Nature Of Profit
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Exhausted, dreary, and not the least bit hungry, the poor old man… or at least as he saw himself, sat down on his uncomfortable armchair which was nestled behind that oversized desk of his. In truth, he knew he’d be missing both of these things soon enough. Along with the walls, the humble view of the crime-graced streets outside, and even the damned ceiling fan which never really seemed to work just right. But most of all, he couldn’t help but to look over to the photographs of his father, watching over him on the nearby shelves. And next to all the trophies he never ended up winning.
By all reason, Garvey knew he’d have no problem bringing over these mementos and lack thereof to his new office… And yet in other ways, he felt there was no sensible path but that of worry. With so much ground gained, it can be easy to end up empty. And with all those troubles catching on… Would conquest and victory inevitably end up building an empire for the wicked? Even his own attempts to the contrary might be nothing more than a flailing in the dark.
An interesting way to look at it, he certainly never lacked for reminders either. Of what could go wrong, of how else his people could hurt. After all, he had that same look in his eyes. His father, in the pictures, same as always. Right before and every day while he went on. He had been a stoic man, but a clever one. He never once expected his son would take after him in such interesting ways. The ones we bring into this world… are like a new recipe with old ingredients.
Garvey wished to make the most of it. And yet, he feared he was not the only lingering life out there putting effort into making worn dreams come true.
“Darn it… And here we have… Oh, pardon my stumbling.” the cheerful woman chuckled to herself as she almost bumped into a cabinet that had been left at a rather odd angle near the center of the room.
And if she thought that was likely to cause an accident one day, which it truly had already, then one could only feel the utmost sympathy for the poor cameraman who wandered in soon after. It was a small working space after all, one could hardly expect a suite with a nightclub down below.
“Here we have… the ambiance of a man’s presence, whose strong nature of character could inspire anyone to seek out the truth… and justice… no matter where his boundless determination could lead him. And therefore, us.” the woman continued with a few mumbles as she settled into her chair.
Her words unfortunately came across a bit empty to Garvey who never truly felt as if such things could mean anything without valuing the effort behind them. Not to mention the reporter had likely spouted off similar speeches to every other person out there trying to make a pass for this job. But at least it was all in his honor, even if he did not expect many people would ever care to watch a report or worse still, a late night interview, on the matter.
After all, people liked drama and catchy headlines, not old men lamenting the failures of the systems they spent half their lives holding up.
Yes, the gangs. It wasn’t pot they were selling these days, was it? Even the heroin looked good by comparison, so that just might’ve been why a certain devil out there had fallen craven to it. Times were changing… and not for the better.
“Please tell us… how a man like yourself can lift himself out of bed every morning in order to face off against all the troubles that are constantly on the mind of our troubled populace? Do you ever get worried or nervous that with the way things have been going-” the woman prattled as she encouraged a certain look from her not always patient companion.
“My father, he… Always go in like a bull, he said to me.” Garvey mumbled, though with an admittedly proud little smile, even rubbing his cheek as a certain someone had once tended to do.
“Now, of course, he was talking about football. Being D.A. is… Well, it’ll probably be easier than being a coach these days.” he said.
“Your father was something, wasn’t he?” the woman went along, though the cameraman appeared to have enjoyed the comment more than her. After all, he was probably a fan, judging by the shirt he was wearing.
“Came in as a quarterback before going on to become the best linebacker this city’s ever seen. Would likely be proud, seeing as how you’ve been gunning for it in your own ways, haven’t you? Your opponent, he…” the woman mumbled again as she looked down to flip through her notebook, giving her partner just enough time to put in his own word of praise or two.
“Go Longrunners.” the cameraman softly cheered, much to the appreciation of Garvey’s pride. Along with his somber acceptance of that time since past.
“Your opponent, Malcolm Johanson, he claimed to have met your father once after his first regional defeat. Is that correct?” the reporter inquired.
“His only defeat, mind you.” Garvey promptly informed.
“And yes, I vividly remember the young Malcolm throwing around the hors d'oeuvres in a fit during his own father’s gallery opening. I can assure you, he has matured by this point, though the memory of a boy with a cherry tomato stuck to his lip like a misshapen Rudolph has stuck with me after all these years. Hard not to see it every time he goes on about how much… better he thinks his conviction rates are in his, admittedly, more peaceful side of the city. He tends to leave out that last part from what I’ve noticed, can’t help but wonder who exactly he’s been putting behind bars. Teenage shoplifters, I’m assuming?” he taunted back.
