Chapter Text
Smoke trailed up from the cigarette hanging from Wilbur's lips, filling his eyes in a foggy grey haze. It stung, of course, but Wilbur really didn't care. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth before blowing a puff of smoke on the folders he was holding, chuckling as he did so.
Fight that broke out on corner of sixth was riled teens, not mob activity, The newspaper headlines read. Another perfectly done coverup, and of course Wilbur was proud. It had been a fight between two mafia groups, in fact it had been between the two biggest ones in the area, the Las Nevadas Mafia and the Syndicate.
Wilbur smirked before inhaling more smoke. He threw the papers and folders onto his desk, leaning back into his chair, his head hanging over the back as he blew out the smoke again.
"Soot, you know you're not supposed to smoke in here."
Wilbur looked over to the door to his office, smirk dropping as he saw the chief of police standing there and looking very unimpressed.
"Sorry," Wilbur said, though he didn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "You have an ashtray anywhere nearby?"
The chief sighed, looking directly at the no smoking sign before looking back to Wilbur.
"Alright then," Wilbur said, quickly dabbing the butt of the cigarette to his tongue multiple times. It burned and tasted terrible, but there was no change in his expression. He waved it around a bit before tossing it in the nearby trash bin.
"Fucking hell, Soot," the chief said. She sighed, peering into the trash can. "How the hell did that not burn you?"
Wilbur shrugged, finally sitting up straight.
"So what do you want?" He asked.
"Just wanted to congratulate you on finding the evidence that proved the fight wasn't a mafia affair," the chief said. "You seem to be good at debunking alleged Syndicate crimes."
"All in a good days work, ma'am," Wilbur said, hiding his smirk. "I keep wishing I'll find something that actually incriminates those bastards."
The chief hummed in response, seemingly distracted.
"Well, I'd better get going," Wilbur said, glancing at his watch. He stood up and slung his coat over his shoulders, walking over to the chief. Standing, Wilbur towered over her at a good nine or ten inch difference.
"Have a good night," the chief said.
"You too," Wilbur said, smirking. He walked out of the building, getting a few meters away from the entrance before laughing to himself. He pulled out his phone, texting his brother, Techno.
Another successful coverup. On my way home now, He typed out, reading it once over before sending it. He didn't expect to get a reply anytime soon. Techno was most likely busy with some kind of work.
He continued his walk home, thinking to himself. Yes, he was a member of the Syndicate. Why else would he help coverup their crimes? It was poetic, that he was such a high ranking Syndicate member who also happened to be the police force's highest regarded detective. But it wasn't like they didn't have secrets too. They were just as corrupt as the casino that the Las Nevadas Mafia ran, what with the embezzling and the fact that their main source of funding came from the Syndicate. They were far from saints.
He had a thing for poetry.
Wilbur's job was simple; gather intel from police officers, and coverup any crimes the Syndicate committed. He had been doing it for years and had gotten quite good at it.
Finally snapping out of his thoughts, Wilbur looked up to see the towering, shiny buildings of Las Nevadas. He couldn't go any farther that way, unless he wanted to run into any of the Las Nevadas Mafia. Considering he was on his own, he decided not to start any fights.
To put it simply, the Las Nevadas Mafia and the Syndicate did not get along. It was a sort of rite of passage for both sides to be involved in a dispute of some kind, usually over something insignificant like one side helping someone the other side hates. Wilbur, on the other hand, got to be apart of a territory dispute. Ever since that day, Wilbur had opened his eyes to the importance of territory. Without it, any organized crime group was nothing. And ever since that day, Wilbur had vowed that once he was the boss of the Syndicate, his defining feature would be to have taken the most land from Las Nevadas.
He had tried to convince the current mafia boss, Phil, to try and take the tiniest bit of land, but he could never convince the man. He would sometimes wonder if he had an alliance with the boss of the Las Nevadas Mafia, but looking at all other signs that was very unlikely.
When Wilbur got back to his home it was nearly dark, the moon just barely peeking out from the horizo. He was greeted by an extremely hyper Tommy and a smiling Techno. Nothing would have been out of the ordinary, if it wasn't for the way Techno was smiling. He only smiled like then when something good had happened.
"What's going on?" He asked, looking to Techno.
"Hey, bitch, I know too. You could've asked me," Tommy said loudly.
"Hush, child. The adults are speaking," Wilbur said, smirking as he gently pushed Tommy away.
"You say that again to my face you fucking bitch!" Tommy yelled, wildly swinging his arms as he tried to attack Wilbur, failing miserably as Techno moved behind him and picked him up.
"Put me down! What the hell!" Tommy said, trying to wiggle his way out of Techno's grasp.
"Boys! I've told you to play nice."
Tommy immediately stopped struggling at the sound of Phil's voice.
"Techno, put Tommy down," Phil said. He looked exhausted, dark bags under his eyes. Techno slowly let Tommy back onto the floor, the boy glaring up at him once he did.
"Thanks Phil," Tommy said, drawing out the words slightly. Phil nodded in his direction.
"Did anyone tell Wilbur?" Phil asked.
"Tell me what?" Wilbur said.
