Van Helsinki walked slowly into the bar, checking his corners as he did. He knew he couldn't trust these 'informants' of his in the least. But necessity, and orders, had forced him to consult them. He needed to know what they knew, know the time schedules, when the gang enforcers would be at their most vulnerable. He needed to know what they knew. Van wished he had both arms functional, but his left would have to do. He brushed his arm, subtly, against the stock of the MAC-10 tucked down the back of his trousers. That would suffice in a pinch, he was sure.
Van exited the café, MAC still clutched in his hand. He still didn't know where the 'big cheese' was: the boss seemed to be keeping his whereabouts a secret from his own gang too. However, he did have a safehouse location. Van chucked the empty MAC into the trash. He awkwardly flipped out his phone from a side pocket, and called Ford.
"We're in. I've got a safehouse. Bring backup. And more guns." Van heard Ford's sigh of relief. "I told you, I've got it covered. My…'friends' weren't any trouble." Van shut the phone with a 'snap'.