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Post by lvsphinx on Aug 17, 2024 23:29:36 GMT
19,525 pounds (nearly ten tons) of cocaine, at an estimated market value of 650 million dollars, 34 sicarios, and a cousin who worked within the cartel. That is what Alejandra lost the last time she tried to expand into a northern market. Alejandra had wanted to tap into a large Northern American city for a while now, and a year ago, had tasked her cousin with establishing receiving and distribution operations in Gotham City. At first, business in Gotham seemed to be stable, but just as her cartel was establishing a foothold in the one of the city's neighborhoods, Alejandra's cousin, his men, and all of their workers were systematically slaughtered by an unknown competitor. The killings certainly weren't done by the GCPD, and the drugs and money were all taken. Alejandra hadn't found out which criminal organization was responsible for the stamping out of her nascent Gotham operations (yet), but she nevertheless vowed reprisals for the attack on her cartel, even if the attack was on a small cell sent far to the north away from home. However, before she could sort out that trouble in Gotham, she had to recover from the loss from that city.
Brockton Bay, with it's sizable population, location, undersupported and overworked authorities, and apparent neglect from the US government, was a natural second-choice to Gotham for business as far as Alejandra was concerned. She had learned that the rulers of Brockton Bay's criminal underground were called the Cabal, an alliance of four organizations, which gave her some ideas on who to reach out to for a meeting. Alejandra's cousin hadn't reached out to the heads of the local criminal element in Gotham before setting up shop, on Alejandra's orders. Alejandra knew that was what likely drew ire to cause the slaughter of her men, but she didn't think any competition would have succeeded in rooting out her men so easily. Brockton Bay would be different; Alejandra would introduce her cartel's presence to the locals before starting any business, choosing to play nice for now. Her representatives reached out to the representatives of someone known as Blacksmith, who apparently ran all the trafficking in the Bay.
To get to Brockton Bay, Alejandra took her private jet, accompanied by a dozen of her best sicarios. She spent very little time in the hotel after landing, heading straightaway to the docks of the city, taking three nondescript black SUVS for her and her men to get to the specified shipping yard. Once reaching the location they were told, she stepped outside of the vehicle readily, her eyes scanning the parking area.
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Post by BijuuGuy on Sept 10, 2024 19:02:23 GMT
 Brockton Bay. What a stunningly rotten hub for criminal enterprise, covered with a glossy sheen of capes to make it all seem palatable. Unlike other cesspools of its kind, Brockton managed to at least look like a generally legitimate US city. So even with its criminal infestation and "heroes" who only barely matched the definition, it wasn't something out of a Victorian era nightmare. Indeed, Brockton Bay had matched these aforementioned descriptions for as long as it had been around, mostly. For how long? Amunet Black didn't remember nor did she really give a shit.
What the illustrious Blacksmith did give a shit, even two, about, was money. And influence.
Through luck and meticulous planning, Amunet inserted herself (and her accomplices) in the right places at the right times. A little coercion here, a little murder there, and voila! Amunet Black got an entire district to herself, able to run her operations and keep both herself, as well as her compatriots, comfortably wealthy. As with her colleagues, she became a household name in the city. But when most of those "like-minded individuals" were veritable monsters, untouchable tycoons, and honest to God Nazis, Amunet remained the most grounded one of them all. Being a boogeyman wasn't at all exciting when the threat of one loomed in the shadows for all eternity. She decided to be a tangible threat, often dealing with such things personally. It gave her a reputation and frankly, it was plain fun!
A significant chunk of the Cabal's wealth ran through Amunet, before making it to their majority shareholder in the financial district. It was no different when Amunet's trusted agent, Sharon Carter, came to her with a request from an ousted Gothamite. Whatever this cartel leader wanted to peddle in Brockton wasn't going to happen until a meeting in person.
As soon as Alejandra would exit her SUV, she would see Amunet strutting towards her with effortless swagger from one of the warehouses in the yard. With four suited men in tow and a bag that looked like a mix of a bucket and a tote bag swung over her shoulder, the Blacksmith made her presence known. No other backup was seen, a seemingly small force to meet a possible rival. Whether or not the guest would be suspicious of this, was her own prerogative.
She stopped a respectable distance from her guest, lazily letting the bag plummet to the ground with a metallic thud. Alejandra would see the bag was filled with shards of metal, looking like steel.
Amunet let her eyes drift over the people in front of her, a beaming grin accompanying her surveying. She eventually landed her gaze on Alejandra.
"My, my! A youth! Now tell me, pretty thing, how do you intend to do business here when Gotham rejected you so readily like a useless limb?"
Her accent was clearly English, tone almost singsongy, as it ebbed and flowed through the words. Were those words meant to be a threat? Well, yes, actually. The guest may have requested a meeting, but that didn't mean that Brockton's mightiest would simply give her free reign in their territories. Amunet was particularly defensive of hers and ready to squash any possible threats. Whether this lass would become one, was up to her. |
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Post by lvsphinx on Sept 10, 2024 20:56:19 GMT
Alejandra appreciated seeing Amunet move towards her the moment she exited her vehicle. Good, she wasn't going to be kept waiting. She eyed the warehouse warily, unsure if Amunet really only had four men with her here. Alejandra wasn't afraid of additional forces potentially hurting her, but she did value her own men's lives. She came prepared for a firefight, but she didn't necessarily want one yet. The bag of apparently scrap metal was also unusual, something Alejandra was certain she'd learn about later.
"I wasn't in Gotham," replied Alejandra in accented English, already finding herself glowering at the other woman, the setback still fresh in her mind. "I'm doing business here personally." And Alejandra was in her city as proof. Things would go differently in Brockton, Alejandra would make sure of that.
She didn't approach any further. She didn't want to or need to. Alejandra's men remained were they were, standing by the SUVs, vigilant for any reason to defend their leader.
Alejandra wasn't yet sure whether Amunet was the type that preferred to be "courted" or appealed to by personality first, or the type to want to just hear the fucking numbers. Alejandra gambled that Amunet was the latter, and gave her pitch accordingly.
"Besides, someone in Gotham might have repelled the Juarez Cartel, but their people still pay for the product," she says, tapping the side of her nose. "Let's get right to business. I can start sending you up to one ton of cocaine a month immediately. The amount shipped can increase to accommodate demand later. But I don't think you're necessarily looking to just make more money."
Alejandra's gaze settled on the woman, her eyes seeking Amunet's. "I'll be simple. Neither of us want to waste time. What do you want in exchange for me operating here?"
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