"This is Shawn Butler? This is Duke Lavery's right hand man? This is the big bad enforcer of the Lavery mob?" Ivy asked from her end of the dining room table. She scoffed and began cutting into her steak. Before she could eat anything, she addressed her men. "You have him secured to a chair and disarmed; you can remove the bag from his head. It's gonna be hard to have a conversation if he can't talk."
"But what if he sees your face?" One of her goons asked.
Ivy rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of wine. "I don't care if he sees my face. Soon enough, everyone in this town will know and fear the name Ivy Forrester. Now hop to it. And as soon as you get the bag off, I need you two to skedaddle. Mr. Butler and I need are gonna need some privacy."
After the room was empty, barring Ivy and her guest, she smiled and raised her glass.
"Who are you?" Shawn grunted, straining against the ropes binding him to his chair.
After taking a drink of her wine, Ivy smiled at Shawn. "My name is Ivy Forrester. You probably don't know me. You don't seem like the type to wear women's jewelry. But if you do, then good for you! I'm not one to judge. "
"Forrester? Like the clothing company?" Ivy saw the man rifling through his memories to see if she was one of the more infamous members of her clan.
"So you do know my surname! That's a start, though I must offer a disclaimer: I'm something of the black sheep of my family. They don't always remember to claim me. They never really did. That's fine. It got me where I am."
"And where is that? Working for the Jeromes? Or are you Johnny's new girl?" Shawn asked. He really was quite a nosey little thing.
Ivy speared a piece of steak with her fork and began to chew. She watched with increasing amusement as Shawn's impatience with her grew. She was starting to see why Julian had enjoyed the mind games so much. Of course, he played games when he should have acted: that was why he was dead. No, for Ivy, she would only toy with her enemies if she knew she was going to win. And the moment she allowed Shawn to see her face, Ivy already knew that she had won.
"Johnny Zacchara? You think I'm working for that family? It would be insulting if it weren't adorable. Unlike the people I'm sure you're used to working for, I do my research, Mr. Butler. You're a former soldier. You were also a chemistry teacher, and you came to town working for someone by the name of The Balkan, though you obviously betrayed him for the Corinthos organization. And you stayed with that organization after Sonny Corinthos handed it over to Duke Lavery.
"I had my men bring you here, Mr. Butler, so that I might make you an offer. Join me. Join the Crane organization. We could always use a man with your skillset."
"Crane? Like the blue blood family from Massachusetts? But I thought you were a Forrester."
"You really aren't up on current events, are you? I may not have taken my late husband's name for myself, but I figured I would honour him by putting it on this organization. Besides, Crane sounds much more threatening than Forrester. Or do you disagree?" Ivy picked her glass up and took another drink.
"Lady, nobody has heard of you. Nobody is scared of you. And I'm not going to betray Duke for you."
"I didn't think you would, Mr. Butler. And I was hoping you wouldn't make it awkward by actually accepting my proposal. See, I lied to you." Ivy picked up her spoon and dug it into the mashed potatoes on her plate. "I never wanted you to work for me, Mr. Butler. You are terrible at your job. You couldn't kill Robert Frank, though you might know him better as Franco. In fact, just about every target you've ever had is still alive. I don't have that problem."
"I don't have time for your games, Lady. What do you want with me?" Shawn was angry, but Ivy just held up a hand until she swallowed her mashed potatoes.
"Mr. Butler, I just wanted you here to deliver a message to your boss for me." Ivy picked up the gun that she had stowed in her lap, turned off the safety, and shot Shawn in the head. Then she turned the safety back on, set her gun on the table, and returned to her meal. After all, he didn't need to be alive to be a delivery boy.
Poison Ivy
When Duke Lavery opened his door to fetch his morning paper, the last thing he expected to find was Shawn's corpse. He quietly stepped back into his home and closed the door.
It hadn't been that long since Duke had bought his new house. Michael Corinthos... No, he went by Quartermaine now, but Michael had been fixing up the waterfront properties and Duke was one of the first to buy. Of course, he had used a dummy corporation to buy it since Michael and ELQ would never knowingly sell him anything, but at the end of the day it was still Duke's home and someone had dumped the body of his friend and enforcer on his doorstep.
"I never thought Julian would go this far," Duke hissed, pulling his phone from the pocket of his robe. Julian Jerome wanted to send a message? He wanted an open mob war? Then Duke was only happy to oblige. There was nothing Anna Devane, the PCPD, the WSB, or any other law enforcement agency could do to stop him.
Poison Ivy
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ivy gushed after she bumped into the young man, his coffee spilling all over his shirt and jacket. She reached for a stack of napkins on a nearby table and began wiping his shirt off.
"It's okay, really. Accidents happen," the guy told her with a soft smile. He took the napkins from Ivy and began patting himself dry. It would still stain, but she was relieved that he wasn't burnt.
"At least let me pay for the dry cleaning. After all, I walked into you." Reaching her purse, Ivy pulled out a pen and grabbed a fresh napkin from another table. After scribbling on the napkin, she handed it to the man. "I am so, so sorry about this. When you get the bill, just call my mobile and I'll pay whatever the cost is."
"That's really not necessary, Miss..." He took the napkin and read the name just above the phone number. "Forrester? As in the fashion company out of Los Angeles?"
