Nomads

When the next group arrived, it was like a tidal wave of disgust washed over the faces in the news.

I understood why.

Take everything about the Coventry Mob and multiply the worst aspects by a thousand.

That's how you get left with the Dregs. No, really, that was literally what they were called.

Crackhole, Mincemeat, Pinch.

Two blokes, and a woman. Each one was as ugly as the last. All of them were hardcore addicts and dealers who had powers, none of them were worth anything… and yet Crackhole made a beeline straight for a chair next to Paramount.

Before he could reach it, Paramount lashed out with a kick, sending the chair skittering across the floor.

"What the hell?" Crackhole grunted.

"You can sit in a booth," Paramount said smoothly, his voice silky yet incredibly threatening.

"What, because I'm a little poor boy, you fink you can kick me around, eh?"