David slids into the seat across from Marco, tapping his fingers against the table, then stealing Marco's coffee. It isn't a planned meeting, but it's only a day after Marco had given him the assignment so he figures he's near as expected. "Now, are you going to remember this or should I write it down?"
David clearly as a death wish.
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Tim looks at the paper and nods once, then folds it and tucks it into his pocket. That was it. Nothing shows on his face or in his manner. It's a job, one just like every other one he'd gotten from his boss. Once the messenger leaves and the door closes firmly behind him, Tim pushes his untouched pie away.
He'd known it was coming from the time Giuseppe had started pushing back, looking for his own piece. Tim didn't think his brother in-law realized that not everyone played by the same rules he did. That wives and children were sancrosanct and beyond reprisal. They weren't. Tim could have followed the order, orphaned his own niece and nephew, but he'd made his sister a promise. If he didn't do this, they were in danger-all of them, but Giuseppe was family and the kids were his blood.
Bossman might look the other way for a bit, out of respect for the number of times Tim had pulled his ass out of the fire. Daniel and James sure as Hell wouldn't though. His reputation would be dust and the price on his head? Not worth thinking about. He had to buy himself some time.
Leaving the money on the diner table, Tim stands up and heads out. Once on the street, he lights a smoke and heads on foot to his brother in-law's place. They need a plan.
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David fans out from the Fury, hitting businesses he knows from experience don't know him well but are owned by sympathetic Catholic types who will understand and do everything they can to help him. He made it about a mile out from the Fury, standing in a tiny drugstore and retelling his sad story for the tenth time, eyes glistening with unshed tears as Mrs. Giovani, the wife of the store owner he's talking to, clucks and pats his arm, giving him a cup of tea while Mr. Giovani studies the picture. David goes through the story again in Italian, explaining how the short dark man drawn in the picture had turned the head of his dear, sweet, innocent sister and taken her virtue, leaving her in a family way. He's looking for him to convince him to do the honorable thing.
Mr. Giovani clicks his tongue then tells David in a low voice that he thinks, perhaps, this is not a man David wants as a brother, but, but if it is too late, (it is, David assures him), then he wants to go across the street to the diner. The man in the picture is not there this morning, Mr. Giovani had not seen him go in through the large windows at the front of the drugstore, but a man he sees often with the dark man was in there. Tall. Blond. Worth talking to if David wants to locate the man who'd dishonored his sister.
David nods hugely, wiping his eyes and taking a shaking breath to center himself before thanking Giovani and his wife before heading across the street and locating Stellan immediately. He straightens his shoulders from the scared boy he'd been across the street, to a cocky boy- but still a boy, not the 30 year old man he is. He gets a cup of coffee, then saunters to Stellan's table, sitting down across the table from him.
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It's just a day since the raid. John's not heard from Mr. Palin, but he's not expected to. After a raid, everyone goes to ground. And after that, going back to the club's a fool's move.
He's got to get news somewhere, though. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere that doesn't involve going to the Fury, contacting James, or exposing Scott. That's why the next morning (late morning) finds him at Rosa's, lingering over a plate of eggs and a mug of coffee strong enough to bend the spoon that's resting in it after stirring in more sugar than most people would stomach.
When someone slides into the booth next to him, he doesn't look up at first. Just raises his hand for Mitzy's attention, nods, and waves at his companion. "Put it on my tab."
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Marco knows he can find out information himself. He also knows that his ways of gathering information tend to be conspicuous.
That's why he's going to talk to David. David don't look like much, but the fella knows his onions when it comes to getting the low down on someone. Once the someone's identified - that's when Marco comes in.
A couple of words with Joseph, and Marco slips through to the back, down the hidden stairs to the cellar, leaning back against the door and folding his arms. "Marzello. The boss needs information."
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That place few know of is an empty hangar on the outskirts of town, isolated enough that nobody'll hear you scream. Comes in handy when they need information and they need it fast; gonna come in handy tonight.
Stellan and James only have one man with them. A trusted lookout while they get that information out of their two prisoners, and yeah, faster would be better. Been a while since they had such a crisis to face, but they always come out on top, and tonight's proof of that.
The two prisoners are dragged into the hanger with the lookout's help, and Stellan drops one of them unceremoniously on a wobbly chair. Then he steps back and turns to James expectantly. They're all his, now.
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It's early evening, the sun has barely set, but it's night time. Time for everything to start.
Vitale's office is a small room with a desk at the end of a long dark hall in the back of his antiques shop, crowded with papers and two chairs that don't quite fit on the other side of his desk. On his way down the hall - the only way in- Marco passes frightened looking bald accounting type, wiping his sweating brow as he moves pass Marco down the hall without ever meeting his eyes.
Giuseppe's pouring over papers on his desk, smoking his cigarette like he has a grudge against it. He doesn't t look up when he hears someone else at the door to his office. "Tell me you have something I want to hear."
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James waits. This is highly dull, but he's used to it. Sitting very still in the dark, waiting to move, it's a familiar feeling. The consequences are never certain, that too, is familiar, as is Stellan's regular breathing by his side.
There are many things he never quite left behind in France.
The boat's in, and he's signaled to his men that they are allowed to go collect the goods. He knows the crew won't be surprised by this, as they were the ones who 'lost' the previous shipment. So this time there are men, not his regulars, but men that he trusts enough, with hats pulled low on their foreheads and gruff accents.
All that remains is to watch for any other unexpected movement, and he peers at the shadows of the pier, a small frown crossing his features. Shadows lengthening is surely an impossibility....
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Where: Daniel's office
What: Discuss Saturday night and engage in a pissing contest
Rating: PGish
Warnings: none
This is my sector.
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Bobby sits, in the dark, feeling slightly woozy. He thinks he was at an apartment somewhere downtown, but can't remember how he got from there to here. Although the blond in the bed might have some recollection. Somehow he doesn't want to wake her up, as he has a strong memory of a very annoying nasal whine issuing from her mouth. Just another dumb chippy he'll have to get rid of sometime later. And of course he's wide awake, even if certain parts of his body feel half-asleep. Must be the snow. Or that stuff they were smoking. Or the gin, gin always makes him unable to get some shut-eye.
You know what will make him feel better? Talking to a pal. That's always swell. A compadre, a fellow gossip, a lover of wine, women and song.
Well, wine and song at least.
It takes him a little while to find the phone under the bed, how did it get there? and Bobby rubs his eye with two fingers, stretching his face in a yawn and then shaking it abruptly to help him focus on the numbers. Round and round his fingers go, and his eyes follow them before remembering he's not alone, and so with effort, he picks himself up off the floor and struggles over to the window sill, his shirt undone and trousers loosely buttoned, rooting about for a deck he knows he has in his pockets and lighting up, blowing smoke out the window.
"So ya know, I was thinkin'," he starts as soon as he hears John's slightly irritated voice on the line, "you an' me, we could make a killing selling your memoirs. All those people, the dames, the daisies, all under a nom de plume, of course, we couldn't draw attention to you that much, but all the intimacies, the whispers in the dark, the looks, the touches. Hey, and if you wanted we could make some of it up, heck, I do for god's sake, some of the time, and I'm sure you must do otherwise you're the busiest boy in town." He pauses for a tiny moment. "Are you busy now, John? Cos if you are, I can ring back, later, maybe, or come in this evening, I can do that if you'd rather, but you know, I'm sat here thinking about the fact I can't even remember how we met the first time apart from your smile and the way you flipped me a quarter for a drink, that was impressive, I gotta tell ya."
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