| Mojo Smith & Grandma Crow
Issue: 1
"Deus Ex Machina"
Page One (two panels)
Panel 1. MOJO SMITH stands in a plane of infinite white. The plane is segmented by black lines that break it into equally sized squares. While not all of the following can be seen in this panel, here is a full description of the protagonist for reference; MOJO is a tall, roughly handsome black man. His left front tooth is chipped and his nose is slightly disjointed from having been broken many times. His shoulder length hair is dreaded. He is naked here, so the various scars that tattoo his body can be seen. In this panel he stands with his back to the reader. He gazes out over the white plane.
MOJO:
Now where has Gran'ma's little boy wander off to this time?
Panel 2. A red light radiates from behind MOJO's, causing him to cast the only shadow in existence here. He notices this and turns his head to see what is the source of the light. Something from behind him speaks in an electronic voice.
MACHINE (OP):
YOU ARE IN A BAD PLACE.
Page Two (three panels)
Panel 1. MOJO turns to face the source of the light. He has completely turned around and is bathed in the glow.
MOJO:
This doesn't look like the 313. What're you supposed to be?
Panel 2. The view of this large frame is from behind MOJO, looking in the direction that he gazes. He is silhouetted by the light coming off of MACHINE. MACHINE dominates the frame, bathing the white around it in the crimson glow. It looks like every information device in the modern world has been crushed into a sphere. Antenna, wires, desk top computers, cables, cell phones, laptops, mainframes, PDAs, bits of code, glass, steel and plastic are all pushed together to form it. No matter what angle it is viewed from the circumference of the circle is serrated like that of a rotating shovel. Something like this.
MACHINE:
I AM GOD.
Panel 3. MOJO faces MACHINE, arms akimbo, his head tilted slightly to the side. He seems more curious than frightened, very at ease for being in such an obviously alien place.
MOJO:
You don't look like any god a mine.
Page Three (four panels)
Panel 1. MACHINE grows a deeper, hotter shade of red. On its surface liquid designs unfold into something that resembles circuitry.
MACHINE:
THAT IS PRECISELY WHY YOU ARE IN A BAD PLACE.
Panel 2. MOJO recoils from the growing heat of MACHINE. He raises his hands to shield his face as his hair begins to smoke. Blisters rise on his forearms. He grits his teeth when he speaks, sweat rolling down his face.
MACHINE:
YOU ARE A DYING RACE OF MAN.
MACHINE:
THERE IS NO ROOM IN MY DESIGN FOR YOU.
MOJO:
I didn't think gods had blueprints.
Panel 3. MACHINE reaches a terminal level of heat, the air around it bursting into flame. The circuitry has folded itself into a single line, dividing the globe into two smooth, polished hemispheres. MOJO can be seen in its reflection. Small flames have popped up in his tangle of hair.
MACHINE:
YOU WERE MISTAKEN.
Panel 4. This frame is centered on MOJO's face as his eyes open wide with exhilarating fear. Sweat rolls off of his face. The infinite white plain is gone, as is the incinerating red light. He is in darkness.
MOJO:
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
Page Four (four panels)
Panel 1. MOJO sits up in his bed, gripping his forehead with his right hand. His right arm supports his head by resting the elbow on his raised knees. MOJO's left hand is stretched out beside him, placed on the sheets. A single window that allows faint daylight into the room through its curtains is the only source of illumination. With it, it can be seen that MOJO is in a small bedroom on a small mattress.
Panel 2. A new light pierces the shadow of MOJO's bedroom as GRANDMA CROW opens the door and looks in. She is a mere shadow, but her baggy silhouette can be seen. She is rumpled, overweight, and bent with age. Even with this little light it can be seen that MOJO's bedroom is a mess. His mattress rests on the floor along with an assortment of trash and a single lamp. A dresser stands against the wall with a leather jacket hanging from one of its corners. MOJO himself is still covered in the sweat of his nightmare, which can be seen reflecting with the light coming in from the open door.
CROW:
You alright child?
MOJO:
I'm fine Gran'ma. I was just dreaming a the white man's god again.
Panel 3. The reader gets the first good look at GANDMA CROW here. She is an elderly black woman, bent with age, rumpled and round. Her hands are swollen at the joints, while her face is cut deeply with wrinkles. CROW's hair resembles steel wool, tightly curled and iron gray. She wears a simple skirt with an ample white blouse. Her wiry hair is tied back with embroidered lace. She chastises her grandson with a stern expression.
