The executive elevator was crowded by the presence of two near strangers on a mission. Vic Musket had one friend in the world right now, and he was standing next to him as they descended to a subterranean parking garage. Bertram deactivated an alarm from his pocket and a pair of BMW headlights flashed in response, catching Vic's eye.

"God damn. That's a nice car." He said.

"I know. That's why I hope you wont be offended when I make you sit on a blanket. You're filthy, Vic. And that is leather." Bert was quite sincere.

"No problem, Bert." Vic waited until the precious interior was sufficiently protected, then sat down in the passenger seat slamming the door quite hard. Before Bert could protest Vic had already lit a cigarette.

They were headed to meet a lawyer in a hotel room a few miles away. The men were following instructions given from the DA, who was under serious pressure to solve the horrible murder Vic was accused of. Vic remained suspicious of the DA, but was convinced Bert was an ally. He just hoped his pull could get him out of this, or at least keep the case open if he had to do some time. After a short drive the men arrived at a tall building that was covered in glass windows and surrounded by scrambling tourists and convention-goers.

"They said he would be waiting in the lobby. I sure hope this doesn't take long. I have to take a shit like you wouldn't believe." Bert said rather dryly, surprising Vic. He seemed like he had about as much personality as the suit he was wearing, but maybe Vic had him all wrong...

The two men walked into the hotel lobby and were immediately approached by a smiling, obese mexican in a tee shirt and shorts. "I take it you are Vic Musket. They told me you couldn't be missed." The man said, drawing an aggressive stare from Vic. He didn't like someone having an edge on him, and said nothing in response. "Follow me, guys. I have a room on the sixth floor." The man started off to the elevator.

"Before we head up, do you mind if I use the restroom?" Bert asked. He appeared to be sweating.

"Of course. I think it is down the hallway, on the other side of the bar." The lawyer gestured, and Bert was off without a word at a pace that indicated he was desperate. "By the looks of it he might be awhile. Care for a drink, Mr. Musket? I'm buying..."

"Well if you twist my arm..." Vic grinned.

Bert was befouling a bathroom stall in a very loud way, and had been for the better part of a half hour, when he heard a loud crash and some shouting. The words replayed in his head... "down the hallway, on the other side of the BAR" He sprung to his feet and burst out of the stall door, still buttoning his fine trousers and slightly shitting himself in the process. He just hoped Vic was fighting strangers, and not the lawyer.

To be continued...

 If it was the receptionist's job to make visitors feel welcome then she was failing miserably.  Vic Musket stood in the center of the room as the nervous woman cleared her throat to catch his attention.

"Mr. Stokely will see you now.  Please follow me to his office." She said, then began winding her way expertly through the labyrinth of glass walls and hallways to a set of tall oak doors.  It took all of her strength to wedge them open.  Clearly this building wasn't disabled-friendly.

Bert's figure cut a shadow that was considerably larger than Vic remembered from twenty years ago.  He gripped a double scotch in one hand and held the bottle outstretched in the other.  "Vic Musket.  I believe I owe you a drink."

"That's kinda why I'm here..." Vic paused to pull deeply from the bottle, stopping his host mid-stride as he was retrieving a second glass.  Bert realized he would never get the $500 bottle of scotch back.  "I really got my testicles tangled back in the city, and I could really use the help of someone with political connections.  As you mentioned... you owe me a favor or two..."  Vic pulled open his shirt to reveal a pink scar in the center of his chest, seemingly right over his heart, leading Bert to assume that perhaps he didn't have one.

"Well, the DA out there is my kid's godfather.  Anything you ask, consider it done."  Bert replied with the utmost confidence while sipping his scotch.  "What's the damage Musket?  Did you kill a whore, or something?"

"No.  But all the evidence says that I did."

"Jesus, Vic!"  The businessman said, dribbling scotch onto his silk tie.  "Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm not sure I can pull hard enough to get you out of a rape-murder!"

"I didn't fucking murder anyone, dammit!  And the sex was completely consensual.  Paid for, but consensual.  I'm being framed by someone powerful, so I need my most powerful ally.  Can you help me here?"

