Where we are…is fucked?

Victor rubbed his temple, a bottle of blood near at hand, the neck broken into shards. Bloody prints marred his pale flesh, sticky wet, a single dribble making its way down his cheek. Across from him sat the twitching leader of the selfies, shards of bottle being picked out of head by his priest. Every few minutes, he felt an indescribable need to STAB HIM THROUGH. THOROUGHLY. By Fuck.

“Ok Skittle. Let’s go over this again.”

“I don’t wanna. You’re just gonna get flinging that shit into me!” Glass flung and sunk into a new hole as Padre dabbed a fistful of paper towels at other wounds. “CHRIST EATIN BISCUITS! Victory, please man. Ya gotta stop! Ok ok…one more time.”

“And don’t leave a damn thing out. You don’t think I’ll find out? Want another late night date with Butch?”

“Fuuuuck nooooo. Ok so like the last few years, we’ve been bored. Me and the guys, we had a plan. Steal shit and sell it.”

Padre looked over a fine pair of horn rimmed spectacles, charming in his current facade as Shakespeare with a braided goatee. “Well sell it like those elephant christmas gifts people give. We never really knew what was inside, just stole it, gave the sender and receiver and took bids.”

Skittles grinned, more glass falling from his nose into his lap getting congealed blood over his favorite rainbow belt. “Yep! We do love the gift giving season, so why not do it year round? It went great.”

“Swimmingly old chap.”

“Until we got a PRIZE. This massive heavy as fuck box. Now, the info made us think, this had class, style… what ya call it?”

“Panache.”

“So we started the biddin pretty high. The only one we knew with the bucks squirreled away for this, we expected to land…didn’t happen. Seems the Deac’s been holdin out on us.”

“He means Deacon.”

Victor raised a shard, sending Skittles into speaking so quickly he nearly tied his tongue in knots.

“So we sold it to Deacon, he opened it right there, and found the biggest chest I ever did see! This thing musta cost a few thousand to ship, not ta mention the insurance. Our numbers were spot on!”

Padre pushed his intrepid leader back, giving a beatific look of his holiness as he spread wide his arms. “Oh yes, a fine hand carved piece of history with marks unlike anything I have spied in antique records or pamphlets at a grand antique auctioneer. By all accounts, this seemed something a Fed Ex truck should never have. Which only encouraged the interest.”

“That sure is right. I had to drag his bitch ass outta tha sewer. Deacon and the others were pretty interested, decided to research it last we heard. But we don’t spend much time down in those parts, since we’re business men. Honest we had no idea what shit was goin down in the sewers! Vic…” A shard raised. “Uh Victor, sir, your eminence, we never thought it was something bad.”

Victor leaned back into his chair, the rich velvet, thick padding, the lighting so perfectly set up by a professional to reenact the Godfather every time he settled so…it was one of his faint joys in life. Shadows laid under his nose, chin, in the hollows of eyes. With just a touch of power, the entire room darkened in menace down to just the pale light above him. Hands raised up to lace, elbows on the chair arms. “Too bad, gentlemen. Seems regardless of your intent, you brought about the destruction of your clan. But, I do love you guys. So, let’s make a deal, and I’ll ensure this is covered up. Nice, clean, and none the wiser.”

The two Nosferatu cringed at what they may owe, yet felt such relief knowing Victor was always good as his word. He might be a few noddles shy of a bowl of pasta, but always true. “Sure. What do you want?”