The Docks Boss nods, ponders, chews the frayed end of his hand-rolled Dominican, and glances at the goon he brought with him.

– I think he’s tellin’ me there ain’t shit in it for us.

The goon shifts the baseball bat perched on his shoulder.

– Sounds like it.

– Sounds like he’s tellin’ me he wants somethin’ for nothin’.

The goon nods.

– Sounds like it.

The Docks Boss takes the cigar from his mouth, points it at Terry.

– That what you’re tellin’ me, Bird?

Terry presses the palms of his hands together and puts the tips of his fingers at his chin, a prayerful moment.

– What I’m trying to get across is that there’s something in it for all of us. Me, you, your man there, Joe here, your members, the Society, all the Clans and Rogues and even the folks out there that never heard of the Vyrus. I’m talking about how we’re gonna make the world a bigger and more wondrous place when the day comes we go public and let them know we’re here. I’m saying that there’s something in it for everyone. Every person on Mother Earth, man.

The goon raises a finger, a point’s been proved.

– Yeah, he’s saying there ain’t nothin’ in it for us.

The Docks Boss pushes his chair back, stands, drops the smoldering stub on the floor and stomps on it.

– C’mon, Gooch, let’s get the boys and get the fuck out of here.

Terry shrugs, rises.

– Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it’s not the first time we’ve been turned down.

He puts out his hand.

– And I just want you to know, we’re still fighting for you, man. Anytime you want to join the struggle, we’ll be happy to have you by our side.