawked at each other, issuing not a peep. Denesia broke the silence casually with a low voice.
	"Even now as we speak, I've sent an order to my men downstairs to retrieve this… 'Mr. B.' who you speak of, sir. By all accounts, we should be in the clear before long and not have a damn thing to worry about. Business will continue as usual and this place, this mill, will stand true. It’s a perfect location anyways! No interference from the outside, no fucking pigs sniffing around, no restrictions or curfews. And the best thing?" Denesia rolled up a dollar bill and stuck one end into his nostril. He leaned down toward the table and dragged the other end along a carefully-constructed line of cocaine, inhaling the powder with rapid speed. After he'd finished one line, he reared his head back, snorted, coughed and sniffed deep, giving an insane smile. "No fucking witnesses." Denesia's psychotic expression caused Sakuya to rear back with fright and Hattrick to damn-near piss himself. "In other words, boys…" Denesia placed the currency-tube into his other nostril and dragged it along yet another line of coke, inhaling deep. He finished, let the tube fall to the table, pinched a small ample amount of coke between his fingertips, sprinkled it upon his palm, snorted back a couple more hits, rubbed the remaining substance upon his gums and chuckled wildly. "This place is a fucking gold-mine."
	Sciorrenzo smirked, nodding sincerely, happy to see that he wasn't the only one intent on seeing the infiltrators burn at the stake. Just how long the process would take was what irked at Sciorrenzo's conscience. He wanted to murder Maxwell so fucking bad, but he wanted to do it correctly without any flubs in the plan overall.
	The fat fuck kept his sausage-fingers crossed behind his back, staring out the grimy foreman's office window, reassuring himself that Denesia's men had things covered.