CROW:
Well, it's time for you to get movin' anyway. Today we must pay l'batard his money.
MOJO (OP):
Yes'm.
Panel 4. MOJO stands up from his bed and pulls on a shirt as CROW walks away from his bedroom entrance. The shirt pulls against MOJO's muscles, showing off the dragon design on the front.
Page Five (five panels)
Panel 1. MOJO enters the apartment proper on his way to the front door. It is small, but well kept and nice, a strong contrast to his own room. MOJO carries the leather jacket from his room with him.
Panel 2. MOJO pulls on his jacket as he leans down to kiss CROW, who is waiting in front of the exit for him. CROW offers her cheek to him as she speaks. The doorway is flanked by a cross and an asson. The asson is a gourd with a wooden handle, decorated with bits of coral and snake bone.
CROW:
Do not forget to collect Dumont's tribute. He has not paid.
MOJO:
No worries Gran'ma.
Panel 3. MOJO saunters down the hallway of the tenement he lives in. The door to the apartment can be seen closing behind him. The outside of the apartment is nearly as dirty as MOJO's room. In addition to the trash and dirt, various graffiti lines the walls. As he moves down the hallway, MOJO passes an unconscious vagrant.
Panel 4. MOJO stands in front of the pea green elevator doors, stabbing a button with his forefinger. In the background, a window can be seen looking out over a cityscape.
Panel 5. The point of view passes MOJO to close in on the window. The hallway frames the window, which looks out over the industrial towers of Detroit. It is a gray and dirty March day in Detroit. Clouds hang low amongst the high-rise tenements and burned out factories.
Page Six (three panels)
Panel 1. MOJO is pushing his way through a crowded city street. This portion of the neighborhood is small shops and an open air market that seems to have grown out of the pavement. A dilapidated bus, covered in brown grime, sits on the corner spewing black smoke curling into the air. Shopkeepers haggle with customers while children dodge between everyone's legs. MOJO seems completely at ease here. Despite the overcast day, he wears sunglasses.
Panel 2. MOJO pushes open the glass door to a shop and steps inside. Steel bars line the inside of the door. The shop is a convenience store of sorts, offering an assortment of items. There is a machine for fountain drinks. The aisles are lined with snack foods and medicines. A stack of used tires and boxes of diapers flank the door. Around the perimeter of the ceiling hubcaps have been nailed.
Behind the counter is a black man that is so thin his face resembles a skull. This man, DUMONT, is speaking to a uniformed police officer. DUMONT's hands are in front of him, pressed together, while he smiles subserviently. The officer looks extremely pleased with himself.
SFX:
DING-LING
COP:
Ya know, Dumont, I wish more people around here could be like you. Yer a good egg.
Panel 3. MOJO casually peeks over the rims of his sunglasses at a shelf filled with bubble gum and candies. His fingers dance from one item to the next, never hovering over one thing for very long. His lips are pursed as if he were whistling silently or having difficulty making a decision.
COP (OP):
It just makes things so much easier when folks like you tow the line.
DUMONT:
Thank you officer. Have a lovely day.
Page Seven (four panels)
Panel 1. MOJO walks up to the counter, removing his sunglasses as he does. DUMONT's face changes only slightly, the smile becoming wider and warmer. His hands disengage and rest on the counter. COP can be seen in the background, examining the pile of used tires next to the door.
DUMONT:
Ahhhh, Mojo you look well. I trust grandmother is the same?
MOJO:
She's doin' just fine. Thanks for askin'. Her medicine's kind of expensive, though. You help out?
Panel 2. DUMONT bends over to retrieve something from underneath the counter. MOJO stands in front of the counter, his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket. Between the two, still beside the tires next to the door is COP, who has taken a decided interest in the conversation.
DUMONT:
Of course, of course.
Panel 3. A close-in frame of DUMONT handing MOJO a roll of bills bundled together with a rubber band. The bill on the outside is $20, but smaller denominations can be seen poking out from the roll.
Panel 4. MOJO's hand has the bundle of cash in this panel. COP's blue coated arm has invaded the scene and grips MOJO's wrist. DUMONT's own hand recoils.
COP (OP):
Just what do you think you're doing?
Page Eight (six panels)
Panel 1. COP has his hand on MOJO's wrist, leaning forward with his body to force his arm down. His other hand reaches for the nightstick at his belt. MOJO is looking at COP with feigned confusion. He makes no real move to defend himself or wrest his hand away from the cop. DUMONT looks almost panicked, his hands flying into the air, eyes wide.
