Morning Scene Monologue

I turn left as quickly as i can, Finding myself down the nearest alleyway As the morning fog rolled across the docks, it’s tendrils curling around the lamp posts and mooring lines, a car, slick and black, its headlights piecing the darkness of the morning, slowly pulled into position alongside a line of shadowy trucks. Three men all dresses in long coats stepped from the car, they all had the same look about them, tall and strong, the driver moved to open the door for a fourth a shorter, stockier man then the rest, yet his authority was clearly noted.
A man slowly stepped out from between the trucks flanked by two behemoths of men, they towered over his slender figure yet still there was a clear unease of being this close to the man they were
The men he had worked with had ‘misplaced’ the vital evidence that would have put these families away for good. He swore as he realized that in this town the only one you can trust is yourself, and the only way to work is outside the law. As the morning fog rolled across the docks, it’s tendrils curling around the lamp posts and mooring lines, a car, slick and black, its headlights piecing the darkness of the morning, slowly pulled into position alongside a line of shadowy trucks. Three men all dressed in long coats, stepped from the car, they all had the same look about them, colossal brutes with blank ruthless expressions on their faces. The driver moved to open the door for a fourth, shorter, stockier man than the rest, yet his authority was clear.
Mike Moresby, the family head of the East Siders, known for his appropriate nick name ‘Fat Mikey’. His ‘family’ has unquestionable control over the bootlegged liquor in the entire east side of the city, supplying the high and mighty upper class with their need for booze and brothels. They are notorious for their control over judges, public officials and if rumors are to be believed the higher ups in the police department. It’s surprise how they’ve managed to stay out of
His scared face and slicked back hair combined with his almost skeletal frame made his appearance even more unsettling. He strode forward and the shadows around the trucks revealed that he was flanked by two behemoths of men. They towered over his slender figure yet still there was a clear unease among them. Their coats bulged with the tell tale signs of guns hidden beneath. They moved to greet the newcomers.
Jack Church, known for his nickname ‘Pope’ is the family head of the south siders and the most feared man this side of the city. His family’s brutal and unquestioned hold over the drugs and tail in this area keeps the cops out and the government officials at bay. Many of the curious cops and small timers trying to muscle in on this territory have been found at the bottom of the river, the rest have never been found. No one wants to mess with these