Upon opening the packet, Otto found some pretty useful information. A list of all current field operatives (1), with orders to contact them as soon as possible, via a private number also contained in the envelope. He also found a list of all known members of both of the most prominent crime families in New York, which was accompanied by his new job description. As the new Chief of the White Collar division walked proudly back to his desk, he found a small piece of scratch paper, with the name of Gino's, a well liked Deli down the street, and the time of 8:00 scribbled on it in black pen. It was clearly left as a message. But for who? From whom? Looking around, it was clear that nobody else in the office noticed anything out of the ordinary. What did this mean?
Today had been a particularly bland day for Tony Jones, the body guard. At least until those LoGrasso's had showed up. The seasoned guard was well aware of what was happening behind those doors (if he listened hard, he could hear the heated conversation), and as far as he was concerned, it wasn't his business. It didn't hurt too much that he happened to be on the LoGrasso's pay roll, either. He had his orders, and now he was obeying them. It was unfortunate for him, then, when Jack "Deuces" Donahue and his crew of lackeys showed up looking for a fight. "Oi! I'm thinkin youse guys are in a private area. Run along now, and there won't be any trouble."
Theo Epstein was not a very happy man. First, his Sox we losing, second, he didn't have the money that these goons wanted, and third, his private guard was not responding to the personal and quiet alarm system that Theo had activated as soon as these gangsters had walked through the door. Ever the player, Epstein wasn't too worried. Eloquently, he reached over and brought out a bottle of aged brandy. "Take a seat, Miss. Would you like some Brandy?" Not waiting for an answer, the man reached over and filled a glass half way with the amber liquid, and then filled one for himself. "I see no reason why we can't work this out like...civilized people. You see, your father and I have been friends for a very, very long time. There is no need for this violence, or things like that. You see, he scratches my back, and I scracth his. And I'm sure, you or your father wouldn't want the relationship to sour between us...you see...that woulnd't work out in either of our favor..."
Seamus smiled. Clarity could never hurt. At least, not in these type of situations. But, Seamus knew his men, and he knew his own limits. And while the boss could be brutally creative if the situation called for it, he wanted to see what his man could do. "I wan' you ta send them a message. Let those scum know, that they don' mess with this family, and come out of it alive. I pay you to be creative, not the other way 'round."
Lucius Harrington fiddled with his suit. It wasn't the people he was around that made him uncomfortable, nor the environment. Both were quite frequent in his scummy life. No, it was something else. You know what it is, idiot. You know what you're about to do... Quickly Lucius pushed the thought out of his head. He'd had many meetings like this, and was quite used to keeping his cool. "My name is Lucius." A cool, well trained voice left his lips. "I have some information that can be of much value to you...but we can't speak here. Not safe at all. This was a meeting point. Now we go into my place. That's the only place I'll be talking. Savvy?" Lucius pointed to the door, hoping that these two would agree and go along without any trouble.
They say that the Irish are better fighters once they've had a few drinks. If this were true, it would certainly be good news for Culain Moriarty and his crew. About one hour after the first drink had been poured, the boys saw trouble coming. This trouble came in the form of a rock through the window, and some mean looking LoGrasso henchmen ready for a fight. "You're in our territory, an Boss says we got a right mind just ta kill ya. But I'll tell ya what. You leave right now, without the booze, and we'll let you walk out of here with just a couple of bruises. Whadda ya say, gentlemen?"
The mid afternoon air was brisk, and to limit its affects on his body (at least mentally...), Alfred T. Stukov lit up a cigarette and started puffing. He was, of course, waiting outside of Leonardo's, hoping that his brother and his friends would hurry their business up. Still pretty low on the Totem Poll, Alfred had the orders of standing guard. As he sat there and contemplated cutting his hair like David Bowie, and curious sight appreared right in front of the man. Driving up the street was a pitch black limo, with pretty women hanging out of the windows. The women were obviously annebriated, and judging by the swerving of the limo, so was the driver. Screeching to a halt in front of the young hit man, the limos windows rolled down to reveal a rather rowdy group of ladies. "Hey beautiful...looking for a good time?"