MOJO:
What the Hell are you talkin' about?
COP:
Do I look stupid to you? Don't you think I know a shake down when I see one?
DUMONT:
NO, NO!
Panel 2. COP looks angrily over at DUMONT. His hand still grips MOJO's forearms tightly. MOJO seems unperturbed by the physical contact, but he is not letting go of the money. DUMONT stretches his arms out at the pair, fanning his hands.
COP:
What's your problem Dumont? Don't you want rid of this thug?
DUMONT:
No, no! The money is not for him, for his grandmother. She is mambo, blesses my store!
Panel 3. This should be from DUMONT's point of view, from behind the counter. COP leans towards the counter, his anger tempered by confusion. He still holds MOJO's forearm. MOJO remains impassive, standing as if he has taken root in the store's floor. His eyes betray the slightest amount of irritation.
COP:
Mombo? What's that? Some kind of snake?
MOJO:
It's a priestess. Some of the folks around here pay her to make charms for them.
Panel 4. COP has used his grip on MOJO's forearm to jerk him closer, pulling the two face to face. COP's misunderstanding of the situation has only gotten him angrier. MOJO is calm, apparently used to having cops treat him this way.
COP:
You expect me to believe that?
MOJO:
Look at him.
MOJO:
These people believe in my gran'ma.
Panel 5. COP has released MOJO and is walking towards the door. His head is down and his shoulders are pushed forward, more in anger than in shame. MOJO placidly watches him go, a small smile on his lips. DUMONT leans over the counter, watching COP as well, but with a relieved expression.
Panel 6. This frame is from the point of view of the convenience store's entrance. MOJO has turned to watch COP go, his hands by his sides. DUMONT, leaning his weight on the counter, shaking as he lights a cigarette.
DUMONT:
You know I appreciate you and Grandmother Crow watching out for the neighborhood. Sometimes, though, I wish there was something you could do about them.
MOJO:
Well, Dumont –
Page Nine (five panels)
Panel 1. The hallway is dark. An elevator's door opens to reveal MOJO standing alone inside. The light coming from the elevator reveals little of the hallway except for its smooth concrete floor. MOJO still wears his jacket and sunglasses.
CAP:
- We all have to answer to someone.
Panel 2. MOJO walks down the hallway, taking off his sunglasses as he goes. The hall is lit by small light fixtures attached to the walls just above head level. The lights are positioned in between doors that resemble autopsy tables stood on end. The doors themselves alternate on each side of the hallway.
Panel 3. MOJO stops in front of one door marked 'Orsini Imports'.
Panel 4. MOJO waits expectantly in front of the door. He makes no move to open it or knock.
Panel 5. An eye-port in the door slides open. A man peers through the other side, one eye blood shot, the other made of glass. Both eyes are surrounded by worry wrinkles. The eyes belong to VINCINI.
VINCINI:
On time as usual.
Page Ten (three panels)
Panel 1. The door opens to reveal the owner of the eyes to be a huge, lumbering man dressed in a tailored suit. He is middle-aged and balding, but looks very intimidating despite his age. Beyond him, the room's only pieces of furniture are a desk, a chair, and a standing lamp. Behind the desk sits DON ORSINI. ORSINI is a similar age to VINCINI, but smaller and considerably better groomed. He is smiling. To his left stands ADRIAN, a young mustachioed thug who is tall and rapier thin.
Panel 2. MOJO steps into the room, not the least bit intimidated by the muscle. ORSINI smiles and raises his arms in the air as if he were going to hug someone, but does not get up or make any move to embrace MOJO. MOJO is the only black man in the room. The room itself is a concrete bunker. The fine furnishings are out of place, with the mahogany desk and chair, the brass lamp with its green shade. A small safe rests in the corner.
ORSINI:
Mojo Smith! How's my favorite spear chucker?
Panel 3. MOJO walks across the room to stand in front of ORSINI's desk as VINCINI closes the door. Despite the insult, MOJO's stoic expression does not change. ORSINI's smile never falters.
MOJO:
I'm good Orsini. How's my favorite fat wap?
Page Eleven (four panels)
Panel 1. MOJO stands in front of the desk. He removes two large money rolls from his jacket pockets and lays them on the desk in front of ORSINI. ORSINI continues to smile. His eyes never drop to the money, but look to ADRIAN at his side as he speaks. ADRIAN has taken offense to MOJO's comment and stares at him in open contempt.
ORSINI:
This kid! Always has a lip on him.
ADRIAN:
Yeah, you'd better watch that. Else you might lose it.
