The meeting took place in a warehouse near the western docks.
Rain tapped steadily against the rusted metal roof, the sound echoing through the large open space. Crates were stacked in tall rows, some marked with shipping labels from overseas, others with no markings at all.
Men stood around the perimeter.
Armed and alert watching for any sign of trouble.
At the center of the warehouse stood one of the lieutenants of the Khadym Mob—the organization that controlled nearly a quarter of Gotham's weapon and drug smuggling routes.
His name was Rashid Kova.
Tall, sharp-eyed, and dressed in a dark coat despite the heat of the warehouse.
He had expected the meeting to be simple.
One of Dre's representatives. Maybe Dre himself, he's heard of the man but has never met him in person.
Negotiations.
Business.
Instead the warehouse door rolled open with a metallic groan.
Two figures walked in.
First came Dre Matthews, broad shouldered and Rashid instantly figured out why he was called the wall. The man was imposing to say the least.
But the man beside him—
Rashid's eyes flicked toward the second figure.
He recognized him immediately everyone that was in Chinatown spread rumors about his appearance.
The man who had been turning Gotham's underbelly upside down.
The man whispered about in alleys, shelters, and backrooms across the city.
The Underpass Boss.
Quentin they called him but everyone knew he was also the Kieran the up and coming hotel mogul. It was said Quentin usually wore a mask, it was not present today.
Rashid managed to keep his face composed, but the surprise still flashed through his eyes for a fraction of a second.
He hadn't expected him to show up personally.
Quentin noticed.
Of course he noticed.
A slow grin spread across his face as he approached.
"Lieutenant," Quentin said smoothly.
Rashid inclined his head slightly trying to keep his nerves in check, they say the boss of the underpass is a crazy son of a bitch. He can change moods at the drop of the hat one moment he's smooth and polite the next you're dead.
"Sir."
His voice remained calm, professional, though his mind was already racing.
Dre stepped forward slightly.
Dre said evenly. "Thank you for meeting with us."
Rashid looked between the two men for a moment before gesturing toward a nearby table where a few chairs had been set up.
"Let's talk."
Quentin glanced around the warehouse once, taking in the armed men, the crates, the exits.
Then he smiled again and took a seat.
"Perfect," he said.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Because I've got a business opportunity I think your bosses are going to find… very interesting."
Rashid Kova leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening his expression.
Across the table, Quentin smiled like a man who had already won the conversation.
"I know the Khadym Mob is prominent in the gun smuggling trade on this side of Gotham," Quentin began smoothly. "You control a healthy chunk of it."
Rashid gave a small nod.
That wasn't a secret.
"But," Quentin continued, tilting his head slightly, "what if you could be… more?"
Rashid's eyes narrowed in curiosity.
Quentin spread his hands casually.
"I'd like to facilitate transportation into the parts of Gotham your competition won't allow you to reach."
The lieutenant blinked.
For a moment he just stared at him.
Then he leaned back in his chair slowly.
"I would have to run anything like that past my boss," Rashid said carefully. "But I'm not seeing the upside."
He tapped a finger against the table.
"We would take too much of a hit working through a middleman."
His tone remained calm but firm.
"And if we started redirecting supply through new routes, we'd create shortages for our existing buyers."
His eyes stayed locked on Quentin.
"That sounds like a net negative."
For half a second the room was quiet.
Then Quentin burst out laughing.
A loud, genuine laugh.
He slapped his hand down on the table.
"Of course! Of course!"
The sound echoed through the warehouse.
Dre didn't move, but he could already feel the tension shifting.
Quentin leaned back in his chair, still grinning.
"I just wanted to throw a bone to you guys," he said casually. "Seeing as I already talked to the Rileys."
Rashid froze.
Quentin pushed his chair back and stood up.
"Trying to keep the competition fair, y'know."
The lieutenant's eyes widened.
"What?"
His chair scraped back as he stood.
Anger flashed across his face.
"Did you just come into Khadym territory and tell me you're working with our competition?"
Several of Rashid's men immediately reached for their weapons.
The atmosphere in the warehouse turned electric.
Quentin just laughed again.
"Oh relax," he said, waving a hand dismissively.
