[This story is complete and being edited.]
Armed racing is Atropellado's deadliest and most profitable sport. And wherever there is profit in Atro, there is crime.
Gervassio Blaze has left his most prized possession - ownership of the armed racing f...
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An eerie silence weighed the air once the funeral home had mostly emptied. Gervassio's attorney didn't waste any time approaching Blaze's primary enforcer, now the new head crime boss of Atropellado. After a quick exchange of contact info, and promises to hash out details in the morning, the attorney slithered off into the night.
The four heads of Atropellado's districts had risen from their seats last. All men older than Lancet, with Gallagher being the oldest in his sixties, and Luxor being the youngest at forty. They'd been hand selected by G.B., some from even before Lancet was taken in by the Blazes.
Being passed up for the inheritance must hurt... Not that I can blame you, but if this is G.B.'s will, then I'll see it through regardless of your personal feelings.
They all approached him as a group with stoney expressions, an intimidating bunch to many, but not Lancet. Lancet had always believed respect was something earned regardless of age, and tenure. Being older didn't necessarily mean of higher value in the family. This was a belief Lancet held himself to, and held his men. It may not be in line with The Four's thinking, but that didn't matter anymore with Lancet at the helm now. Lancet regarded them with vague familiarity as he parked himself by Gervassio's elaborate casket.
"Congratulations, Boss."
Bakemono was the first to speak. This didn't surprise Lancet. Bakemono was a bruiser at heart, and the only thing that he answered to was strength. Lancet had earned enough stripes as far as that was concerned so now his only challenge was to maintain that reverence. Lancet would never be allowed to show weakness if he wanted to keep Bakemono in line. Not balking at the sight of them approaching was already a good start.
"Thank you, Bakemono. I appreciate your men keeping the riffraff out. I assume I can count on you for the upcoming memorial race?"
"Always," Bakemono nodded.
"Congratulations," Rapine cut in, and the rest followed with the same mumbled sentiment. Their flat tones lacked the same enthusiasm as Bakemonos.
When a scathing glare was Lancet's only reaction, Gallagher nervously added, "There's much to discuss now that you've inherited the franchise, but for now, we have businesses to run..."
"Mmm. And bank to make," Lancet acknowledged. "The family needs that now more than ever. Consistency." He enunciated that word, a veiled thread.
I'll listen to your concerns after the burial, but I refuse to tolerate insolence here. Not today.
Aside from Luxor's fake grin widening, there were no other obvious signs of opposition.
"Agreed," Rapine answered ominously, and tipped his hat to Lancet. "Have a good night, Boss."
Lancet glared at their backs as they left. Once they were out the door, he sized up the fifty or so men remaining, restless in their own skins. They were the ranks beneath Blaze's top tier racers. As if sensing the intensity radiating off of him, said racers joined him by their former boss' casket. These four men were subordinates personally handpicked by Lancet, and he trusted them with his life.