Panel 2. MOJO finishes emptying the cash out of his pockets and onto the desk. The threat from ADRIAN has caught his attention, though, and he eyes the thug boldly as he finishes.
MOJO:
Don't threaten me, stretch. It'll cost the Don a fortune in flowers.
Panel 3. ORSINI raises his right hand as if magically imposing it in between GUARD #2 and MOJO. His smile has turned into a half-smirk and his eyes have lost the initial humor. It's business time.
ORSINI:
Calm down boys. I was to ask Mojo here a favor.
Panel 4. MOJO, having finished delivering the cash, stands away from desk. ORSINI waves his hands as if trying to clear the air of some invisible smoke.
MOJO:
What? You need another cousin to disappear?
ORSINI:
Nothing like that. I just want you to meet a friend of ours.
Page Twelve (four panels)
Panel 1. MOJO looks honestly surprised, to the point where he nearly steps back.
Panel 2. After a moment of disbelief, MOJO speaks. As he does ORSINI places his hands flat against the desk, lifting himself out of his chair.
MOJO:
Last I checked your friend don't like me much.
ORSINI:
Hell, Mojo, most days I don't like your kind.
Panel 3. The casual insult from ORSINI cools MOJO's surprise. He reverts back to his stoicism as ORSINI stands up from behind his desk and walks around to the front side.
MOJO:
My kind?
ORSINI:
Year, your kind. What? You're not black anymore?
ORSINI:
Look, Mojo –
Panel 4. ORSINI now stands at the front of the desk, leaning back against it. He faces MOJO. MOJO imperceptibly steps back, keeping the same amount of distance between the two.
ORSINI:
-- I've always respected you. You do good work, you bring the tribute on time. All these things matter.
ORSINI:
But the fact that our friend wants to meet you. That alone makes you a man in my eyes.
Page Thirteen (five panels)
Panel 1. MOJO's surprise has turned into suspicion. Even more confusing to him is ORSINI's apparent honesty.
MOJO:
So who is this friend?
ORSINI:
The archbishop Boccaccio.
MOJO:
A priest?
Panel 2. This frame should be composed completely of ORSINI's smiling face. He has the grin of a man who knows something that he is not meant to know.
ORSINI:
That's right. He asked for you by name –
ORSINI:
ALBERT.
Panel 3. MOJO frowns, almost looking like he might snarl. ORSINI continues to smile, obviously please with having discovered MOJO's true name.
MOJO:
So what's this all-knowing preacher want with me?
ORSINI:
Didn't say. Just said he wanted to talk with you.
Panel 4. MOJO turns his back on ORSINI, making to leave. ORSINI stands up from leaning on the desk, looking as if he might follow MOJO.
MOJO:
I'll think about it.
ORSINI:
What's there to think about, you savage? This is an important man.
Panel 5. MOJO turns to ORSINI as he reaches the door. It's his turn to smile as he watches the Don become agitated. VINCINI, who still stands to the left of the door, keeps an eye on MOJO, ready to stop him should ORSINI give the word.
MOJO:
Important to you. To me he's just another oppressor.
Page Fourteen (two panels)
Panel 1. GRANDMA CROW sits in the dark, a silhouette only identifiable by the outline of her body and her iron gray hair. In her right hand she holds the asson, in her left she holds a bundle of burning sticks (incense). In front of her, on a dried and stretched skin, are several bones of varying size and type.
CAP (MOJO):
I have to go talk to my people first.
Panel 2. MOJO is laying flat on his back across a hardwood floor. A small rug has been spread beneath the small of his back. He is shirtless. On his chest a crude sun pictograph has been drawn with ashes. GRANDMA CROW is at his left side, holding a short, iron sword (ku-bha-sah) in her right hand and a bundle on incense in her left. She waves the incense over MOJO's body in a parallel fashion.
CROW:
You must meet with the bishop.
Page Fifteen (three panels)
Panel 1. MOJO closes his eyes and crinkles his noise at the unpleasant scent of the incense as CROW passes it over his face. CROW's withered, knobby hand moves the burning sticks very close to MOJO.
MOJO:
I don't trust Orsini. If this bishop is his friend, I don't trust him either.
Panel 2. CROW presses the tip of the sword against MOJO's belly, just above his navel. Reflexively, he inhales, sucking in his stomach. While the incense has passed away from his face, he does not look any happier.
CROW:
As it should be.
MOJO:
Then why do you wan' me to meet him?
