Act Four Chapter One - Smooth Criminal

The V8 roared loudly as Michael turned off onto the Vine Street Expressway, heading to Club CRASS from his haven in Conshohocken. The flashing lights of the underpass gave his car a strobe effect. He glanced to his left to check the lane next to him, noticing the driver in the next car over had a look of bewilderment on his face. Michael laughed.

The Falcon xB was an Australian automobile, never manufactured in the States. Like cars built in Great Britain or Japan, it had a right-hand side driver, meaning that Sarah sat on the passenger side where an American driver would normally sit. A casual glance at her would reveal to any observer her initially childlike appearance and probably make for quite a spectacle: A 12 year old seemingly driving a car down the Vine Street.

Michael gunned the engine and roared off the highway onto Broad Street, turning south towards South Street and his destination. As he did so, he heard the road of another powerful automotive engine, a possible challenge from a street racer who recognized his 70s-era muscle car for what it was. Either that, or one of his allies had crossed his path and recognized his unique car. The likely culprit for the latter was Rebecca, driving down from one of her havens in the North Philly badlands.

Michael glanced about for his challenger. His guess had been correct; the car he spotted was Rebecca’s late-90s Corvette. He resisted the temptation to race, knowing Broad Street around City Hall was always crawling with cops.

They drove in tandem the dozen or so blocks to Club CRASS. Now November, work on rebuilding and repairing Studio Gothic had continued apace for some months now, but it was a long way from finished. The construction contractors estimated it would be done by early Spring. Until her own club was finished, Rebecca bided her time at Club CRASS.

The Trinity walked inside the staff door in the back to the pounding beat of some techno track Michael didn’t recognize, but immediately liked. The club was lightly attended tonight, not surprising for a Tuesday night. One attendee stood out: Damian Drake.

“What’s he here for?” Sarah wondered aloud.

“I’m more curious how he beat us here.” Rebecca mused. “That kindred has a knack for showing up 5 mins after sundown wherever he wants to be.”

“Denn die Todten reiten schnell” said Sarah, quoting the famous line from Dracula as if it explained everything. “The dead travel fast. Sometimes, we all have powers that are mystery even to one another.”

“Especially one of the few supposedly surviving Tremere.” Michael added. “Regardless, he’s here for a reason. Either way, let him sweat for a bit then bring him up for an audience.”

---

Regulus Noble looked down over the table before him. The room was dark; it’s only illumination was from a far-away table lamp and the soft glow from the dozen or so glass orbs on the table in front of him. Most them only glowed faintly with a soft yellow light. One was quite bright with a prismatic glow that shifted color randomly.

“Only one.” said a voice in the darkness. “All this time and we’ve only got one for our trouble.”

Regulus looked behind him and snarled a response in frustration. “Yes, only one. You’d think with almost a dozen of us killed at the Hell Hotel that night we’d have better luck with snatching their souls out of that abyss.”

“We’ve murdered close to a thousand people in that building since we took it over in 1948. We have all those ghosts to sift through in order to find the Awakened among them.”

“We won’t be able to build much of a ghost army with only one, Ariel.” replied Regulus.

Ariel Valentine wheeled out of the darkness. Badly wounded in a battle with the Consilium several years earlier, he’d been paralyzed from the waist down ever since. Since his wounds were of a magical nature, medical science was unable to restore his body to wholeness. Even most healing magic had proven futile. Thus, he spent most days in the darkened chamber where the two wizards now stood, a secret facility deep below the unsuspecting University of Pennsylvania above.

Cloistered as he was, Ariel had avoided the disaster at the Hell Hotel and his sanctuary had proven a boon as a backup headquarters for the wounded Brotherhood. But over the past five months since the defeat at the Hotel, the efforts by the Brotherhood to repair their lost strength had met with numerous setbacks, not the least of which was the dearth of Awakened souls in the soul gems on the table before Regulus.

“We should perhaps seek out a different source.”

“I’m reluctant to give up scouring the Hotel.” retorted Regulus.

