Mr.West was on his phone in a luxurious elevator alone. The city was in chaos. He had been reading all the news reports he could about what had happened at the docs three days ago, and now Hogan has died in a car crash.
Mr.West was on his way to the office and studio of Curtis Glover, a homegrown spur of the time retired musician and businessman. Originally Curtis was a poor academic from the ‘tunnels’. The ‘tunnels’ was a series of apartment buildings that were a brisk walk from the docs and industry section on the south side. They were old, run-down, crime-ridden and a hard place to not get shot with the levels of senseless violence.
Curtis Glover was the rose that grew from the concrete of the tunnels to Mr.West and many other fans of his work. His general philosophy was a modern day Robin Hood but instead of physically robbing the rich he would symbolically earn their money as a sign of the distribution of his wealth which was fifty percent of his personal paychecks. He was a man of his people and at first, they loved him too. Curtis’s self-Business didn’t stop there. He created a record label called Phoenix Records and branched in several other media platforms to conquer the city’s media production.
Mr.West knew the trick with Curtis is that he is anti-social. His appearances extend to music video performances and infrequent interviews. When he grew up in the tunnels he was relatively a nobody, and to the rising new mumble rap “artists’, an enemy.
Curtis, however, could be reached by the traditional visiting of his office or scheduled an appointment if something was dire to his Business which in this case, it was.
Peter had bought the record label that gave Curtis his first shot. Strategically Curtis was one of the biggest political influences Peter could theoretically have. With Hogan dead and Peter, Mr.West, and Curtis being seemingly vigilant with opportunities Mr.West found this a good alliance. A steady council that could in theory run the city.
Mr. West walked out of the elevator with a sinister knowing smile and then greeted the black haired receptionist behind the glass desk who was on the phone.
“Am I good to go?” West asked quiet and polite.
The dark haired girl waved him in and smiled as began typing on her keyboard.
West walked through the glass door and stood in front of a windowless door. He knocked. The door buzzed and clicked itself open. West nudged it the rest of the way. The door closed behind him.
The room was wider than West thought and surprisingly lavish. It was a Japanese wood design with real trees in the center of the room and science fiction looking egg-pods for seats. On the wall immediately to Mr. West’s right he notices that it was a mirror image of the outside of the building but it was drawn digitally. The screen seemed so clear the image was like looking through glass. Mr. West looked for Curtis but didn’t see him. He quickly glanced around the walls for a door and found that a bookshelf was tilted slightly. West walked over to the case and found a door behind it. A voice called out.
“Come in.”
West squeezed in through the shelf and walked into the dim-lit studio. Curtis was sitting behind a computer screen reading into Hogan.
“It’s Everywhere,” West said as he walked towards the desk. Curtis didn’t move.
“A car crash?” Curtis spoke sounding confused.

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