A tank of a man moved down the cracked and broken concrete that was all that was left of a once perfect sidewalk. It was hard to imagine that this place was ever nice if you were to walk around it now. Windows were boarded up at almost ever other of the crowded together apartments. People huddled together on their rundown porches. The dirty streets reeked and were riddled with unattended potholes. Even the water run off lines where so full of trash that the streets would flood with even the slightest hint of rain. The entire area was a dump, through and through. Only suitable to be called home by the poor with no aspirations and a horde of low life thugs.<br/><br/>The tall, intimidating figure stalked down the main street of the ghettos, a tiger among scores of potential prey. Narrow eyes glared forward, a man on a mission. Racketeering wasn't his usual gig yet it was an effective way for the gang to make money. Aleksander did not normally set these things in motion, instead he was called in when a particular stubborn vendor refused to keep up with their payments. The Fangs liked to keep their payments and other business ventures running smoothly and if they weren't then<span style="font-style: italic">corrections</span>had to be made.<br/><br/>Icy glare focused on a rather young man lurking on a corner. He was shifty, uneasy wearing and over sized white shirt and overly baggy pants. Constantly checking his pockets, his pager and two cell phones. A drug dealer if there was ever one to be found. The man looked down street and spotted Aleksander making his way towards him. The gangster's large arms were bare given his dirty tank top. They were laces with a variety of scars, at lot that seemed to be from knife fights, one or two healed over bullet wounds and even something that looked like the remains of a nasty burn. The marks of a warrior who has been through hell and survived. His face was shadowed save for his eyes by oddly enough a fedora; the only hint of class this man wore even if it was old and beat up like the rest of his thrift store clothing.<br/><br/>The dealer started to bolt in the opposite direction, paranoid as all of them. Aleksander just growled, clenched his fists tighter at his side and barreled forward. He might be a rather large individual but he or either out run or outlast any would dared to run from him. His victim started to slow, panting and heaving for breath yet the adrenaline pumping through him kept him going.<br/><br/>But not fast enough. Aleksander snarled as he reached out and grabbed the punk by his shirt immediately slamming him into the nearest building. He pressed him against the wall, lifting him up by his collar allowing him a moment to begin to stammer out a plead of some sort before clocking him hard in the face. He recoiled, went into fetal position and waiting for the next blow.<br/><br/>Instead Alek dropped him, receiving a squeak of terror as his target hit the ground with a thud. Almost gentle he kicked him over to lie on his back as he placed a heavy boot onto his chest. He glared down darkly and growled out in his deep, gruff voice, "Vhat? You not like us no more?" he chuckled dryly as he applied more pressure to the point were ribs would begin to crack. He leaned in towards the terrified man, to stunned to protest. "You vill pay vhat you owe at end of month, no?" While his expression an tone were more questioning he still held a terrifying air of sternness in his eyes.<br/><br/>The dealer nodded hurriedly and babbled out, "Yeah, yeah sure man. Business has just be a little slow you know? It's been hard to keep up with payments and keep a-"<br/><br/>Alek snarled and kicked down harder, this time he was sure he heard a rib snap. "I not care `bout your problems. Pay by end of week and you vill live." He removed his foot and started to turn away. He looked nonchalantly at the handful of witnesses about. They didn't care, they wouldn't say anything. The Fangs offered protection when it was needed for a price and death for those who squealed.<br/><br/>The dealer started to get up and retort, "What?! A week?! Where the hell am I supposed to find that kinda money in a week, you a month before too!"<br/><br/>The brute whirled around a nailed a swift kick to the other mans side for his comment. "You vill not argue vith me again." And with that he stormed off. He had controlled his rage rather well this time, though that was because he was under orders not to kill all of their clientele when it went to rough them up. Another of the gang appeared from the shadows having lurked behind the much larger Alek to do some of the finer points of talking and to collect whatever he could now. Racketeering was his job, Alek was just they muscle used to make a point this time around and perhaps to come back to torture and kill the dealer if he continued to not pay.