“No need. I know how badly you want to imprison and enslave Zao. But we know where others of our kind have fallen. Numerous sites around the university here perhaps. And there’s that curious death some months ago at Temple. The male student torn apart by a wild beast in a lab room. I believe he was a Consilium mage, was he not?”

“Slain by a companion, I believe. Another mage.”

“Such a tragedy would likely bind one to the other.”

“Quite true.” said Regulus with a smile crossing his lips.

“It’s not as good as Zao, but there is a certain irony to turning the dead of the Consilium against them, don’t you agree?”

---

“Police report over a dozen arrests last night in a sting operation against North Philadelphia’s criminal gangs....”

Michael raised the remote to press stop on the VCR recording. The news report had come earlier in the evening. He’d recorded it not long after he awoke and brought the tape along, using it as a reminder for himself. Now it served as a bludgeon against Damain Drake and his complaint-du-noir.

The gang in question was the Angeles, allies of his allies in the Carthian Core and the “administrators” of his North Philly prostitution racket. The raid was one of many over a series of months on his operations. His allies in the Tongs were feeling the heat as well and his attempts to move in on the Italian mob in South Philly to take over their prostitution operations had been stymied. Michael knew it was Prince Walsh flexing muscle and doing what he could to avenge the near-destruction of the Dark Brotherhood.

Damian Drake watched the video dispassionately. “Your point?” He growled at Michael.

Michael leaned back in his office chair. Sarah, who was standing at his left, gave him an affectionate and supportive rub down his arm. He smiled. He liked the stagecraft of this setting. Sarah to his left and Rebecca standing behind him at his right. Two beautiful women, both deadly and powerful in their own ways. Despite the bad news plaguing his operations, he felt strong. Triumphant even. In fact, Michael wagered in his own mind, this might have been the first time when he had Drake at a disadvantage instead of the other way around.

“As you can see, you are hardly alone in having these sorts of problems.”

“The difference is yours are because of your continued defiance of Prince Walsh. Mine are because of you.”

“I beg to differ. It’s not my fault you’ve made the mistakes you’ve made, Damian.”

“You snatched my pets right out from under me. TFV was MINE!”

“It’s not my fault you underestimated Agent McCoid. He discovered that you were a vampire and, despite the fact that you knew he knew, you chose retaliation because he followed my lead on Hell Hotel instead of yours. Did you honestly think a seasoned hunter like him wouldn’t have put in place a contingency if you tried to lean on him? You’re usually smarter than that, Damian.”

“My entire network in TFV is now compromised. The whole damn agency knows what I am.”

“And you should consider yourself lucky they haven’t dispatched a team to take you down. And then there’s the fact that I could nail your ass to the wall for a major Masquerade violation on top of all that. Prince Walsh is bloodthirsty enough of late. I doubt he’d mind much that you’re not me.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“No, I wouldn’t. As much as I hate to admit it, I need you. I’ll do you a favor. Consider it repayment on all those ‘favors to be named later’ that I owe you for your support through the years. I’ll get McCoid to back off. I don’t control him in the usual sense, but we’ve bled together and that buys me some leverage. For your sake and mine, I want your ATF and FBI connections intact. If McCoid’s people keep digging into your network, there might be more trouble. In turn for this, you leave McCoid and his people alone. No more retaliation. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” grumbled Damian reluctantly.

“Good. I’m glad we understand one another. You may go.”

Damian started towards the elevator. About halfway there, he paused and looked over his shoulder at Michael. “You know, over the last few years, I’ve humored your ambitions, Michael, never really believing you could pull off what you intend. It was amusing to play along, especially when it hurt people I wanted hurt. But after tonight, I think you might be able to pull it off after all. Well played.” With that, he exited.

“High praise.” noted Rebecca.

“I’ll never have Damian’s affection, but somehow having his respect is even scarier. He’ll not underestimate me again.” mused Michael.

“He’s the weak link in your operation.” said Sarah. “You might do well to destroy him along with Walsh.”

“I could still have Walsh do it for me.” commented Michael. “But I won’t reneg on my word. But why are you so determined to end him?”