"Well I was going to, but the this dickhead-" Tommy started, but was cut off by Techno ruffling his hair. Phil sighed again.
"Fine, I'll tell him," he said. He turned to Wilbur. "The Las Nevadas boss is dead."
"What?"
Phil nodded. "Schlatt's dead."
Wilbur was stunned for a second, wrapping his head around what had just been said. "So who's replacing him?"
"Someone named Quackity," Phil said. "You know him?"
Wilbur shook his head. He had possible heard his name once, but if he had it would have been a long time ago. He thought things over again, hands subconsciously reaching into his pockets and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one, inhaling the smoke as it met his lips.
"So how has he been doing?" He asked after a bit of silence. To that, everyone shrugged.
"No idea. He was literally made the boss today," Techno said.
Wilbur let out a puff of smoke, watching from the corner of his eye as Tommy wrinkled his nose. He had never thought the boy would make it far in the Syndicate, him being so young and all. But here he was, talking with the boss of the Syndicate.
An idea formed in Wilbur's mind, slowly taking form as he connected dots he didn't even know were there.
"We should take some of their land," Wilbur said before taking another drag. Phil sighed once more and looked at him.
"Wilbur, no. We've been over this. We do not-"
"No, Phil, come on. Right now they're at their weakest. This would be the perfect time!" Wilbur said.
"Wilbur you clearly don't know who this is," Phil said.
"Clearly not," Wilbur huffed. "But any new leader is shaking for the first few day. Hell, maybe even months. But right now is the perfect time to get an upper hand on them."
Phil stared at Wilbur. "There are rumors he was the one who killed Schlatt. He's been ready to lead for a while."
Wilbur perked up at that. "So Schlatt was killed then? How?"
"We don't know," came Techno's answer. "Biggest theory right now is poison, but apparently nothing was found in his system."
"And you know that how?" Wilbur asked.
"They're not the best at keeping secrets," was all Techno said. Wilbur knew he wouldn't get any further explanation, so he didn't press.
"But don't you see my point, Phil?" Wilbur said. "No matter how prepared he was to take charge-"
"No, Wilbur. We are not going to take land from Las Nevadas. That is final," Phil said, his voice firm. Tommy sat in silence, not looking Wilbur in the eye when he looked at the boy.
Wilbur had clearly lost this.
It made him all the more interested in who this Quackity character really was.
...
To be fair, the Las Nevadas border was very interesting. It was pretty to look at in general, with the shiny buildings and lights. The day was nothing when compared to the night though, that's when the city really lived up to the name of the star of the desert.
But it was not night. Wilbur just sat there, looking at the border. From where he was, the border was from one tree to the corner of a building. The building was large and white, probably a hotel of some sorts, or perhaps a smaller casino.
It would be so easy to just step over the border. It would be so easy to be on Las Nevadas territory for a split second. Wilbur thinks. He thinks until he is standing right at where the border would be if it were a physical thing. He thinks more.
And then he steps away, turning to walk back home. It wasn't worth it. At least not yet.
It had been a few days since Schlatt's death, and the Las Nevadas Mafia seemed to transition to a new boss seamlessly, making Wilbur wonder if Quackity had a following before he was even the boss.
But that didn't really matter now, why the transition was so seamless. What mattered now was that Las Nevadas had a new mob boss, and so far he was running the show really well. Wilbur had gotten flooded with reports of scams, embezzlement, fraud, and so many other crimes at his job at the police station.
Whoever this new mob boss was, he was doing an excellent job.
...
Days go by slowly when you have nothing to do but file paperwork. Wilbur finds that out quickly. The days went slowly at first and then suddenly it's been two and a half weeks since Schlatt's death. The investigation has concluded that he died of alcohol poisoning, but Wilbur didn't fully believe that. Sure, the man was an alcoholic, but in his position of power it's likely someone would want him out of the way.
The day at the police station was uneventful. The walk home was uneventful. Wilbur was bored. He was so incredibly bored of the only thing being able to do was think.
Phil was the one to greet him when he got home.
"Wilbur, we need to talk."
"Whatever it is, I have an alibi. I've been stuck at that god forsaken police station for the last two weeks," Wilbur said quickly. Phil looked at him and smiled.
"No, it's nothing like that." He said. "I'm stepping down as the mob boss."
The world went silent.
"You're fucking what?"
"I'm giving the position to you," Phil said. "Because I think you would be the best fit."
Wilbur was silent for a minute. Thinking, again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Do Tommy and Techno know?"
Phil nodded. "Just have to tell the rest of the Syndicate."
And Wilbur was silent for a minute again.
"Why?"
Phil sighed, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I don't have a full answer for that. It's poetic, right? You like the poetic shit. Schlatt dies and then his enemy steps down."
Poetry. Right.
"That's not an answer, Phil, and you know that."
"Listen, Will, I have gone my whole life and the only thing I've ever had is the Syndicate."
Wilbur was silent for a moment. "You've met someone."
Phil looked him in the eyes, both of them knowing the unspoken answer.
The next day Wilbur woke up feeling both the best and the worst he had felt in his entire life.