Bert was pacing back and forth now, knowing perfectly well how big of a shitstorm he was walking into if he decided to help Vic out.  He knew that this kind of shitstorm always gets in your mouth, but if you throw enough money at it you can at least avoid the hepatitis.  "I'm in.  But let's be clear... when this is done I never want to see you again."

A big smile came across Vic's face.  Once again the piss from the sky was turning into rain.  If there was really a God up above then he must be evil to look after a sinner like him.

To be continued...

 Vic Musket stood in the shadow of the Renaissance Tower in downtown Dallas.  He was awkwardly dropped off by a big rig in the middle of the morning traffic rush at the heart of the city, and was now faced with the task of tracking down a powerful businessman that once vowed his life to a filthy teenage alcoholic.  A teenage alcoholic that grew into a middle-aged alcoholic and now stood accused of a murder he didn't commit.  But even with this weighing in on him the only desire in his mind was to wash his face, and as soon as he reached the gutter he eagerly splashed the putrid water onto his chin and scrub away with his jacket sleeve.  Visions of the lady trucker's legs parting replayed in his mind, reminiscent of someone pulling open a hot grilled cheese sandwich.  Only less tasty.

Satisfied that his beard smelled more like the putrid water and less like trucker snatch, Vic marched over to the massive tower and entered into the lobby.  This wasn't going to be easy.  Vic knew the man's name was Bertram Stokely, but was positive that the man himself would recognize him only by sight, not by name.  And he was going to have a hard time explaining their relation to the likes of a receptionist.

Twenty years prior the two men met here in Dallas.  Bert was a slacker college student away from home for the first time in his life, and Vic Musket was a 17 year old hustler and gambler that called the streets home.  They both happened to be in a seedy bar in the wrong part of town, Bert was there pursuing a prostitute, and Vic practically lived in the men's room at the time.

Over the course of the night Vic watched the college kid get more and more aggressive with the whore they called "Candy", but was really named "Mildred" as he progressed to increasing stages of drunkenness.  The two were dancing in a way that looked like it required contraception when suddenly Candy started shouting.

"You motherfucker!  You just jizzed all over my favorite stockings!  That's gonna cost you." She started pulling visibly stained nylons from her ample legs while the embarrassed Bert sheepishly looked on.

It turned out he was trying to lose his virginity, and couldn't control himself.  Now he had Candy AND Sweet Teddy the pimp demanding he pay double the going rate for the pop and the cleanup. They kinda had a point, and Bert would have gladly paid.  But when he announced that he only brought $43.76 to cover drinks, a few games of pool, and a lay...  Sweet Teddy pulled a knife.

These days Vic Musket would have sat and gladly watched as Sweet Teddy gutted the rich kid in front of him.  But twenty years ago Vic still had some humanity left in him, and quickly rose to the helpless boy's aid.  Drunkenly stumbling between the two men, Vic grabbed Bert by the collar and managed to drag him out of the front door onto the sidewalk.  Once Vic looked around and saw that Sweet Teddy hadn't followed them outside he looked and was surprised to see that Bert appeared to be unharmed.  Unharmed but appearing to be in shock, staring at Vic's chest.  Vic traced his gaze to the area just below his collar bone, which now had a large switchblade handle sticking out of it.  As Vic slumped to the ground Bert snapped out of his daze, and proclaimed that he would go to get help, and frantically thanked him for saving his life.  As Vic passed out he felt Bert stuff something into his pocket.  He said something, but it was lost to Vic's fading consciousness.

After awakening in a hospital room the next day, Vic was told about how they had received an emergency call from an anonymous young man that saved his life, and he required a blood transfusion.  Vic raised hell until they gave him his stuff back, and angrily checked himself out of the hospital against the urgings of hospital staff, and before the police arrived.  When he stuffed his hand into the pocket he pulled out a card.  A student ID with the name "Bertram Stokely" on it.

Twenty years later Vic stood in front of the receptionist at the head office of a multi million dollar corporation and held out that very ID card.  "Take this to Mr. Stokely and tell him an old friend is here to meet with him." Vic said it forcefully enough to draw no complaints from the 19 year old temp behind the desk.  She ushered off to deliver the message without uttering a response.  Vic waited.

To be continued...