“He’ll be a threat in the future. You’ve embarrassed him, first by noticing his error, second by exploiting it. He’ll not forget that and will look for a way to double cross you one day.”

“A leopard does not change its spots. I’m counting on it. But I’ll worry about that when it comes. It won’t be tonight.” Michael hit the remote again and the VCR’s second drive began playing “Macross: Ai, Oboete Imasu ka” (aka “Do You Remember, Love?”)

“No time for anime tonight, I’m afraid.” interjected Rebecca.

Michael let out his breath in frustration. “We just got here less than an hour ago. Who else?”

“Don Cruez came in about ten minutes ago. I’m sure he’s here to talk about what happened last night to the Angeles.”

Michael groaned. “I was hoping for a quiet night. Send him up. Sarah, if you would...”

“I call McCoid. May as well get him here tonight as well. Rebecca should be the one to fetch the Carthians. She is their primogen, after all.”

“Get to it then. Thank you both.” said Michael. With that, Sarah grabbed the cordless phone and headed off into a corner to make the call, while Rebecca headed to the elevator.

A few minutes later, Cruez and a couple other Carthian vampires marched in Michael’s office with swagger and bravado, typical of gang members trying to look scary and tough. Michael ignored the show of testosterone and said nothing.

“We do what you ask. We play nice. We cut down the protection racket. We pay the girls better. We start taking care of the tenements. And for what? They still fuckin’ sold us out to the cops.” said Cruez angrily.

“You know how the mafia got its start? Back in the old country, people used to go what they called ‘men of honor’ to solve their problems. When they came to America, Italians felt they couldn’t trust the cops or the government or pretty much anyone else but their own, so ‘men of honor’ emerged here to take care of the community. That’s what I’m trying to do with you folks. In every way, you’ve treated your turf better than the Ninth ever did. But you’re still a gang and people ain’t going to trust you immediately. It takes time.”

“And what about my consorte in jail? I don’t need no fuckin history lesson.”

“You honestly expected this sort of thing would never happen?”

“Prince is leaning on us because he can’t get to you.”

“Absolutely. But you don’t exactly have room to complain. You went from 10 blocks of turf to 30 in the last year, thanks to my aid. You’re making more money than ever, even after my rules and my cut. So you ain’t exactly hurting right now. The arrests are a setback, yes. But they ain’t the end of the world.”

“I still ain’t heard what you’re going to do about them.”

“And here you are again asking for my help. I suppose that makes me your ‘man of honor.’ See how it works?” teased Michael. “I’ll put up bail money for your people. Of course, I’ll be out all that when they don’t show up for trial and the bounty hunters are going to come snooping after that. I suggest you start recruiting.”

“That ain’t all we got to worry about.” said one of the other Carthians.

“What else?” said Michael.

“The Ninth is moving in. It seems they ain’t so dead after all.”

“They hit one of our tenements on the edge of what’s left of their turf. Beat the landlord to a bloody pulp and just moved in. Our people weren’t even in the police van before they hit us.”

“They knew some shit was going down.” mused Michael aloud. He glanced over his shoulder to Rebecca.

“They got a new leader. Says he’s a cousin to Jamal, who you whacked. His name is Shameek Willis. They call him ‘Suits’ because he tries to dress all respectable.” explained Rebecca. “I haven’t said anything about him because up until this, the Ninth have behaved themselves. Laid low. Haven’t made any moves. Kept to what’s left of their turf. This report is news to me.”

“They ain’t gonna stop. They took an inch. The mile’s coming next.” said Cruez.

“Sounds to me like Mr. Willis has some friends in high places. Him getting aggresive is a big mistake. We can’t hit the cops, but we can hit him.” Michael dug into his desk and pulled out a city map. On it, he’d made some rough outlines of the gang neighborhoods. North Philly was split right down the middle with the black gangs like the Ninth on the west side (probably not coincidentally) of 9th Avenue and Latino gangs like the Angeles on the east side. “Trying to reclaim the street of their namesake.”