Panel 3. CROW leans in close to MOJO's face as she speaks. Her right hand draws the ku-bha-sah up from MOJO's belly towards his collarbone, symbolically cutting him open.
CROW:
Because he wants something from you.
CROW:
Because the Church is nearly as old as Voodoo and has as many secrets.
CROW:
Because what he wants –
Page Sixteen (three panels)
Panel 1. The Archbishop BOCCACCIO sits at the end of a short wooden table. BOCCACCIO is white, round and of medium height. He is old, approaching venerable. He has given up the usual decorations of his station for a simple black cassock, a rosary, and Roman collar. His fingers knit together over his belly. The room is lit by a single light bulb hanging above the table from a wire. The figures of two bodyguards can be seen behind BOCCACCIO, but the dim light prevents details from being seen.
CAP (CROW):
- May give us what he knows.
BOCCACCIO:
I'm so glad you could make it.
Panel 2. MOJO sits at the opposite end of the table. He has not changed his mode of dress. Both of his hands rest on the table in front of him. ORSINI is standing with one of his thugs behind MOJO.
MOJO:
You called, I came. So what's this all about?
Panel 3. BOCCACCIO rolls a bead of the rosary between his thumb and forefinger. He looks at MOJO intently, as if attempting to gauge his worth. His other hand rests on his belly.
BOCCACCIO:
Right to it, then.
BOCCACCIO:
Have you ever heard of a man named Papa Guinea?
Page Seventeen (three panels)
Panel 1. A parallel view of the table, placing both BOCCACCIO and MOJO in the frame. BOCCACCIO fondles the rosary with one hand, the other he moves from his belly to the table. MOJO slouches down in his chair, feet stretched out underneath the table.
MOJO:
No.
BOCCACCIO:
No, I didn't think so. He is a dictator of a small, island nation in the Caribbean.
Panel 2. BOCCACCIO leans forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table, grasping his hands together, holding the rosary just below his chin. He looks steadily at MOJO.
BOCCACCIO:
He was of some interest to the United States when he came to power after a bloody civil war. But that has long since past.
Panel 3. BOCCACCIO lifts the cross on the end of the rosary and swings it back and forth as he speaks. The gesture obscures the bottom half of his face, while his eyes peer over.
BOCCACCIO:
Shortly after that he proclaimed himself head of the island's church. He drove out all the missionaries there and killed the ones that would not leave.
Page Eighteen (four panels)
Panel 1. Another parallel view of the table. MOJO maintains his uninterested, slouched position. BOCCACCIO leans on his elbows, the rosary swinging back and forth.
MOJO:
Sounds like he's been busy.
BOCCACCIO:
Indeed. His control of the island is complete. He rules it with an iron fist.
Panel 2. MOJO has slid further down in his chair, showing less interest in the conversation. While not removing it from the table, he examines the fingernails on his left hand.
MOJO:
And how does him doin' that end with me in this room with you?
BOCCACCIO (OP):
It doesn't. It doesn't end here at all.
Panel 3. BOCCACCIO presses his hands together, the rosary beads between his palms. The crucifix hangs down from between his hands, still swaying slightly from the momentum of the bishop's gestures.
BOCCACCIO:
I can see that I'm boring you, so I'll get to the interesting part.
BOCCACCIO:
I want you to steal something from Guinea for me.
Panel 4. Rather than becoming interested, MOJO looks confused and cautious. His eyes narrow as he takes his turn to judge the bishop. The bishop's manner does not change.
MOJO:
What needs stealin'?
BOCCACCIO:
A fossil.
Page Nineteen (three panels)
Panel 1. The bishop rolls the beads of the rosary between his palms, causing the cross to twist in the air. This frame should be closer in on BOCCACCIO then the others, close enough so that the cross is easily identifiable.
MOJO (OP):
A fossil? You mean like old bones?
BOCCACCIO:
Yes, precisely. I want you to steam some old bones from Guinea for me.
MOJO (OP):
And what makes these bones so important?
Panel 2. A stand alone picture of the crucifix on the end of the bishop's rosary. The figure of Christ is one of suffering. It is emaciated, wounded, and clothed in rags.
BOCCACCIO:
They are the bones of a saint.
Panel 3. MOJO's expression has shifted from cautious to skeptical. He looks at BOCCACCIO in open disbelief. BOCCACCIO returns MOJO's gaze, the picture of calm. BOCCACCIO rests his hands on his belly again.
MOJO:
A saint?
BOCCACCIO:
Yes.
MOJO:
Which one?
