Howe steps through the doors into Dickies Dirk and Daggers. Dickies is a hole in the wall where only the roughest of the rough tend to congregate. Rarely do the social types of Rhy"Din even bother with the joint. It is typically left to the lowlifes and scum. Beady eyes roam over the joint, noting the 'regulars" drinking heavily at the bar, and only a few unknowns. The blonde bombshell, Physhra Pink, (one of the two annoying reporters DCH had tried to blackmail) is already pickled and looks to have taken up with' is that Mortimer"! A low growl ushers from between thin lips pinched tightly closed and Howe makes his way over to the weasely little man. He grabs him by his collar and shakes him hard.

"Mortimer! I should kill you here and now!" He snaps.

"Oh, Mister Howe, I've been lookin" everywhere fer ya and Mister Dewey and Cheatham too! That bitch Lilah's gone missin"! I didn't know what to do!"

"You fucking little rat, you don't think I don't know how much you *helped* her"!" Howe shakes the man just as the blonde bombshell grabs at his arm.

"Hey, let him go, he's with me!" Physhra screams in Howe's face.

"What the hell?"!"

"If you don't let him go right this instance I am gonna scream so loud it'll bring the roof down on your head, Mister Howe." Physhra Pink doesn't know when to back off and she tightens her grip on Howe to the point of breaking skin with those long, vicious nails of hers.

"Back off bitch, or I'll take you out too!" Howe grinds out from between clenched teeth.

"What"! You don't recognize me?" The blonde insists.

"I know exactly who you are and I don't give a shit, bitch, back the fuck off or I'll?"

"Mister Howe, Mister Howe"! She's my girlfriend, she don' mean nothin" by it, she's just protecting her man?" The weasel says.

Howe glowers between the two then thrusts Mortimer away from him while forcibly disengaging those gouging nails from his arm. "You'd best report to Dewey, Mortimer, or we'll be *collecting* on your contract." Howe doesn't even glance back at the blonde bombshell. He turns dismissively aside from the pair of them and heads for his typical table in the back corner.

Howe finds the table blessedly empty. He's come tonight for an "arranged" meeting with as of yet an unknown agent. Rumor has reached him that Tristin and his crew have finally arrived, but he's not had the pleasure of "finding" them yet. He half-expected them to be here, but his initial observance proved otherwise. Howe wonders, briefly, just where the self-proclaimed "gansta" and his gang have gotten off to, but it is barely in his head before he pushes it aside. He takes a seat and waves to the sole bar tender, Baby Face, to bring him his favorite scotch, then he waits for the "unknown agent' to show their face.

It couldn't be the man in the "I'm with stupid —>" t-shirt, fancy pin-striped black trousers, round psychedelic sunglasses and leather thong sandals sitting at the bar, could it' Not the one at the bar sitting between a blushing young woman and an angry-looking man (the arrow on his t-shirt is pointing towards the man in question). An argument breaks out as the man grabs the t-shirted one's arm and begins to threaten his life. This goes on for exactly sixteen and a half seconds until, without looking, the tackily dressed one pulls a ridiculously elongated blaster pistol from his trousers, points it at the other guy without looking and shoots him through his temple. Blood splatters down the counter away from him, and a couple servants hurry to pick it up and many heads turn while the man with the t-shirt, Jack Silence, wanders from his seat into the restroom to wash a chunk of brain off of his face.

Howe watches the later portion of the brain spatter exchange, an ironic twist to thin lips. And as Baby Face brings him his scotch he asks "You know him?"

"Huh, what? The guy who just made that fucked up mess" Nah, he's dressed too good."

"Yeah." Howe mutters before sampling his drink. "But he's the kind of guy I should be hiring."

Baby Face shrugs and wanders back towards the bar. One can tell by his expression that he thinks Howe is dressed "too good" to be in here too.

And then Mr. Silence wanders back from the restroom, tucking the gun back into his pants as he crosses directly to Howe's table. He places his hands on his hips and leans forward to peer critically at the lawyer himself....leans to the side, twisting his head about....and then, apparently satisfied, nods to himself.

"You must be Mister Howe."

"And you must be the smart ass I'm here to meet." Howe smirks and waves the man to join him at his table. "Wanna drink" After that nice little floor show of yours, I'm sure you must be parched."

"Oh no, I don't drink," he lies. He reeks of alcohol, and is something of a compulsive liar. He sits across from him, pushes his sunglasses up into his hair, smiles cheerfully and offers his hand. "My name's Jacobin Silence. You can call me Jack, Jake, Jacob, Jakey, Mister Silence, or Grenadine - and I help people to see other people dead."

Howe takes the man's offered hand and shakes it firmly, just once, then let's go. "Alright, Mister Silence, why don't we get down to business since you *don't* drink."

Howe loves a sinner, and a sinner that glories in many sins he considers the best of the best. But one thing he hates is an untrustworthy liar. The man had better hold to his word or Howe is going to rip out his heart and feed it to the homeless.

"Now, before we begin, that lie you just told me, I'll forgive because I could care less if you drink or not. But if it comes down to something I do care about and you lie to me" I will make you pay dearly, my boy." Howe offers him a friendly smile. "And trust me; I won't be nearly as charitable as you just were to that poor brainless sod they're mopping up over there."

He just isn't going to get a good response to any threats - Jack puts a hand to his heart and says, "My dear Mister Howe, I do apologize for offending. I'm sure a man of quality such as yourself understands the gentleman's virtues such as charity, compassion, but honesty above all others. Scouts' honor," he raises two fingers, "I swear never to utter a lie again."

He kicks his feet up on the other side of Howe, not on the side that would block him getting out, but it's still rude of him. "You need soldiers." He opens his arms and his hands, and smiles. "I have them in spades."

"They as cold and heartless as you?" Thin lips twist into a smirk as beady eyes assess the man. He's reserving judgment for now. Howe shoves the man's feet off his chair but he doesn't say anything about it. "What do you want, Mister Silence, in return for my army?"

He lets his feet get shoved off, and kicks them up on a wholly empty chair instead, hugging a knee loosely. "I can offer you money and weapons too, if you need them, in exchange for relatively large sums of money. I'm sure you know how security contracts work - they get killed, we have to pay up on policies for the wives and kids, yadda yadda..."