“I’ll pay him a visit.” said Rebecca.

“Will that make you happy?” Michael glared at Cruez.

“It’s a start.”

“Good. Now get out. You’ve got 30 city blocks to run and you can’t do that down here on South Street.”

Cruez and his companions marched back out. Sarah walked back over from the corner and tossed Michael the cordless. He returned it to its cradle with a single fluid motions. “Yes?”

“McCoid’s on his way. Seems he was planning to see you tonight anyway.”

Michael let out his breath. “Wonder what that means.”

“Good news, we can hope.” said Sarah, ignoring Michael’s impatience and frustration. “Perhaps he’s gotten a lead on a Brotherhood mage.”

In the five months since the raid on the Hell Hotel, tracking the last handful of surviving Brotherhood mages had become quite the chore. They’d kept a very low profile and Michael suspected strongly that they’d called in every favored owed them by the werewolves, changelings, and vampires of the city (including Prince Walsh) to keep their movements and activities secret. Michael knew darn well that they’d not stopped their plans for the “Light of God” and the Comcast satellites. Even the tiny handful that remained could do considerable damage to the city.

“Perhaps.” Michael turned to Rebecca. “So, the Ninth are resurgent.” He looked down at the map.

“They’re proving more resilient that we’d hoped.”

“Funny how that works in North Philly. You told me that Walsh gave Tiberius and Cruez the North neighborhoods to keep the black gangs in check back in the 1970s; The Bloods and The Crips and others were all moving in at that time. In the 80s, the Latin Kings popped up to the East. But Cruz and the Angeles were only able to carve out a small niche in the middle of the city....”

Rebecca finished for him. “...because Walsh and the College were supporting those same gangs from the neighborhoods surrounding their turf, Manayunk on the West and Port Richmond on the East. It was some of the same strategy he tried with you trapping you in Conshohocken when you arrived. Your use of gun and blade proved lot more effective than Tiberius’ use of scandal and criminal accusation.”

“Regardless, Cruez was stuck until ‘the Hitman’ came along and took out Jamal and 3/4 of the leadership of the Ninth, leaving those central blocks almost entirely his. Now the Ninth is back to challenge them. That’s not coincidence. Neither is their timing.”

“Someone in the College is pulling their strings. They know the Carthian are your allies and they know the Carthians derive their power from the Angeles gang. But I have an idea. Maybe we could turn it to our advantage.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Bring the Ninth into our fold. We’d broaden our territory. Not every problem need be solved with the barrel of a gun.” Rebecca reached down to the crotch of her jeans and rubbed herself provocatively. “You can’t resist this. What makes you think he will?”

“Walsh. Doesn’t matter how charming you are, my dear, you’re not getting through a thrall bond.”

“Then I’ll fuck his #2 and arrange a coup. Walsh ain’t going to bond the whole damn gang. Or I’ll pay a visit to a Chinese pharmacist. Either way, problem solved.” She paused. “Think about it. Over these last thirty years, the Angeles and the Ninth have gobbled up every smaller local gang that popped in that boundary land: the Red Boys, the Diamond Dogs, all absorbed. Only the Ninth and the Angeles remain, and the Angeles nearly fell apart after Tiberius died. Makes me wonder if he wasn’t pulling some strings too. But now we can create a single united block to stand against the outsider gangs. That gives us a good shot of taking all of North Philly. Walsh fears us enough as it is. What happens after our coalition controls a third of the city’s physical geography and a third of its populace?”

Michael smiled “I love your ambition.”

Rebecca leaned down and gave Michael a peck on the cheek. “I think you love my pussy more, but let’s not split hairs. I’m going to head up and see if I can talk to this Suits guy. No time like the present to get started. I trust you can handle McCoid by yourself.”

“Sarah’ll be here. Besides, as crazy as it sounds, I trust that hunter.”

“He’s the only mortal that’s even came close to matching you in a fight. I’d not forget that.”

“He’s not a threat.”

“At the moment, but once you run this city, I wonder if his opinion will change. He’d be the perfect one for Walsh to turn against us.”

