"Whipping a crowd into a frenzy should be easy enough between me and Juan." Frank smiles slightly, "I've been doing it in local bars just for amusement as part of our initiative. Simple enough to take it to the next level. I've been thinking though. We've got Silver Terrace on the right path, but violence, a death here and there... these things are temporary. They create fear, but still the residents hope. They can hope that order will be restored and eventually the city will pony up the money to flood this area with cops as long as those respectable elements remain. In the long run, after things settle down we're going to have hurt our own interest. We're the ones who live here. You want to try to feed in a neighborhood flooded with cops? He hunches his shoulders, shivers, scans the street from his window ledge, and turns back continuing, "So I ask myself, 'Frank? What really causes humanity at large to write off an area as lost, irredeemable?' And I so I tell myself, 'You know Frank, it's got to be generosity and second chances. People see poor shmucks down on their luck and they run. They all love a nice story on the evening news about Johnny McCrackrock makes good, but only when it's a nice little story with a 'Back to you John' ending. When Johnny McRock moves in next door it's a different story, am I right? Say a drug treatment center opens in Silver Terrace? How about a halfway house for convicts or mental patients? A soup kitchen? I think these are the kind of things... What was that? Did you hear that? Looking around in alarm, he half rises and reaches for his phone in his jacket pocket before realizing no one else heard anything.
Clenching his jaw, he cracks his neck and stands leaning against the window frame. He watches the street intently while nervously flipping the phone over and over in his palm when he continues,"As far as making it happen," Frank frowns. Juan, "You got any pull with a church to get a soup kitchen set up? How 'bout the black hoody crew, Jonquil? Did a piece on anarchists feeding the homeless vegan dumpster feasts back in New Orleans. Bonus points for anarchists AND the homeless. I got nothing for the treatment center unless Lens has any ideas there." Briefly checking for responses, Frank zones in on Isaiah's cigarette and starts to ask him to put it out before he catches the place on fire, but checks himself. Instead he stares at it's burning tip intensely, head cocked to one side, jaw popping as his teeth grind together.
A double blink and Frank shakes his head as if coming out of a trance,"Here's the deal though- I think we're missing an opportunity here. These refugees are in our city now. We got the go ahead to wreck the area, but we ought to be able to get a little more out of this arrangement. Here's a little game we played back in Louisiana. By-the-hour hotel. Furthers the ultimate goal and gives us a little bit of clout at the same time if we have a safe place to offer some of these refugees to feed while the cops are heavy on the street." Frank pauses to gauge any interest, and glances nervously at the street again through the window.
With a nervous laugh he looks back to the others, "Course that all supposes we don't get ashed by then. What the hell is going on and what are we going to do about? Lens, you damn sewer rat... you holding out on us? I thought you guys were supposed to know who's up to what before they even get around to planning it?
