King of the Street(A Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Reclaiming Control

The bar was stuffy and uncomfortable, he was used to fancier joints, but when the boss calls you to go to him and not the other way around. So, there he was, sitting on a ripped stool with what could be a glass of the cheapest whiskey he had ever drunk. The bar had a few patrons, a couple talking quietly in one of the aged booths that lined the wall, there were a few older men playing at one of the billiard tables. The bartender, Bill, was a veteran who had won the bar in a bet while he was on active duty. He had been doing alright, but with the rough location, he was losing more money than he was making. So, the boss stepped in and paid a loan to Bill so that he could keep his bar and the boss could have a place for him and his gang to hide out.

David caught notice of one of the bouncers to the back room as they motioned for him to come in. Finishing his drink, he gave Bill a tenner and followed the man to the back room.

The back room used to be multiple smaller rooms that acted as private dance rooms from back when the bar was a strip club. Bill knocked down most of the walls to create a mixed storage/office so that he could have a place to himself. Though the Boss more or less has control over it.

David walked past various others, some watching tv, some talking quietly and most of them were performing maintenance on various weapons. While the boss wanted them to avoid killing, he knew it was sometimes necessary.

Coming around a corner, David saw the boss sitting with his lieutenants. The boss was a middle-aged man with short, thick, salt-and-pepper hair. He had a five o'clock shadow that was broken by a scar that cut through his cheek and sliced through his mouth. To his right was a young woman, early 20s, who was loading a small handgun. She was Victoria, the head of arms and munitions. If you needed a weapon, she could get it for you. Next to her was a small mousy looking man. Well, he looked more like a rat. He was nervously looking back and forth between the boss and David. Finally, on the boss's left was another man. He was sitting calmly, reading some obscure occult looking book. He was tall and thin, but his eyes had clear, if not overwhelming, signs of intelligence.

"David, glad you came. It'd been a sham if you didn't," began the boss, with his deep rumble of a voice.

"Of course, boss," calmly replied David with a slight bow of the head.

"The reason I called you here was that there have been rumors that the Princes are gone, vanished."

David's eyes widened at this. "What are you saying, that we can take back that borough from them?"
"That's the plan, and we want you to run it."
"Really, me?"

"Yes, you have proven yourself worthy and its high time that you've been recognized."

David had been waiting for this for a very long time. Unlike the Italian or Irish mobs, you didn't have to be able to trace your lineage to become a made man. David started as a car thief, then moved to a fence. Once he was established as a man who could get anything, the boss got in contact. He was on a campaign for land and was taking it quickly. He seemingly came out of nowhere about ten years ago and had been making tsunami-sized waves ever since. David had wanted a more permanent position in the gang, but he knew he would have to earn it. It had been five years since he had first met the boss and it was finally paying off.

"Thank you, sir, just let me know what I have to do."
"Good thing you asked because there is one thing," said the boss, leaning forward. "I need you to rob an orphanage."

"What?"

*1 WEEK LATER*

Everything was planned out, supplies were gathered, times were set, and David was ready. At first, he was skeptical, but according to the boss, this was the home-base of the Princes. It was quite genius. No one would ever suspect an orphanage to be the home of two of the best thieves in England.