“I’ll worry about that if it happens. For now, we work well together.”

“Alright. See you later.” With that, Rebecca departed.

“Bet you wish you could follow. You’d love to watch her take that big black...” teased Sarah.

“You have a pornographic mind, my sweet.” interjected Michael. “Or are you deliberately trying to arouse me?”

Sarah gave Michael a coy smile. “Once McCoid is gone, I’d like you in the mood. Something crazy. Pull me off the dance floor, drag me into the bathroom, bend me over the toilet, and go to town.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Think you can manage that once your meeting is done?”

Michael chuckled his assent as Sarah walked to the elevator.

----

“Look, I know you want the space as open as possible, but there simply isn’t a way to remove the load bearing beams without completely compromising the space. The columns have to stay.”

Shameek “Suits” Willis frowned. This was his baby, his pet project, his headquarters. He’d bought a dive bar in the center of Ninth territory and had spent most of the last three months renovating it into a nightclub for the locals. He’d torn out most of the upper floor. Made space for small, but functional, VIP lounges. Created an office for himself. Now he wanted a dance floor, but an architectural problem had emerged.

“Maybe you could pretty ‘em up, Suits. Call the place ‘Pillars,’ or something. Make ‘em look Roman or something.” suggested one of Suits’ bodyguards.

Suits began to smile. “Now that I like. How about African?”

The architect nodded. “Sure. We we’re going to have to put a facade on them no matter what. Maybe I can see if a local artist can do something with those facades. You got a preference? East Africa? Southern?”

“Just as long as it says ‘black’ to everyone who walks in.”

“Hey, Suits, some white bitch here to see you.”

The bodyguard ushered in Rebecca. She immediately took stock of the room. It was well furnished, a nice contrast to the rough construction around it. Leather sofas. A well appointed desk. A small liquor cabinet. Behind the desk was a framed poster of the 1970s cult film “The Warriors.”

“What you want, bitch?” growled a massive bodyguard who shot to his feet. He was easily 6’6” and very overweight even for his height. He was huge and intimidating, easily twice the size of average height and weight Rebecca, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she directed her attention to the two men in business suits near the window.

“I’m here from the Angeles.” She said.

The architect began folding the drawing in his hands and made to leave. The other well-dressed man moved towards the desk. “Sit down, Fat Daddy.” He said calmly to the giant. The bodyguard did as he was directed.

“You’re here from the Angeles.” said Suits as he took his seat. His voice had a tone of incredulity. He then chuckled. “This is the respect I have. They send a little girl, not even a Puerto Rican, but a white girl to talk.” He shook his head in disgust.

Rebecca ignored the disdain. “And yet, you got a poster with a whole bunch of white faces staring down on us.”

“You know the movie?”

“Seen it many times. Great flick.”

“Cyrus.”

“One hundred thousand strong. Outnumber the cops five to one.” said Rebecca, quoting the film’s tag line. “And you in charge.”

“Precisely.”

“Then why attack the Angeles instead of making them an offer?”

“Respect.” said Suits. “Strength. Power. Money. I can’t make a claim to rule without them.”

“So you think wiping out the Angeles will get you those things?”

“They’re the ones that stole our turf after Jamal died. They’re the ones who are sitting on blocks that belonged to us for years. And they’re the ones the pigs are targeting right now. They’re weak.” He paused. “They’re the ones that sent you to beg for peace.”

“Beg?” Rebecca scoffed. “For someone as smart as you claim to be, Suits, you ain’t thought this through. Where do you think they got their power? How do you think they hit Jamal? Or do you really think the timing of it all was just coincidence? They have a backer. A powerful one.”

Suits frowned and said nothing.

“By dawn, nearly everyone arrested yesterday is going to be out and back on the streets. The money’s already been put up. And the hitman who took out Jamal and his bodyguards at the Ebon Pussy brothel? We have his number.” She pulled out her flip phone and spun it in her hands as if for emphasis.

“Is that a threat?” Suits reached under his coat and drew out a handgun. His bodyguards, almost in unison, did likewise.

