The winds seemed to howl past a man standing on the platform of a massive building that towered over everything. There was no mistaking the royal-purple velvet suit, matching top hat, and vintage walking cane. For this man, was known to his many viewers as the renowned game show host, Richard Richardson, better known for his tv persona, "International Dick".
"My, my... How the winds of change do howl this evening." Sighed Dick, eyes narrowing into a squint. He turned and made his way into his skyscraper's elevator and rode it down to ground level from his penthouse. As he strutted around down the Elite's Boulevard, a mugger rushed at him, knife drawn. Before his security shadows could move, International Dick raised his and simply shook his head. As the mugger approached him, Dick choked up his grip on his cane, swung his arm back, the slammed the soild gold knobbed-top into the mugger's temple, splitting his skull open.
"Goodness, the poor truly are desperate creatures." He pulled out his black and purple hankerchief and wiped the blood from the golden top of his cane. His mouth curled into a wicked grin, one that even the devil himself would've found himself shivering from the chill sent down his spin at the meer the sight of such a grin. International Dick, having finished wiping off his cane, stepped over the mugger's corpse and continued his outing. As he walked, a neon sign for a place known as "Big League City Strip Club" flickered and drew his attention. He motioned for his shadows to keep watch, then went inside.
Inside, the place looked rundown and smelled like hell. "Such a disappointing sight." Sighed Dick, taking a seat in the empty viewing lounge. However, when one of the strippers came out to greet him, International Dick gave her a large band of cash for herself and a business card for the club's owner. She prompty rushed to the back of house and fetched the owner. "My, my, old Irving! Still trying to keep this place afloat?" Chuckled Dick as an old man hobbled over to him. Old Irving was a friend of Dick's, or atleast someone Dick could talk to openly with.
"Yes, Mr. Richardson, sir. Time's are tough at the moment... can I get you anything? A stiff drink or perhaps a one of my dancers could..." Old Irving was cut off by Dick piling up more money than Irving had ever seen on the table in front of him. "Old Irving... my friend, do me a favor...", Richardson let out a shallow breath, "allow me to retire you and continue to keep this business alive and well. I'll simply revamp, clean, and furnish the interior, while the name stays the same, the dancers keep their jobs, and you get to enjoy what life you have left, old friend." Old Irving's eyes grew wide at Dick's offer. However, the old man stiffened his upper lip, then asked a single question.
"Why? Why would you..." Irving's fraile voice trailed off as Richardson tossed an additional twenty-bands of cash onto the table. "Well, my old friend, I'm getting back into the entertainment business, and I want my friends taken care of... my only friend... being you. So, what says you, Old Irving?" Said Dick with his vanta-black pupils glaring daggers into Old irving's eyes. Irving nodded slowly then hobbled into the back. He was gone all of ten minutes before returning with the deed to his business and a ring of keys. Irving was moved to tears of joy as he smiled and said, "Where do I sign, my TV Star friend?"