Anarchy is Dead
Dulce is a mountain of a breeder, and his boisterous attitude and…elevated way of speaking tend to precede him in most social situations. His black market armory, Sweets to the Sweet, fronts as a confectionary store, and Dulce’s few critics joke about the association between the waste product of his front and his expanding paunch. Most savvy ‘runners know not to comment on the man’s weight, though, he’s sent more than one drek-for-brains chummer to the body bank and never heard one word from john law.
Dulce was a runner once, though he never talks about the old days. Those who’ve repeatedly had commercial contact with him have pieced together enough to figure his crew went on a sour milk run and all but the man himself got themselves fragged.
He tends to give out names to his premier merchandise though, and some folk have recognized a few of them as ’runners from the old days; none have been breathers for years.
Turf: During business hours, Dulce can always be found behind the counter inside Sweets to the Sweet, his little shop in Ravenna (Seattle Central Downtown).
Associates: Just because his old crew is rumored to be fragged doesn’t mean Dulce can’t bring some prime muscle to bear. Word is he keeps a mental list of who owes him big, whether in nuyen or favors, and most are happy to get out of his debt, even if it involves bleeding.