“No, a reminder. Shooting me won’t change any of that. If anything, it’ll guarantee all of it will come down on your head. Never a good idea to shoot the messenger.”

“Is that what you came here to say?”

“No.” said Rebecca. “I came to make an offer. The Angeles secret backer, he likes your vision. The gangs united, running the show. That’s what he wants.”

“All well and good, but what are you going to do to prove it? I don’t know you, little girl. For all I know, you making all this shit up. How do I know you’re even from the Angeles?”

“You don’t. But I’ll prove it to you.”

“One more thing. I won’t answer to nobody. Especially not some white man in a tower downtown who thinks he can rule the streets. I’ll take his support, but I run things my way.”

“Move east and the Angeles will support you. Turf you take is yours. We’ll throw in material support: Guns, money, maybe even a call to our hitman if you give us a good enough target.”

“You want us to take on the Latin Kings and MS 13?”

“Why not? Neither are local and neither are as strong as their reputation claims. Together, we can push them out and claim Philly for Philly. We want the city to be ours, don’t we? Besides, you show the locals you can set aside your differences for your Cyrus-like vision.”

Suits nodded in thought. “And what’s in it for you and yours?”

“Peace with our biggest rivals. Ain’t that enough? That and a small percentage of your profits.”

“Of course.”

“Once you’re making money like the Angeles, you won’t even notice it’s gone.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. All sounds too good to be true.”

“I’ll be back with my ‘proof,’ a showing of good faith from our soon-to-be mutual benefactor. Once you see what he’s willing to front to see things come about as you wish, you’ll not be so skeptical.”

“Fine. Until you come back, I ain’t changing nothing. The Angeles are still in my crosshairs.”

----

Alex McCoid walked into Michael’s office with the clipped professional march of a true soldier. It was an interesting contrast to the swagger of Michael’s previous visitors. Under his arm, he carried a dossier folder. “Funny how Sarah called. I was on my way over here anyway.”

“I have a favor to ask, which is why I wanted to speak to you.” said Michael.

“And I have something of mutual interest to the both of us.” he said, dropping the dossier on the far end of Michael’s desk. It landed with a slap, but did not open, nor did Alex make haste to reveal its contents. “You go first.”

“I’d like you to back off on Damian Drake.”

“Oh, the infiltrator of our merry little band. You do realize what a risk it is for TFV to become the puppet of one of your kind?”

“As opposed to the partner of one?” Michael pointed out.

“There is a difference. I retain the power to say no to any request you make of me that I find unreasonable. With Drake hiding behind the power and authority of my superiors, how am I to know when orders are legit or just him playing out one of his vendettas?”

“I get it, Alex, I do. But you’ve flushed him from TFV. Let that be enough.”

“That vampire’s like an octopus. He’s got his tentacles all over the Federal government.”

“Yes, and that’s useful to me. And in many ways to you.”

Alex’s eyebrow went up incredulously. “How so?”

“TFV exists to protect the nation from supernatural threats. Part of that job is, much as we do in our society, to keep people in the dark about those threats. Control of law enforcement is one the key principles we both use to keep knowledge of our kind from the public. Damian serves a useful purpose for our society. I’d rather not lose him.”

“Alright, I’ll see if I can temper or call off the investigations into his ATF and FBI connections. In return, I expect you to keep him on a shorter leash.”

“Gladly. Keep your friends close... and all that. So what do you have for me?”

“Well, as Halloween approached, a whole bunch of punk kids decided to see if they could break into the Divine Lorraine. Typical teenage dares. Sleep in the haunted house and all that. Most of them regretted it, but it is still a crime scene. So we set up a camera system to monitor incursions onto the property. And look what we found.” At that, Alex opened the dossier. Within it were a series of grainy photographs taken from a video camera.

Each one showed an individual standing outside the building, arms held outward as if in prayer. The distance from the camera and the lack of resolution made identifying each individual impossible, but it was clear these were not all the same person.

“Their pose is ritualistic. Makes me wonder if...”

