Tricia Hauer.
I want all the details.
I want her unaware.
Report in two days.
Cramer.
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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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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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Well, it has been a very dull and uninformative night. James sighs, and drums his fingers on the table. Talking to Tricia was like hitting a brick wall repeatedly; he had found out nothing except she clearly wasn't waiting for someone, no matter how disappointed she had looked when she had finally left. He's already put in a call to check her out when the sun rises. You have to know who you are dealing with to be able to put them in their place.
And now he's itching for something to do, like something crawling just under the surface of his skin. He's not too sure what, but there's something he wants, a taste just out of reach, and he watches the patrons amble by, seeking out a face or some sign that shows weakness. And then he catches a glimpse of Scott retreating into his office, and he remembers the tenseness of his neck when he mentioned customer satisfaction, and there. Perfect. Someone to talk to. In soothing tones. Something to do that might quiet the itch for a while.
He stands up and pushes his chair in, taking his drink with him - his third, and he's aware he's feeling warm. Not enough to take the edge off, but noticeable nonetheless. James flicks his eyes over to John, busy talking to a flushing bass player, and then over to Nathan, who is inundated with customers. No one seems to notice him as he slips over to the office door and knocks lightly. A man's office is sacred, even James doesn't barge in unannounced.
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( 'He wasn't a perfect man, but he was a damn good son.' So Tricia starts talking to people. )
That brings her right back to square one. Tomorrow she'll stop by the precinct, see if anybody there can help her out; it's time to renew her police contacts. But right now she needs to take her mind off the job, and there's no place like the Fury to take your mind off things.
So for once she walks into the joint in her day's clothes, every bit the dame in a dress cut to the latest fashion. She's not here for more than easy conversation, but Nathan's too busy with other patrons to chat (place is packed tonight) and John's nowhere in sight. She hasn't seen Scott Gill since she's been back, though she hasn't even thought about him until just now. There's an odd buzz in the room tonight, too many peope on edge alongside too many people having fun, and she finds herself still on the job, almost despite herself.
There's many a thing to eavesdrop on in a place like the Fury, and she can't quite help herself on this one. Good thing she's dressed the flapper tonight; she seems that much more like a dish without much in the brainpan. Harmless. Yes, that's her alright, harmless.
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The phone call Scott has to make doesn't take long to make. He calls Mr. Callis, lets him know (definitely but without detail) that there is a problem at the club. Anything more would mean taking risks he doesn't feel like taking.
Once the phone call is concluded he heads to the back door to greet Mr. Callis himself. There are people there, of course, employees of the club and employees of the mob getting the dead guy the hell out of his club. When he hears someone approaching does a quick check and opens the door for Callis.
At least inside The Fury he doesn't have to worry about shifting allegiances.
Probably.
Days like this he thinks he needs a raise.
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