Cleaner's here [Greed] (EGL)

Greed was new to Jump. Only experiencing the town for a few solid hours now, but he was already doing what he does best. Gathering information. He'd start with the small timers, he figured, then work his way up to the bigger game as he progressed. Right now, he was hunting down a lead on a Yukuza set up in the warehouses.
The best and worst part about dealing with these huge gangs that have chapters all over the world, is that each sector has their own chain of command. A misstep with the Metropolis Yukuza wouldn't cut ties with the Yukuza. No. It was usually pretty easy to talk your way back in with the Gotham or Star City squad.

Negotiations were at a standstill, though, and Greed hadn't even done anything yet. When he quietly eased into the recently picked back door of the warehouse, there was already blood and death all over.

The victor, sitting proudly on a crate in a bloodstained suit coat whilst... holding his arm to his shoulder?

Well... that's not something you see every day.

"I was going to come in here and figure out who's in charge," Greed started, walking in with his headphones around his neck, "but in present company, it wasn't taking much deduction. You seem like the most receptive of the lot here. What's your name, buddy?"

"Drugs? Do I look like an addict?" Greed asked, sounding incredulous but hesitating for a moment after. "Don't answer that."
He'd step in rather confidently, looking over the shot up corpses and meticulously avoiding the splattered pools of red that surrounded them. He'd crouch a bit to get a look at the face of the man who looked the least like a brainless thug. Doubtful it was the head of the gang, but someone with more pull that a casual gunman.
It'd be hard to notice Greed picking the wallet out of the mans pocket as subtly as possible.

"I'm here for something infinitely more valuable than drugs."
The confident declaration came as Greed stood up and pushed his hair back.
"Friends. You look like a valuable kind of friend to have. You can call me Sinbad. What can I call you?"

"Made man, eh? Good. I was startin' to fear you might be a better dressed vigilante. Most of them tend towards the spandex, God only knows why. Me personally, I'm not really from anywhere specifically. I've been around just about everywhere though. Hah, that sounded pretty cryptic."
Greed said with a chuckle, heading over to the crate of drugs and pulling them out. He'd hand the bags to Tristano when he came by, trying to be helpful. He gave another weak laugh when the man mumbled about hurting the idiots boss.

"I assume this will be a decent blow, yeah. If that's what you're gunning for though you could do better. Sure, flushing the drugs means they're worthless to whoever owns them. That's rough. A made man like you probably has connections, though. It'd hurt more if you took them and sold them. If you did that, he's not only out a bunch of drugs but has a new competitor. The thing about addicts? No loyalty. They'll buy from whoever has the best price."

Greed would send a smirk his way, holding out a fresh bag.
"But that's just my thoughts. I've never been a drug dealer before."

It didn't seem like Greed's idea was taken with much impact. The man kept flushing, finally explaining that the reason he didn't mess with drugs was because of his family. Greed couldn't relate at all. He was more into the money than the company, but he figured the boy wouldn't be a terrible investment. Especially if he had himself connections with the mafia.

When the last bag was flushed, Greed fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Tristano.
"I suppose that makes sense. I've seen some people pull their best friends eyes out for the stuff. Seems to have a motivation like that."

Greed would light his cigarette, despite having the appearance of a younger man few ever questioned him on his habit. He gave the credit to how he carried himself.

"I'm just looking for friends, nothing specific. In my years, I've learned that everyone has their own value. Say me and you get real tight, then one day I open a shop and get roughed up by some mobsters. Pays to have someone you can call, y'know? Mutual exchange of favors and the like."

"Me? I have a few skills. Mostly involving locating and extracting things of value..." Greed explained, dragging on the cigarette deeply. Then his hands would burrow into his deep pockets and a look of nicotine apathy sparkled up his eyes for a moment or two. "But there ain't really nothing I can't get done, y'know? I guess in you business they'd call me... a middle man? Say someone asks me if I know anyone that bashes brains in. I give'em your card. Free money for you, with a itsy cut off the top for your good buddy here. Pretty standard in this line of work, as I'm sure you know."

After a few more quick but hard drags on the cigarette without a single cough, Greed would flick it away.
"Like you got your buddy sellin' these for a quarter of the price, aye? If you wanted to get into the middle man business, you'd tell me you'll get'em to me for half the price. It's a win-win-win. You're makin money, your buddy buyin' em at a price that he's cool sellin' em for a quarter is makin' money, and I'm savin' more money than either of y'all by payin' half that ridiculous store price. Ain't nothing shady about it. Just a group of buddies helpin' each other out... by the way, you got a card for that guy that gets em so cheap?"