Loud music. You could fire a gun in here and nobody would hear it.
Gerald sat down with the rest of the team in the booth they had been ushered to. He had trouble squeezing his chest between the comfy leather chair and the not-so-comfy wooden table board in the booth’s centre.

People laughing. Laughing a bit too high spirited. Probable drug use.
He rested his arms on the table, covering about half of the surface, and looked at the rest of the group. They were all taking in the scene: the bar, the dance floor, gambling tables and the waitresses, waiters and people having a good time. Gerald’s attention was drawn to that strange, blue curtained stage. He imagined it opening up, revealing a multi-machine-gunned contraption, ridden by Darius Garnet himself. They had been found out, and now the action started.

Cards crunching between a thumb and index finger. A young tan woman smacked her boyfriend across the cheek. Somebody offering a small bag of blue powder to two dancing guys.
He couldn’t concentrate. There was too much going on.

At the bar, a tiny flask was emptied into a girl’s cocktail. In one corner a slick middle aged man with sunglasses and tightly combed back hair was on the phone, making contact with another, similar looking man on the other side of the dance floor. They were scanning the crowd. Alcohol was spilled on a blue leather jacket. Fighting ensued.
While his team mates sat comfortably in the booth, he squeezed out. He had trouble breathing. Fun was not something Gerald was familiar with, and when he did have it, it usually included arresting criminals or beating himself to a game of chess. Not that he understood the mechanics of the game, he just liked moving the pieces and throwing them across the room every time he lost.

The bartender was flirting with an older woman, too old for him. Some kind of strange humanoid creature was staring at them from a booth not far from where they sat. The heavy dance beat slowly made way for the more monotonous click and base of a rap song.
That was it. He was not going to suffer all this intolerable behaviour AND listen to rap.

Walking into the crowd he drew Big Gun #1 and went up to where the DJ was performing. There he looked for the most impressive power cord he could find and yanked it loose.
In the silence that commenced he pulled himself up to all his impressive height and slapped his gun theatrically into his hand. Then he called out to no one in particular, since he figured whoever WAS particular would hear him in the mean time:

“We’re looking for Darius Garnet! Either you bring us to him, or you will all suffer the consequences!”

Somewhere he knew that this bold approach was not what had been the plan. He just couldn’t help it. This was how he usually did business. And usually, somebody would act stupid and that was the person he needed to talk to.