“The Don will see you now,” said a goblin dressed in a fine secretarial outfit.

Haggar got up and slowly walked through the door, trying not to tremble as he rubbed the scar that went all the way around his forearm.

Beyond the door was an opulent office, decorated in deep reds with dark leather chairs and a mahogany wooden desk.

The smell of an expensive cigar wafted gently through the dark room, originating from the small form of a goblin that took up more space than his stature would suggest.

“Y-you summoned me?” Haggar asked hesitantly.

“Sit down,” the goblin said, not angrily, but with the expectation that he would be obeyed.

The orc immediately took a seat and tried to make himself as small as possible.

“You know, my grandfather spent years on the outskirts of this city raiding merchant caravans, trying to steal enough to make a better living for us in that cave. Now I'm here making enough gold to swim in practically doing the same thing. Do you want to know what the difference is?” The Don began.

“What's the difference?” The orc asked.

“TAXES!” The goblin shouted before bursting out in uproarious laughter.

The confused orc tried to join in, but found he could only chuckle weakly.

The Don wiped a tear from his eye and reached under his desk.

“Can I pour you a drink?” He said as he brought up a decanter of whiskey.

“Yes. Thank you Don,” the orc replied, trembling less now.

The Don poured himself and his guest a glass of whiskey.

The orc carefully picked up the glass in his overly large hand and took a sip.

The Don smiled cruelly.

The orc began to sweat a bit as he realized that The Don was waiting for him to drink first.

“So tell me about this job you and your partner botched,” the Don said before taking a swig of his own drink.

The orc let out a quiet sigh of relief before speaking.

“There's a wizard who set up shop in the warehouse district who apparently has a load of coin,” he said, “apparently he’s buying wood and stone in any condition for two to three times the going rate and he's also set up a bit of a gambling parlor.”

“Hmm interesting, go on,” the Don hummed as he examined his nails.

“Well, my partner said that this wizard had gold in these glass cases and no security. That’s practically begging to get robbed, right?” The orc explained.

“That's certainly a bad place to keep your gold, I agree,” the Don nodded and motioned him to continue.

“So we’s-” Haggar began, letting his orcish accent slip in for a split second.

The Don flicked his eyes up at the orc.

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“Er, we decided to rob the place, but you already know how that went,” the orc said.

“I do know how that went,” the Don said, “the wizard was skilled enough that he was able to cast through both of his familiars. He took out Sharp pretty quick and cut off your arm in the process.”

The orc’s left hand went instinctively to his forearm where the scar was.

The door opened and an elf dragging a near unconscious goblin stepped just inside.

“Ah Mr. Gale, how's our guest doing?” The Don said as he stepped up onto the desk.

“Alive,” said Gale as he unceremoniously dropped him on the ground.

“Sharp…” whispered the orc as he watched the goblin draw labored breaths.

“As you can probably guess, I'm very upset with the two of you,” the Don said as he stood up on his desk and walked eye level towards the orc.

“I'm sorry! Please forgive me!” The orc begged, “we won't mess up next time. I promise!”

The Don chuckled and shook his head.

“I'm not mad at you for botching a job. If I got mad every time someone made a mistake, I'd have nothing but hard headed rookies and that's no way to run a business,” the Don said as he unsheathed a stiletto knife from his belt, “no I'm mad because you two found out about someone trying to muscle in on my turf and didn't tell me.”

***

“Is it just me, or does something seem off about this guy?” I asked my scions as an… interesting dwarven man wandered around the coin pushers and between a handful of other customers.

Between the oily sheen to his hair and dark leather jacket, he looked like he could have been an extra for a discount production of Grease.

“He didn’t have any magic items on him, nor is he casting anything,” Carmen said.

“He hasn’t sold anything or tried to gamble,” Midnight added.

“So he’s loitering at best,” I said, “Carmen see if he actually knows how to use the coin pusher.”

“On it Mr. House,” Carmen said as she sauntered her way across the tops of the machines.

“Hey cat, how’s it going?” asked the man and without pausing continued, “Name’s Ungrex. Rex for shot. Listen, I need to talk to your boss, the wizard, you dig?”

“Oh right, Spreen told everyone that I was a wizard,” I thought.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s here to gamble,” Carmen said, “What should I do?”

“Hear him out, I guess,” I replied, “maybe his offer isn’t as stupid as his haircut.”

Carmen sat down and waited patiently.

There was a bit of an awkward pause as the man seemed to be waiting for something.

“Allright, I guess I'm not meeting the head honcho around here. That's cool, that's cool. Must be real busy running an up and coming gambling parlor, so I'll make this quick. You're stepping on some toes with your little operation here. Skisfink toes. Nobody likes getting their toes stepped on, you dig? Now my boss is willing to forgive you ‘cause he's a nice guy like that. But here’s the thing, he’s not going to be so nice for long, so if you want to stay on his good side, you'll go and buy some insurance from him, if you know what I’m saying. Something to smooth over all of these hurt feelings, ya dig?” He rambled.

“Holy shit, I think we’re being extorted,” I said with a bewildered tone.

“Whoever this Skisfink is that thinks we need ‘insurance’ must not think too highly of us if they sent this clown,” Carmen said as she looked at the dwarf with disgust.

“House, may I do the honors of replying?” Midnight asked.

“Carmen, any objections?” I asked.

“I feel like my fur will get sticky if I so much as touch him. The honor is all yours,” Carmen replied.

"Midnight, could you politely escort the sleazebag out the door?” I asked.

“My pleasure,” he replied.

Moments later, the sound of a dwarf hitting the pavement could be heard outside the warehouse followed quickly by the sound of a slamming door.

The dwarf in question slowly picked himself up and stared angrily at the warehouse.

“You'll regret refusing the Skisfinks!” He shouted before walking down the street with a slight limp.

“Skisfinks huh, does that name mean anything to either one of you?” I asked.

“Not at all, Mr. House,” Carmen replied.

“Doesn't ring a bell,” Midnight shrugged.

“Well hopefully we won't need to make too much use of the security system,” I thought with a tinge of worry.