Mr. Maximo Azul, "One Big and Smart"
Maximo detested violence almost as much as he detested stupidity. It's why he had gotten into security. Not just the aspect of it people expected of a man his size to deal in. He straightened his tie as he looked over the plans of the museum.
"So you see, Mr. Azul, your services are strictly for show here," The smug little bastard who thought paying a man meant you owned him said, "A confidence builder. Now, we would prefer you wear a uniform, the suit they might confuse you for...well, not security." What he meant to say was someone might confuse him with someone of wealth. It was true, fine clothes were one of Maximo's weaknesses.
"This IS my uniform, senor," Maximo informed him, speaking of the suit two shades darker than his skin, "And if you cannot adapt to my style, I understand and will seek employment elsewhere."
"I only want your reputation anyway," the curator/owner snorted, "It sets our investors at ease. Now stop speaking nonsense. You may have an excellent record, but our security is state of the art. Just sign this paper giving your approval, stand in one spot for the night, and we can be done."
Maximo looked at the piece of paper before him, took it between his fingers, and began making notes.
The curator smiled at first, figuring that the overpriced man before him was seeing logic at last and just checking the boxes, but... it was taking longer than he thought it should. Then he realized, "You're not approving... anything."
"No, I am not, your security is laughable. You have air vents a small boy could fit through, or a very skilled contortionist. Your backup generator allows a full thirty seconds to boot in, enough time for anyone who knew what they wanted to make quite fine progress, particularly if they had help from the outside," Mr. Azul kept writing his critique down, "Your pressure plates are standard, meaning any skilled burglar knows the weight required to fool them better than you do and will do so before you can say 'Indiana Jones'. Millions in art I can admire, thousands wasted in ineffective security? I cannot abide," The troll said bluntly, allowing his own contempt for the man, and his methods to glow through.
The man sputtered, "You... you are judging me?"
"Yes, Curator. And you failed. Oh, and you might want to consider that whatever lady you spent earlier this evening with as a possible suspect," The big man frowned disapprovingly.
"What, how..." the curator flushed stumbling again.
Mr. Azul answered anyway, "The perfume your wife routinely wears, and the scent on your neck tonight are vastly different. I assume she's a possible thief, because the perfume is too fine for your typical streetwalker that I imagine a skinflint like you likes to pay for, and I just can't see a woman who was not in the profession having the slightest interest in a man as lacking as grace and charm as you."
"Good day, I am invoking my employment clause, YOUR investors will receive the email regarding full ...incompatibility tomorrow. Good eve, sir. Give the lady thief my regards... or, if she is truly interested in you, my sympathies."
Mr. Azul strode out, towering over the rentacops who stared at him in awe as if he had just spat in the devil's face. So sad, the sons of Adam, that they had such little imagination.
His phone rang and he picked it up "Azul Security Counseling..."
"Hello, Big and Smart," A friendly voice said.
"Diego?" Curious, "What do you want? We are no longer sharing the motley, and for that matter, many interests."
"How about one of your kith needing your help holding what was once a balor hold? A gringa, lost, confused... and with only revolutionaries to protect her from retribution."
Mr. Azul frowned, "You are seeking to play on my sense of chivalry."
"AND your love of a challenge," Diego reminded, "Yes, both. So when I can expect you?"
"Tonight... and Diego?"
"Si, my old friend?" The satyr responded.
"Don't play this card again too soon," Maximo warned, and hung up.