BOCCACCIO:
We don't know.
MOJO:
Was never big on the church, but I think I'd remember a Saint 'We Don't Know'. That Latin for somethin'?
Page Twenty (four panels)
Panel 1. BOCCACCIO smiles grudgingly, although it is obvious by the glint in his eyes that MOJO's flippant attitude is beginning to annoy the bishop. MOJO has pulled himself out of his slouched position, sitting up in his chair.
BOCCACCIO:
We are unsure.
BOCCACCIO:
It could be St. Domingue, or Pallotti, perhaps even St. Nathy. Some dare hope for the bones of Lazarus.
Panel 2. MOJO leans forward from his chair to point a finger at BOCCACCIO. The bishop's smile stays in place like it was cemented there.
MOJO:
If you don't know who it is, how do you even know this Guinea fella has the bones?
MOJO:
Maybe it's just some old dusty shit.
Panel 3. BOCCACCIO's smile grows by a notch, his confidence showing clearly. MOJO is slightly unsettled by this, his accusing finger shrinking back to form a fist with the rest of his hand.
BOCCACCIO:
Oh, we know.
MOJO:
How's that?
BOCCACCIO:
Mojo, the civil war that brought Papa Guinea to power ended in 1924.
Panel 4. MOJO leans back from the table with a confused look on his face. BOCCACCIO has stopped smiling. The bishop continues to lean back in the chair, his hands stitched together across his belly.
MOJO:
What?
BOCCACCIO:
You heard me. Papa Guinea is at least one hundred years old and still manages to rule a politically unstable island.
Page Twenty-one (four panels)
Panel 1. BOCCACCIO moves his hands from his belly to place them flat on the table, as if he were about to use it as leverage to push himself up. MOJO crosses his arms, disbelieving and confused.
BOCCACCIO:
He is one of the great secrets of the Western world. Most have been led to believe that it's a hereditary dictatorship.
BOCCACCIO:
We know better, of course.
Panel 2. BOCCACCIO pushes himself up from his chair, fixing MOJO with a stare that keeps the man in his place. His intense posture makes the smile on his lips almost seem threatening.
BOCCACCIO:
We didn't know about the bones until recently. Guinea let his hand show.
BOCCACCIO:
I am certain that those bones are what grant Papa Guinea his extraordinary longevity.
BOCCACCIO:
And you are going to steal them.
Panel 3. BOCCACCIO begins to move around the table, approaching MOJO's end. Most of this does not make sense to MOJO and it shows on his face.
MOJO:
Don't you have boys to handle this sort of thing?
BOCCACCIO:
Most certainly. But his holiness has forbidden operations in excommunicated regions.
BOCCACCIO:
Like Orsini, I occasionally need something done by someone outside of my organization.
Panel 4. BOCCACCIO stands at the center of the table, looking down on the seated MOJO. Now that he is standing, the light from the dim bulb does not reach his face. MOJO looks at the bishop in defiance.
MOJO:
And why would I do this thing for you?
BOCCACCIO:
You will be much wealthier once you've brought the bones back to me.
MOJO:
Coin's good, but it ain't gonna help me if I'm six feet under.
Page Twenty-two (four panels)
Panel 1. MOJO crosses his arms and looks up at the bishop, refusing to take the bait. His lips are pursed, eyes narrow. BOCCACCIO reaches out a hand from his shadow into the circle of light on the table. The gesture reveals his signet ring.
BOCCACCIO:
True, but collecting small time protection money isn't going to keep your grandmother above ground –
MOJO:
Watch yourself.
BOCCACCIO:
-- Think about it –
Panel 2. BOCCACCIO leans towards MOJO, placing him in the light, revealing an almost fevered expression. Despite himself, MOJO recoils slightly from the elderly man.
BOCCACCIO:
One tiny bone from Papa Guinea, given to your grandmother, could assure her a very long life.
MOJO:
And you'd let me keep one?
BOCCACCIO:
Provided the rest are recovered, you have my word.
Panel 3. MOJO has pushed his chair away from the table. He looks at the bishop with a strange mix of distrust and hope. BOCACCIO gives a knowing smile.
MOJO:
I'll have to talk to Gran'ma about it. This shit's her turf.
BOCCACCIO:
Go right ahead. I'm sure she'll see the wisdom of it –
Panel 4. A small commuter prop airplane is descending out of the sky, coming down for a landing. The tops of palm trees can be see to either side of the airplane.
CAP (BOCCACCIO):
-- and send you right on your way.
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