It was night and Epic City was being tested by an electrical thunderstorm that was rare for the East Coast. The blazing shots of lightning seemed to find an echo in the city lights, which dimmed and re-lighted as its electrical grid was stressed by the power of the storm.

At Epic City’s port there were no fading lights. The storm and the hour had brought a standstill to one of the busiest ports on the continent. All appeared quiet and most of the area seemed devoid of occupants till business restarted the next morning.

When it came to Epic City’s port, appearances can be deceiving. A port as immense as this one had many layers and many unseemly undersides. There was much going on, at all times, but it took experience and intelligence to figure out much of it.

That was why Izmir Karpathos had hired Mr. Gogolak.

They stood together in dockside warehouse that stretched for nearly a half-mile on prime port real estate. Karpathos had purchased it and four like it in what The Sanguine News described as "…the largest real estate deal of the Port District since the construction of the Brookland Tunnel".

Karpathos was very wealthy. He was a Turkish shipping tycoon who was looking to land a firm toehold in the United Societies of America. He had made a splash down south on the Gulf of Mexico in the Port of San Haven, purchasing most of its docks, and now he appeared ready for a much bigger move into Epic City.

The lights were out entirely in the warehouse. The only lighting came from the lightning strikes and reflections coming in through the narrow line of windows that ran the length of the building. These were above a similar line of cargo doors that could open onto the piers and docks of Epic City’s Bay. The building was so long that the windows became a narrow line of light stretching into the distance.

Mr. Karpathos had a large cigar and its glowing tip did add a little light, but not much.

He seemed at ease in the near dark, as did the four other men near him. Mr. Gogolak seemed the only one on edge. Of course, he was only recently hired by Mr. Karpathos and he didn’t possess the sawed off shotguns the four other stout, swarthy skinned men held with such assurance. Mr. Karpathos, standing there in his expensive suit and overcoat, large chest thrown out with arrogance and confidence, seemed to finally take note of Mr. Gogolak’s discomfort.

"You can relax Mr. Gogolak. The building is sealed off. Only the messenger will be allowed to enter and these four," he waved his cigar at the ones with the guns, "they will see to it there is no funny business." The way he said "funny business" with his think Turkish accent, would normally have amused Mr. Gogalak, but not tonight. "Call me Georgie or Georgie Go Go, not Mr. Gogalak sir." Mr. Karpathos raised an amused eyebrow. "As you wish Go Go," he said emphasizing it heavily and letting his accent run with it. He chuckled roughly.

"Are his messengers usually on time or will he make me wait and waste my time?"

Georgie had a bad feeling about all this. This Turk had entirely the wrong attitude about this meeting. On top of that, the Turk still hadn’t said what his response to the messenger would be. Georgie decided it was worth asking again.

"So what are you going to say? I mean what are you going to tell the messenger about the Quiet Man’s request… sir?" He said, adding a belated honorific.

Georgie winced inside. It was as he feared.

"Sir, I think that would be a real bad idea."

"Yes, you’ve said that in the past. You’ve explained it all. My answer is no!"

Mr. Karpathos suddenly looked around animatedly and with irritation.

Georgie was in his mid 60’s and he had learned more that a few things in the fifty years he had worked the Port Docks. One was that the timetable was dictated by whoever the boss was. Whatever time was given was really irrelevant. You waited as long as it took for the boss to contact you. There had been four bosses in his lifetime and the Quiet Man, the most recent, was no different than all the others. It was, in fact, for all this knowledge that he had supposedly been hired by the Turk. Georgie wondered now why the Turk had even bothered since he clearly wasn’t going to act on any of his advice.

Georgie checked his watch and saw that it wasn’t even the specified time yet. Georgie was altogether certain The Quiet Man would hear about his involvement tonight and he was starting to pray that when he learned of his participation in this upcoming fiasco, he would realize that Georgie wasn’t responsible for this rich fool Turk’s actions.

"Will this Quiet Man send his strong boys here? I’ve also heard of the strange man he has recently hired. This Illustrated Man. Will he perhaps send this man?

"No sir. This will be just a messenger to convey your answer. It’ll be a nobody. Just someone who can be trusted enough to tell him yes or no or whatever your answer will be. He doesn’t waste his strong boys unless he plans on fighting and I don’t think the Illustrated Man would be here unless Despot wanted you or someone specific dead."

At this thought everyone but Mr. Karpathos began staring into the shadows and up at the rafters as if this had just occurred to them. Mr. Karpathos continued puffing his cigar and glaring at his wristwatch.

"I’ve already told you everything I know. He showed up about a year ago.

I’ve heard he’s not oriental but he has dark skin and hair, like he’s Mexican or something. And he’s covered with tattoos."

"Yeah, strange things. Lot’s of em. If you want to get specific you could say they kill people. He’s the Quiet Man’s killer now."

Mr. Karpathos chuckled loudly. For what, Georgie couldn’t figure.

"Look, Mr. Karpathos, these are the Quiet Man’s dock’s. The whole Port

District is his. No one operates here without the Boss’s permission. No one ever has. If you think you’re going to change that, you’re in for a big let down. This is Epic City. This is Epic City’s Port District. There’s no getting around the Boss down here."

"Yeah but you’ve never been to anyplace like Epic City’s Port District," Georgie muttered.

Mr. Karpathos laughed loudly and put his hand on Georgie’s shoulder. "You are a cynical man, eh? But you will learn. My boys are the best in the world. They broke a yearlong strike in Amsterdam where the unions formerly ruled.

They crushed the Russian mob in Odessa freeing the Black Sea to my ships.

This Quiet Man will go the same way if he gets in my way."

Georgie held his silence but the doubt never left his face.

About thirty minutes later Mr. Karpathos walked out of the warehouse, Georgie and the four toughs trailing behind. Mr. Karpathos strode toward his armored sedan with a confident swing in his step and a satisfied look on his face. Georgie was looking at his feet and the four toughs were looking at everything else. The electrical storm had passed but another sort of storm was brewing.

Georgie was tired of this man. Tired of the way he refused to use his correct nickname, tired of the way he used his stupid accent to pronounce other people’s names and tired of being ignored.

Georgie stopped, scratched his head, and then looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Karpathos. "If he thinks you’re just stupid or stubborn about paying, he’ll make you pay in a variety of ugly ways until you realize you’re being stupid or stubborn – or both. But if he thinks you’re challenging him for the docks, then I’m talking to a dead man."

Mr. Karpathos frowned mightily around his cigar, his face turning red with anger. One of his toughs opened the car door. Mr. Karpathos stood glaring at Georgie.

"No thanks sir. There’s no way I’m getting into that car with you. I’ll find my own way."

And with that Georgie turned and quickly walked down the wet, flagstone pavement of the docks, past the warehouse, piled shipping freight and moored ships, till he disappeared in the dark.

Mr. Karpathos muttered angrily to himself in Turkish as he entered the gray sedan, which slowly wound its way out of the Port District.