Lightening flashed over head; torrents of rain fell drenching everyone on the streets. Rivers ran in the gutters sweeping away the debris of daily life. In the back room of the town bakery gathered three of the more influential men of the town. They sat around a poker table. But it was not poker they were playing at. The room is lit only by candlelight with which one can see the dim shapes of the instruments of the bakery. The three men appear to be engaged in some sort of business.

One of the men is the proprietor of this shop, the baker. His name was Guntry Hall. He sits back very casually running a large amount of money through his hands. He licks his thumb and begins to count the bills he is holding. His hair is coal black and greased. It shines in the weak light. His eyes are dark and piercing. In his teeth he holds a lit cigar which he puffs slowly. It is lost in large beard and one can only make the light of the tip as he draws in a breath. He is a broad chested, tall, mountain of a man. As he rocks back and forth, the chair creaks, barely supporting his weight.

The second man is hunched over the table. His arms are wrapped around an object that is obscured from view. He is older than the first man; his hair is scraggly and grey. He also has a beard; it is dirty and wild. He has a small form and scrawny limbs. His small eyes are sunken in his head as he glances nervously back and forth between the other two men. His name is Langard Fulton; he is the one who provides the town with light though his demeanor is very dark. He is the candlestick maker.

The third man is short but rotund. His tremendous girth pools over the side of the chair, though his legs barely touch the floor. He leans back with an irate expression on his small pinched face. His head is completely bald except for a small triangle goatee on his chin. His gigantic arms are crossed across his bloody apron. He is the butcher and his name is Roberto Vazzini.   

“What do you mean, counting it, Guntry? I said it’s all there! I ain’t tryin’ to cheat ye. We is partners, it wouldn’t do me no good to cheat ye. Why would I do that? You trust me, don’t you? You trust me, too, don’t you, Vazz, old pal?” Langard babbles nervously while shifting in his seat, but he keeps a firm latch on the object in his arms. The other two men just smile wryly back at him. Guntry continues to count and Roberto continues to glare. After a while, the money is neatly stacked on the table, and Hall leans forward.