>>6181658
>Fucking hell Dad, just take the money!
Put some of it in a trust for me if you want.

>>6181658
>Fucking hell Dad, just take the money!

Lol does Eric even have a bank account? My boy Eric has never worked a job or earned income in his entire life.

And our dad wants us to cash out a million dollar check as our first bank transaction.

>>6181682
he has a very modest savings account set up by his mom before she died

>>6181658
>"Don't tell me this is out of fucking pride and you're going to make a huge scene out of it. You don't want it all? Fine, we split 50% You see in what you put it and I'll put it with Ivy's dad so when I graduate I can have my own fortune."
>"And please, don't make me fight because I'm doing something out of how I love you and want you guys to be happy, not after the huge fight we already had"

>>6181658
>Fine, what if we split it, 50/50?
500000 is enough for any college we could get into

>>6181658
>Fine, what if we split it, 50/50?

>>6181687
>>6181746
>>6181774
50/50 split locked in

sorry, unexpected demands have been made of my time that couldn't be avoided

"Don't tell me this is out of fucking pride," I snapped, "If you're going to make a huge scene out of it, well, you don't want it all? Fine, we'll split it fifty percent."

"What are you two arguing about now?" Carmen asked, drying her hair, cheeks still bright from the hot shower.

"A million dollars," Dad grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Carmen said, eyes starting to widen as she stopped wringing out her damp locks. Dad grunted at the slip of paper between us.

"Eric wants to give us a million dollars," he said. Carmen picked it up, not really believing what she was reading.


"And Dad's fighting me over it," I said, "And I don't want to fight. Not over something out of how I love you and want you guys to be happy, not after the huge fight we already had. Not after I just had a big fight with Ivy. Please."

Carmen slapped Dad up the back of the head. "A million dollars Joe, we could move into an actual house!" she said, "We could take that vacation we talked about! We could invest it and turn it into two million dollars! Why do you always have to be so, so, so stubborn!"

"It's Eric's money, he earned it," Dad said, then he looked from her to me, "But we'll split it. 50/50."

"Finally!" I said, kicking back in the chair.

"Half a million dollars," Carmen almost looked like she'd cry.

"Don't go spending it all at once," I said, a little more sarcastic than I should have been.

"Likewise, kiddo," Dad said.

Then, I guess, we couldn't help it. We both started laughing. Laughing as it all sank in. Half a million fucking dollars!? It was insane! What the hell was I supposed to do with it?

Stuff to figure out later, tomorrow, after bed.

"I'll see you guys in the morning," I said, slumping off.

"Good night," Carmen called after me.

I grinned into the dark. Half a million dollars. It felt good. Better, to finally take care of my family. Half a million fucking dollars.

I'm rich, bitch. Except not really. Or not yet. Checks don't mean much until they're cashed, and taxes exist. And I had more important things to do than get some bread. Like recruit a violent, sociopathic mafia capo to be my sparring buddy in the ninja lessons I was getting from a hot Japanese biker babe.

My life is insane even in my own head. Recruiting Salamander seemed stupid on the face of it, but if I think about it there's a logic there. She's one of the toughest fighters I'd ever met, and even if she was a violent criminal she wasn't a genocidal space reptile bent on the destruction of all life. By comparison to what I was preparing for, she was practically a nice person. But the game now was convincing her to met up every other midnight to hit each other with wooden swords in a south side park.

"Between the niggers and the spics, we're fucked," An Italian greaseball said. I lurked above them on top of a sandwich shop. The three Outfit gangsters, two in tracksuits the other in a suit, chowed down on thick meatball sandwiches, living up to every stereotype about their ilk imaginable. I could smell the goddamn cologne from here. "With the boss in the can and ever since Ferrara went missing, whose been in charge? That psycho freak."

"Careful with that talk, Gino," the one in the suit said, sharpish, "She don't like being called a psycho, or a freak."

"She is what she is, and worse, a fucking broad," Gino bitched, "Who ever heard of a broad being acting boss? We're a joke."

