Chapter Two: Stirrings

" A concussion and six stitches? You get shot two times at close range and all you get is a concussion and six stitches?"

" Five," Tony said patiently.

" What?!"

" Five stitches, you fat git. Five. That's it. Drop it now, all right? You've forgotten that I want something from you, and it's not a dropped jaw and a fucking list of questions."

Jacob Johnson sat back in his chair, mollified via intimidation, and folded his hands across his substantial gut. His forehead was sweating. " It's been a while since you and I have had any semblance of chat, Tony. I've heard a lot of things. I've heard you were dead, for instance, and here I see you again, and I can't even hold a decent conversation?" He sighed resignedly. "I take it you want to know about someone who came through Heathrow recently… cohort, enemy… drug dealer of yours, perhaps?"

" Don't fuck around," Tony said calmly, drawing his brand new Desert Eagle .50- he was loyal to the model- and placed it across his lap. " I have a name. I want you to find this name in whatever records you keep them in. And I want you to tell me where his flight landed, and I want you to get me there with minimal fuss, if you understand what I mean. That's all. Simple."

Jacob's sweating lip twitched in a repulsive display of nervousness and greed, his attempts at being amiable already decaying and dissolving into humiliation. He took a breath and decided to take his chances.

" Tony… you know this isn't an easy job," he lied. "There's security issues, and getting you a ticket and past customs… it's not exactly a job I'm looking forward to doing. What have you got to, er, convince me to do this for you?"

" You greedy fuck," Tony hissed, leaning forward and baring his teeth, his left canine glinting dangerously in the half-light. " Breaking out the brass bollocks then, are you? Well, my friend, I'll give you six shiny new bullets unless you give me what I want."

Wisely, Jacob asked for no more penance.

*

Avi got a call from Doug the day after he had returned to New York from purchasing the diamond, which now sat in a lockbox in his office, near him always.

He had been immensely glad to be back among sane persons, most of whom he knew and some of which he trusted, and realised that he had taken all of it for granted. He felt powerful again, not at the mercy of a country as backwards as its roads; he preferred to know exactly where he placed each foot each second of the day, and in England no such assurance could be summoned.

He had been reclining in his chair, feet up as usual, and silently enjoying his homeland, when the phone blared and jerked him out of his reverie.

The earpiece was seized angrily. " What?!" Avi demanded, and then closed his eyes in disgust as Doug's voice came over the line.

" Avi… I have news."

" Whatever it is, can it fucking wait till next year? I just fucking got back." You're the last fucking person I want to talk to, he felt like saying, but decided that it took too much effort.

" Tony's alive," Doug said simply, and there was silence on the line. After a long while his voice came again, but Avi hardly heard it. "Hello? Hello? Avi, are you still there? Talk to me."

" Is he… is he okay?"

" He's hurting, Avi, but he's gone off on some errand, apparently well enough to still be dangerous. He's terribly angry."

" Angry. He's angry." Avi, by now, was cold with shock. His voice sounded dead.

" You shot him, didn't you? And left him?"

" What the fuck else was I supposed to do?! I thought he was dead!" howled Avi, nearly falling out of his seat. The other occupants of the office looked over at him curiously and he gesticulated rudely, telling them in no uncertain terms to mind their own business.

" Either way, there's no explaining that logic to him now. I can't know for certain, but I think he may be after you. So I'm calling to tell you to be prepared, and keep protection around if you value your life."

Avi hung up the phone numbly, not wanting to hear any more. Doug did not ring him back, which was a blessing, but despite his seasons Avi was nervous. He wished Rosebud was around, but even Rosebud looked bumbling and useless in the shadow of Bullet Tooth Tony, which loomed darker and harder than any shadow ever cast that Avi knew of.

This shadow had cast itself over Avi's heart, and it chilled it to its core.

*

Turkish sat back in his new caravan, bought with the money he gathered from selling the diamond that had been pulled from "Daisy's" stomach. He was reasonably content; Gorgeous George was back in action and business was as usual, though perhaps a bit more comfortable as far as the pocket was concerned. And with Brick Top utterly gone; it was a stroke of luck, certainly, and he had to hand it to the pikey: though he wasn't around to fight for them anymore, he had made sure that none of Brick Top's henchmen remained to pester them. And for that, Turkish was bloody grateful.

It was funny, how quickly things changed, but Turkish, struck for once with fortune rather that misfortune, decided against questioning it. Gorgeous had a fight coming up, he had a new caravan, and Tommy had a new dog.

The dog. Turkish hated the dog, but strangely he had grown on Tommy, who finally persuaded Turkish to keep him, so long as "Daisy" visited the vet. Every time he ran off Tommy was there to catch him again, and to clean up his messes that he insisted on doing on the floor rather than outside, and mend or buy new objects which he chewed, and take him to the vet when he swallowed odd things, and settle discrepancies when he bit people, and yell at him when he barked in the middle of the night, and reprimand him when he stole food…

All right, the dog was, admittedly, a blessing. He had gotten them out of more than one pickle, albeit not willingly; his simple presence or the things he swallowed were certainly not intended to help his human counterparts, but they helped nonetheless.

It's funny, he thought, how things work out.

Turkish only had to wonder what would happen next.