"You shouldn't be too angry. I was just being nice."
He adjusted his coat slightly.
"Anyway, bring the proposal up to your boss."
His eyes drifted lazily toward the men gripping their guns.
He wagged a finger at them in mock disapproval.
"You guys should really learn to be calmer in these situations."
Before anyone could respond—
A shout echoed from outside the warehouse doors.
"Lieutenant!"
The voice was shaky.
Panicked.
"We got a situation!"
The large metal doors creaked open.
Everyone inside turned.
Rashid's expression shifted immediately.
Several of his men stumbled inside first.
But they weren't walking freely.
They were being pushed forward.
At gunpoint.
Weapons pressed against the backs of their heads.
Behind them stood figures in ragged coats, dirty clothes, worn shoes.
Homeless.
Or at least… they looked like it.
Faces the Khadym men saw almost every day.
People they usually ignored.
People begging for scraps.
Now those same people held guns.
And they moved with calm, controlled precision.
More of them stepped in behind the first group, rifles raised.
The warehouse fell completely silent.
Quentin slowly turned his head back toward Rashid.
His smile was gone.
His voice, when he spoke, was quiet.
Deadly calm.
"It might be a good idea…"
He gestured lightly toward the armed men.
"…to calm everyone down."
Rashid's head snapped toward his men.
"Lower your weapons!"
The command cracked through the warehouse like a whip.
No one moved at first.
Dozens of guns were still raised—some belonging to the Khadym soldiers, others now firmly in the hands of the ragged figures holding their captured men at gunpoint.
Rashid stepped forward, forcing authority into his voice.
"I said lower them!"
He spread his hands slightly, trying to control the situation.
"I was just surprised for a second. Everything is fine."
His eyes flicked toward the homeless gunmen surrounding his soldiers.
"Lower your weapons."
One by one, Khadym men hesitated… then slowly began lowering their guns.
Across the room, Quentin didn't even bother watching.
He had already turned away.
"Pleasure meeting you," he said casually over his shoulder.
Dre fell in step behind him as they walked toward the open warehouse doors.
No one tried to stop them.
Outside, the rain had picked up.
Their vehicle waited near the curb.
Quentin climbed into the passenger seat while Dre slid into the back.
The engine started, tires crunching over wet gravel as the car pulled away from the warehouse.
Behind them, the ragged gunmen melted away just as quickly as they had appeared.
The Khadym soldiers they had marched inside were released and scattered back into the night.
Within minutes, the warehouse looked almost normal again.
Inside the moving car, Dre finally spoke.
"Why didn't you bring up the Court?"
Quentin looked out the window, watching Gotham slide past in streaks of rain and neon.
"And why were you so antagonistic?" Dre continued. "I thought you wanted a good relationship with them."
Quentin nodded slightly.
"I do."
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow against the door.
"The issue," he said calmly, "lies in the way they went about the meeting."
Dre frowned.
Quentin continued.
"A lieutenant isn't someone who can make decisions."
He glanced back briefly.
"When we started the meeting and he didn't immediately call someone who could listen in on the conversation…"
He shrugged.
"I knew the meeting wasn't going anywhere."
Rain streaked across the window beside him.
"The Khadym are stuck in their ways."
His voice carried a faint hint of amusement.
"They hardly participated in the war because they didn't have to."
"They're comfortable."
He held up a finger.
"They're slowly cutting away at the Rileys."
Another finger.
"Turning everyone else away because they can."
He leaned back slightly.
"And their weapon supply makes them a nightmare to fight if someone ever decided to challenge them directly."
Dre nodded slowly.
"So you pushed them."
Quentin smirked.
"I had to antagonize them."
His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim car interior.
"Because now their boss will want to meet me."
Dre folded his arms.
"They're content eating away at the Rileys."
"Exactly," Quentin said.
"But they won't be content with someone helping their enemy."
He tapped the door lightly.
"Especially if they know they could convince that someone to help them instead."
Dre considered that for a moment.
Then he gave a small nod.
"So now you actually have to talk to the Rileys."
Quentin's smile widened slightly.
"It's already in motion."
-
A/N: I feel like a broken record, I have terrible pacing issues. Action and fun will commence shortly I apologize.