"The Mexicans is run by a broad," the last gangster said, munching on the end of his sandwich, "Makes Salamander look like a pussycat too. Navaja or whatever."

"She's in the can too," Gino said, "Fucking Hotspur. That little finook. Between him and the blacks everything's getting fucked up. I hope he gets ass cancer."

"My pop had ass cancer, it's not fun," the last gangster said, grazing on his sandwich.

"Be that as it may," the guy in the suit said, "You better have that money by tonight or I'm going to hear about it, which means you're going to hear about it. Salamander expects nice thick packages."

They snorted around their sandwiches. When they were done eating, I tailed the guy in the suit. He got in a car, headed out. I followed, rooftop to rooftop.

When he rolled up on an old school Polish deli I vaguely recognized one of the goons out the front.

"Lou, hey, the boss in?" Mr Suit said.

"Yo Vince, Sal's in the back," he said, "She's in a mood though. Heard what Minelli was saying. Not taking it well."

"Everybody's talkin', no one knows how to shut the fuck up," the suit named Vince sighed.

"Don't I know it."

He went on in.

Now my question was, do I follow, or do I wait?

>bust on in and make a scene
>keep it low key, wait to catch Salamander alone
>maybe just pop down and as the doorman for a word with the 'boss'
>write-in

>>6184040
>keep it low key, wait to catch Salamander alone
She'll probably be more amicable if we don't make a scene on her home turf

>>6184040
>maybe just pop down and as the doorman for a word with the 'boss'
bros idk if I can read this part. choosing salamander is straight up nonsense. I'm gonna try to stick it out

>>6184040
>maybe just pop down and ask the doorman for a word with the 'boss'

Sneaking around or busting through the door might be taken the wrong way. We should just make our presence know and then wait.

>>6184040
>keep it low key, wait to catch Salamander alone
I don't wanna somebody to take pictures of us going buddy-buddy with the literal mafia

>>6184040
>>keep it low key, wait to catch Salamander alone

>>6184077
Just wait bro we’re gonna reverse corrupt her
Turn her to the side of good

>>6184364
>>6184334
>>6184075
locking that in

I decided to wait, crouched on the rooftop of the old deli, watching gangsters come and go from my unseen vantage point. The day crawled by. I was getting hungry. Finally the cars were starting to leave, the shop was starting to close up.

Vince came out, and behind him the overtall Salamander. She had to be close to seven feet tall, with a preference for dress pants and a pinstripe vest. It had been a minute since our last run in, but she was all smiles like I remembered.

"And your cousin Minelli?" she said, showing him the door.

"Yeah boss?" Vince said, buttoning up his suit jacket.

"He talks too much," she said it in that final kind of way that made Vince blanche.

"Yeah, I got it boss," he said, understanding the unspoken order to shut his cousin up for good.

"See you tomorrow," she said. He nodded. She slouched in the doorway. Her doorman, Lou, went to bring around the car while another hood waited, hand near his gun, keeping an eye out. Bosses roll heavy, I'd learned. Even someone as personally dangerous as Salamander. I guess these were dangerous times for a Chicago gangster, a lot of blood in the streets.

She pulled a newspaper from her back pocket, scanned the headline, then slapped it on her knee.

"Eighty years in a couple minutes, can you believe it?" she said to her bodyguard.

"These days boss? Yeah maybe," he said, sucking a tooth.

"'From twenty five to over a hundred in just two minutes'," she read aloud, "'No, we're not talking about the latest from Ford. A patient at Rush hospital arrived exhibiting signs of what's being called 'rapid acceleration in aging'. The culprit is suspected to be a new member of the paranormal element afflicting the city'. Now what's that mean, 'afflicting the city'?"

The bodyguard shrugged, looking around for someone else to arrive, sweating on a cool 60 degree day. "Don't know boss, haven't read it."

Her grin was dangerous. The newspaper in her hand caught fire, burning up in the squeeze of her fist. "Like we got some kind of disease," she said, "Like there's something wrong with us. But baby, I had problems way before I caught fire."