“Yes, it’s true that… The shopping district doesn't face as many problems as your area. Therefore you must feel more confident with your experience dealing with the gangs. The Falconers, Red Market… Must be quite a handful, can’t even begin to imagine…” the woman mumbled towards the end, perhaps at least understanding the severity.
With so much crime on the rise across San Mateos… Few could even say they still held out much hope for it improving. Such problems had always been an issue ever since the old days of the Moon Vipers and the original Coterie. But after the death of the LeBlanc crime family and the dwindling relevancy of the Asian syndicate… The rot started growing closer to home as the criminals started representing personal issues more and more.
Troubles begetting troubles, the Falconers and the Red Market. At first, some thought it might’ve been a race war of sorts. The talkers on the internet and talk shows certainly still did, of course. Good for ratings. But slowly, many could see that the city itself was simply unwell. But without any caped crusaders to glamorize matters, San Mateos simply became an odd talking point whenever some bigwig or another wanted to cause a fuss inside the world of politics.
White supremacist terror cells, minorities getting out of hand… Everything was something depending on who asked. Meanwhile, the criminals themselves simply did as they wished, now further emboldened by recent tragedies. One may wonder where it could all lead; might be easier to lock up the city itself. That was often suggested, in jest, but surely… it would never go that far.
“They keep us up at night, I’ll say that much. But with a leader in charge who will actually be willing to admit the severity of our issues, and without just using the rumor mill as a smokescreen, we’ll be able to cut through the roots of these problems so we can start seeing some real progress in these streets.” Garvey stated.
“Real progress, yes.” the woman mumbled.
“You haven’t been too kind with your opinions on… the current District Attorney, have you? Just this morning, you made a statement that he has thoroughly refuted and-” she tried to say.
“Well, what else is he going to do?” Garvey almost scoffed. “But let me tell you this, that rumor mill of his… How much of it needs to end up being true before we accept that we simply aren’t doing our jobs? Crime is flourishing, yes. But it should be nothing more than that. All cities have crime, all cities have problems. But when we constantly get reports of sexual slavery and human trafficking… I don’t even know how many confused girls from Thailand and Myanmar simply show up at my doorstep looking for help without being able to speak a lick of English. And I do mean my doorstep, at my home. Because every now and then, when they try to go through official channels… they disappear, same as the first time. You, we, the country, and most of all, the state… have to understand the ridiculous nature of these tragedies before we finally ask ourselves, how much human trafficking is too much in an American city? The very idea of it… Well, it offends me and for obvious reasons. I suppose bringing the chains to the masses is an odd way of tackling social issues in this twenty-first century of ours.” he said before pausing for a moment.
It was something that wasn’t lost on many, at least the Falconers were not responsible for that particular subsection of the crimes. How would the talking heads ever be able to reign in their word vomit?
Well, it would be a fallout. People love looking at problems so they can find the right angle to complain about them. As if the issue itself was not mortifying enough in its very essence. But no, the Falconers were not enslaving anyone. They merely did other things, as did Red Market. They all had their own bingo cards of abuse, but as long as it was only certain people doing the enslaving, both liberals and conservatives could sleep soundly at night. Otherwise, it might actually be a problem they couldn't solve. Let alone understand.
“I see.” the woman muttered. “I suppose everyone’s been dealing with their own issues lately, the… uh… This reminds me of some of the killings that have been going on in San Raul and-” she tried to say.
“Yes, those get more attention at times. It’s because those victims there are pretty, I’m sorry not everyone in San Mateos has the time for a celebrity makeover. Unless they work in one of the brothels, of course. But then again, it’s in those brothels that-” Garvey grumbled a bit.
“You know, it’s funny you mention… Those brothels. Your sister, she started up that charity of hers but by the end of it, we can’t say it really went as planned. Can we, Mr. Garvey?” the reporter promptly added, perhaps letting slip a few of her own allegiances.
The District Attorney did have allies willing to run interference, even if he wasn’t the most popular of men out there after all. It was all part of the smokescreen.
The problem being that, at times, when those few who are actually willing to venture into it do so, they can inevitably end up… looking like shadows themselves. Blurred out and mysterious, even when their own intentions were nothing but virtuous. Like creatures in the fog and who could support such a thing? Believe in those monsters?
“She was framed.” Garvey stated with that firm voice of his. The voice that encouraged his few supporters and raised the brow of his many dissidents.
Truly, he felt the city needed someone to cut through the menace and deliver a new world unto the damned.
But it was in these nightmares that many were just discovering… how much green potential there can be in the torment. Honesty and compassion are free, after all. The art of caring. Sadly, their very generosity can often make them worthless.