“...it’s some kind of incantation. These are mages. Any idea if they’re Consilium or Brotherhood?”

“No clue. I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

“I suppose it's possible that Moseley’s people might be trying to purge the place or something. But she doesn’t talk to me. After Zao’s death, my connection to the Consilium has dried up. She won’t even talk to Mitch and Anna is still too much of a mess to be of any use. If it’s Brotherhood, what might they be doing?”

“If it’s Brotherhood, this gives us a chance to finish them once and for all. They’ve come out of hiding.”

“Which means this is big and important to risk discovery. I’ll get my people to start watching the sight in person.”

“Good. I was going to do the same, but my superiors are keeping us close with the whole Drake debacle. I think they worry we’ve compromised in other ways.”

“Then you took a big risk coming here tonight.”

“Not really. I’ve been at this long enough to know how to shake a tail. No one knows I’m here.”

“Good. I enjoy our partnership, Alex. Especially when the Brotherhood threatens everything.” Michael picked up the top photo and looked at it closely. “One can hope we just got our most promising lead in months.”

---

A few hours later, Rebecca wandered back inside Michael’s office. Life in the club below was beginning to wind down, as last call was just a few minutes away. “Your haste is impressive. You find this ‘Suits’ guy already?”

“He’s not hard to find. I know where he hangs. He’s been converting an old dive into a nightclub for about three months now. He’s usually there, overseeing construction during the day and using it as his headquarters at night.”

“Odd hours for even a gangsta.”

“A lot of the work is under the table, so some of it happens after hours when the government inspectors aren’t snooping around.” Rebecca plopped herself down on the sofa. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Hunting downstairs.”

“You up for a bite?” Rebecca asked, finding the idea of hunting appealing.

“Not right now. I’m more eager to learn your results tonight.”

“Your faith in my skill is probably a little too strong if you think I can sway him with one unannounced visit. Besides, Suits is going to be a tough nut to crack. He’s definitely one of these Black Renaissance types. Black rule for a black city, or at least neighborhood, and all that. He wants to be Cyrus.”

“Cyrus?”

“For someone as nerdy as you often are, I’m surprised you don’t get the reference. The Warriors? Cult movie from the late seventies about gangs in New York.”

“Seen it, but don’t remember it that well.”

“Well, Cyrus wants to unite all the gangs and rule the city through them in the movie. That’s Suits.”

“Deluded little mortal, isn’t he? Still, I suppose we can take advantage of his ambition.”

“I intend to, but making sure our strings are kept invisible is going to be extra important. This guy’s not the type to be eager to take orders from white folk.”

“Makes it unlikely he’s under Walsh’s influence.”

“Directly, I’d agree. Doesn’t mean Walsh isn’t involved other ways. Still, if we want to influence him, we’re going to have to put up something concrete. My beauty and charm isn’t going to do the trick on its own.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“One of Orlov’s caches would be wonderful.”

“If we knew where they were. Still, Zheng might be able to spare a few dozen pieces from the Tong’s arsenal. With their numbers down, they might be eager to liquidate some stock.”

“With you fronting the bail money for the arrested Angeles tomorrow, how much liquid you got to throw around for these little pet projects?” asked Rebecca, going for the practical question.

“Enough for the bail certainly. Zheng’ll take credit, thanks to that wonderful little thrall bond he has.”

“I wouldn’t drag that debt out long.” cautioned Rebecca. “Zheng’s position in the Tong is still precarious in the wake of Kuen Yen’s assassination.” She paused. “I don’t normally question your strategies and schemes, but I worry about overextending ourselves, especially when the Brotherhood and Walsh are still out there.”

“All for the greater cause. Money is not a problem. I’m clearing more than enough between the gangs and the club to have built up a nice nest egg, even with the debts to the Sangiovanni. The bail money will wipe most of that out, but I can get enough within a week or so to cover Zheng’s guns. Can Suits wait that long?”

“I doubt he’s giving us any thought at all right now. He’ll not take us seriously until something shows up.”

“Then we have the time we need.”

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