"Sure boss," he said. Poor bastard.

She smacked her lips. "I need to fucking fight something," she said, flexing her ash covered hands, "I need to fucking kill something."

The dude kept his face nice and neutral, hiding his spike in terror.

"What about a sparring partner?" I called from above.

The bodyguard tripped over himself in shock, jolted out of his fear to fumble for his gun. I stood tall, looking down on them. Salamander looked up, grinning.

"Hotspur, my favorite pipsqueak," she said, "You here to get squashed like a bug?"

"That ain't how it went down last time," I said as her bodyguard nearly dropped his gun. She slapped it down before he could raise it.

"I owe you a bullet or two, after you put away my uncle," she said.

"Got you promoted, didn't it?" I said.

Her grin grew tense. "Yeah, I owe you my fist up your ass for that one. Being boss sucks! You don't get to have any fun." She doffed her vest and handed it to her bodyguard as Lou came around with the car. "Everybody around me is too pussy to throw hands. You want to go a few rounds? I'll put you through the wall!" She raised her hands and her knee in that muay thai stance.

I stretched my neck. A few rounds with Salamander was not my idea of a good time.

"Come on!" she said, her voice growing hot, her expression excited.

>jump down and go a few rounds, fighting was how she talked
>bring up the sword training as an alternative, offer to meet her at midnight
>actually, maybe training with a psycho like Salamander was a bad idea

>>6184646
>actually, maybe training with a psycho like Salamander was a bad idea

>>6184646
>bring up the sword training as an alternative, offer to meet her at midnight

Man here i thought we would have to enter tense negotiations to set up sparing times with Salamander . But it seems like she's willing to drop her leader responsibilities like a rotten hot potato if it means she can get her hands on a good fight.

She's a total fight fag degenerate and thats based. We couldn't have chosen a better training partner.

>>6184892
>bring up the sword training as an alternative, offer to meet her at midnight
If she obliges us maybe we'll do simple brawl after.

>>6184646
>jump down and go a few rounds, fighting was how she talked
Grind those affection points

>>6185012
>>6184892
locking in

"Instead, why don't we meet up tonight? Midnight," I said, "I've been looking for a training partner. We can both up our game."

"Training partner?" Salamander said, "I'm the acting boss of the Chicago mafia, and you want me as a training partner?" She laughed, hard. "You're a crazy son of a bitch, Hotspur."

"And not just any training," I said, "Swords. You want to learn how to fight with a sword?"

She shrugged. "Hell, why the fuck not. Midnight sword lessons. And when the lessons are over, I can cut your head off." The grin she gave me told me she wasn't joking. "Once we're good enough we'll have a good old fashioned fight to the death, you against me."

Okay that was not, uh, not what I was expecting. But I'd made up my mind and hell, it was a good incentive to train harder. Because she absolutely meant it. She'd chop off my head and keep it as a trophy.

"Midnight," I said, "You know Baby Girl Kusanagi, with the Stunt Crew MC?"

Salamander spat. "No good mercenaries," she said, "Used to have them on retainer but heard they're running chores for the Haitian now. She going to be our teacher?" I nodded. "Might take her head too when we're done. All right, Hotspur, we'll meet at midnight."

"You sure this is a good idea, boss?" Lou asked.

"Did I ask you?" she said. He shut up real quick. "A fight to the death, Hotspur. When all this is done. You against me!"

I nodded, not sure if I'd go through with it. If I was under any illusions training with me might soften her outlook on things, while time would tell I was starting to doubt it. She was still a violent gangster after all. I leapt out of there, with a day still empty before our meeting.

There was plenty to do.

>check on Misfit and Ironclad, how they were recovering
>check in on Ayesha and Ivy, how they were handling the 'kiss'
>check in on Ms Grant, and the fallout of her investigation
>cut loose for some old school crime fighting
>(write-in)

>>6185332
>check on Misfit and Ironclad, how they were recovering

>>6185332
>check on Misfit and Ironclad, how they were recovering

>Once we're good enough
This is our out
We'll just never get good enough