"Sorta," Ivy chuckled embarrassedly, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving the man a smile. "Eric Forrester? The guy who started the whole thing? He was my uncle. I tried working there for a while, I'm actually a jewelry designer, but if you aren't one of Uncle Eric's kids or a Logan, then you just don't fit in and never will. And oh my god, you must be so bored. I'm just prattling on about nothing. I'm so sorry."
He smiled and gently touched Ivy's forearm. "It's okay, Miss Forrester. I know a little something myself about not fitting in where family is concerned."
"You can call me Ivy. And thank you. If I had bumped into someone in LA and spilled coffee all over them, I'd already be in a courtroom facing a civil lawsuit."
"If there's one constant in this town, it's that everyone here wants to stay out of a courtroom. And it's really nice to meet you Ivy. My name is Michael Quartermaine. Obviously, you can call me Michael."
She batted her eyelashes at him and smiled. "Can I call you Mikey? It just sounds cuter. And can I ask you out to dinner sometime? I'm new to Port Charles and I don't have any friends."
"Yes to both," he smiled. "Why did you move to Port Charles, Ivy? I don't mean to be offensive, but if you were gonna leave Los Angeles, why come here? Why not go back to Australia? That is your accent, right? I've known a few Australians in my day."
"Better put another shrimp on the barbie!" Ivy laughed as she reached out and grabbed Michael's bicep. She wasn't impressed but kept it to herself. After all, he was nice enough, and cute enough, even without rippling muscles. "I'm not offended, Mikey. In truth, if I'm mad at anyone, it's myself.
"See, I'm in Port Charles to hide out from the tabloids. Usually, I'm the one Forrester they ignore, but my late husband was murdered recently. If I had stayed in LA, I would have been hounded, but a friend mentioned coming here a few years back and it was such a random place"
"I'm sorry for your loss," Michael interrupted. "Losing your husband must have been hard."
Ivy gave Michael a sad smile and ran her hand up and down his arm. "Thank you. But I... I don't know how things are in Port Charles, but Los Angeles is nothing like Sydney. That's where I grew up. Anyway, my marriage was a lot less about love and more of a business arrangement. Most of them are out there. He was looking for companionship and I was looking for something other than being a second string Forrester. I'm sad he's dead, I'm sad some crazy woman poisoned him, but I don't feel like a widow in mourning. And I'm rambling again. God I'm a terrible person, aren't I?"
"No you're not, Ivy. You would be surprised how many marriages I've seen happen just to solidify power bases. My own da- my stepdad had at least one of those himself. It ended poorly, to put it lightly."
"Thanks for making me feel better, Mikey. I'm a complete stranger and you're just letting me run off at the mouth after I spilled coffee on you and ruined your shirt."
"Really, it's okay. I don't mi- GET DOWN!" Michael grabbed Ivy and threw her to the ground, then fell on top of her, shielding her body with his own. A car drove by and bullets sang through the air, smashing through and shattering the windows to the restaurant behind them.
As soon as it had begun, it was over.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked as he looked down at Ivy. She bit her lip and nodded. "I think they're gone, but we need to get inside in case they come back."
"What's going on? Why did those people try to kill us?"
Sighing, Michael grabbed Ivy's hand and helped her to her feet, then he put his hand on the small of her back and helped her inside the restaurant. "I'm so sorry. You weren't the target. I was. I..."
Ivy just hugged Michael and began crying. He held her with one hand and used the other to call the police.
"Hello, 911? This is Michael Quartermaine. I'm at Kelly's and someone just tried to kill me in a drive by shooting."
Even though her face was buried in Michael's chest and it reeked of coffee, Ivy allowed herself a fraction of a second to smile between sobs. Her plan was working perfectly.
Poison Ivy
"Mr. Rivera. Welcome to my humble abode." Ivy swept her arms across the empty warehouse. "I wanted something on the waterfront. I grew up next to the water back in Australia. It's of comfort to me."
"What does that have to do with your boys grabbing me off the street and dragging me down here?" Carlos jerked free from one of Ivy's goons and ran a hand through his long, greasy hair.
"Because if you get an attitude with me, that water will be your resting place, Carlos. I'm not like Johnny Zacchara or Julian Jerome. And I am certainly not a Duke Lavery. When I declare war, I'm a General Sherman."
"They teach about the American Civil War in Aussieland?" Carlos asked with a laugh.
"My father is American, Mr. Rivera. I learned a few things in Aussieland, as you put it. The scorched earth approach appeals to me. So, I recommend you shut up and listen to me before you become just another piece of kindling."
Carlos straightened his jacket and smiled. "What is it you want, Miss?"
"Just Ivy will suffice, Mr. Rivera. I haven't been in town long, but I've already begun to make some moves. Still, I need someone in my corner who has been around for a while. And I want that someone to be you. I feel like you would be a more than sufficient second in command."
"And why would I leave the Jeromes for someone who won't even tell me her last name?"
"It's simple. I'm a clean slate, Mr. Rivera. You and I have no history, unlike the Jeromes. They forced you into a prison sentence for a crime you didn't commit. And I can assure you that money is not an issue. You'll be paid what you're worth. Maybe even more."
"Okay, Ivy. I know why you want me, but why do you want to declare war on the families who own Port Charles? Do you have a death wish? These people, they don't play around. They won't easy on you because you're a bonnie lass."
"That's the Scots, Mr. Rivera. I'm a shiela, not a lass. And to answer your question," Ivy grinned and ran a finger along her collarbone, "I want to declare war on the Jeromes, Corinthoses, Laveries, and anyone else stupid enough to oppose me for the same reason I do anything: because I want to."