"Greystud agencies, my name is Alice" said the female voice.

"Yes I'm interested in some services, detective services" said the male voice.

"Are you familiar with our services and their cost?" said Alice.

"I need top tier surveillance, around the clock, drones, satellites on a list of names, and addresses, and an assisination as soon as possible" said the male voice.

"Just let us know where you plan to pay cash, and we will send a representative to collect your target deck, and drop off your supplies" Alice reminded him.

"I have just the spot, an abandoned quarry, in Maine... I'll call you tomorrow sweetheart with precise coordinates and a time.. ok bye bye" Click./

**

Now it is March and the fishermen were ready to set sail to defend their turf. The territory on which their coast was shrinking every day and where competition was tough to be pirates of the seas, fishing under windmills, making gold, complaining much.

The projector lit up a graph shaped into a lobster boat comparing how many boats underpaid their taxes. Now a wide shot of a boardroom full of people standing at attention, state police.

"I'm here like William Defo in that movie where he helped clean up the place" said the one FBI agent placing on shades.

"Yes Sir" said his wall of cops lined up.

"Marco Matter, FBI, Maine division'' said the slim sharp man in the black leather coat ripping out his big badge at the latest crime scene.

"What we got this time? '' he asked.

“In a single homicide he was charred up in an arson with his throat slit, one of many things burned up around the town" said the sassy medical examiner examining a dead body.

"I don't like lobster meat. I'm convinced it was one of them, one of the bug catchers that is" said the late 30s well dressed white haired FBI man, leaning on his emerald topped cane that reflected his pitch black shades.

Later he was speeding around a snow-covered road in his bright red muscle car. On his way to the next crime, in order to get evidence. All they had to work with was a burned camera, and nobody knew if it would show any pictures.

"Marco we've learned there's going to be some kind of deal going down on Hogg island" said the handler through the dash.

"What kinda deal?" he asked.

"The kind you have to crash" finished the handler.

"Rodger" said Marco, shifting gears before accelerating.