Felicity didn't frequent bars all that often, especially by herself. She liked a good time as much as the next person but she was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking, and if she got hit on - which did happen from time to time - it was rarely by the men she would have preferred. It seemed to be her curse to attract guys who were charming but superficial - men who noticed cute blonde, and didn't bother to look any deeper. She was usually bored with them in fifteen minutes.

She made an exception to her no bars rule for Nuddy's. Owned and run by an Australian transplant named Slade Wilson, Nuddy's was one of the few places she felt comfortable grabbing a beer and a bite by herself. Some of that she attributed to the clientele. Slade's bar welcomed patrons that covered the gamut from street gang member to school teacher, to the occasional nun. Situated in the heart of the Glades, it was a kind of neutral ground where people, regardless of their background, came to unwind and managed to get along.

Most of Felicity's comfort, however, stemmed from Slade himself. The man was the size of a small tank, with massive biceps and a patch over one eye that gave him a fierce look, even when he smiled. Slade enforced his everyone must get along credo with consistency and - when necessary - force. Felicity once saw him toss three knife-carrying men out for threatening the bartender, hardly breaking a sweat. She also knew that he kept a couple of strategically-placed (and most likely unregistered) stunners behind the bar in case things got really out of hand. They seldom did.

Felicity went there for the food and the opportunity to relax. Slade served basic, but well-prepared cuisine at reasonable prices and Nuddy's was within walking distance of her apartment. Since she often didn't have time to shop or cook, it wasn't unusual for her to stop by a couple of times a week. Plus, she simply liked Slade. They had become friends in a casual, uncomplicated way. She helped him with his computers and he shooed away any jerks that pestered her.

The bar was busy this afternoon. It was a Saturday and people were taking advantage of their day off to grab a drink and watch sports on the large-screen TVs. Felicity took one of the few empty seats at the bar and noted that the owner, himself, was on duty. Slade stepped up to her and grinned.

"Hey, Blondie. Nice spring weather we're having. What can I get you?"

She didn't bother glancing at the menu. She knew it by heart. "A couple of slices of your veggie pizza."

"Want a beer to go with it?"

"Not yet. I'm kind of on duty." She hesitated. "But I could use a favor, Slade."

He leaned across the bar. "Name it, Blondie."

"I'm meeting someone here. He's supposed to be coming alone, but I don't trust him to actually do that. Would you mind keeping an eye out? I don't plan on leaving with him...or with anyone. So if you see me being escorted away, there's a problem and you need to call the cops."

"Call the cops?" he repeated. "Fuck that. If someone tries to take you out of here I'll take care of the problem myself."

"Slade-"

"I've got a reputation to maintain, Blondie. You know that. I can't be calling the cops to the bar for every little thing. I'll lose my customers."

His brown eye was twinkling. She smiled. "You know that I am a cop, right?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but you're kind of an odd duck, for a cop. You live in the Glades. And you help me fix my computer systems when they go down. You don't count. Besides, having a pretty blonde at my bar helps my reputation."

From anyone else, that remark would have annoyed Felicity. From Slade, it only made her smile grow wider. She saw that his mind was made up.

"Okay," she agreed. "If you see a problem, you can take care of it. And thanks. I just want to talk with the guy and really don't expect to bring you trouble. I wouldn't have arranged for the meet to be here, but I didn't know where else to go. This seemed the safest bet."

"Who is he, exactly?"

"He's the relative of a murder victim and he's not happy with my investigation. Consensus in the law enforcement community also says he's Bratva."

"Bratva?" Slade's eyebrows went up. "You need to hang out with a better sort, Blondie."

"I know it."

Oliver was in his home gym with a good sweat going when McKenna's security guy called him for the second time. He felt a measure of encouragement when he saw that the man looked confident. He wouldn't have that expression, Oliver figured, if he was about to deliver more bad news.

"Tell me you found Knyazev," Oliver said, skipping the preliminaries.

The man grinned. "We did, sir. And we followed him to a bar called Nuddy's. He's there now."

Oliver mopped his face with a towel. "Nuddy's? Never heard of it."

"It's in the Glades."

The Glades? Oliver frowned. "How long has he been there?"

"A couple of minutes. He just arrived."

Oliver twisted the towel uneasily. Anatoly liked gourmet meals and top-shelf vodka. A bar in the Glades wasn't likely to deliver either. So what reason could he have for going there other than Felicity - whose apartment also happened to be in the Glades? Oliver's mouth went dry as it occurred to him that Anatoly might be escalating his tactics for getting the information he wanted; tactics that could go as far as grabbing Felicity and interrogating her. But why the stop in a bar then? Why hadn't he gone straight to her apartment? Oliver decided he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I have to talk with him," Oliver said to the security man, and began to jog from the gym to his bedroom. "Stay on him and let me know if he makes a move."

"Yes, sir."

"I can be there in," Oliver estimated the route in his head, "about thirty minutes. How's the traffic?"

"Typical Saturday."

Great. "Maybe forty," Oliver amended. I should take the bike. At least with it, I can weave through cars. He reached the foyer of the house and started up the stairs. "Nice work," he added, remembering how he'd unleashed his anger during the earlier call. "And thanks."

"No problem."

Oliver expected the man to disconnect but he stayed on the line. "Good call, having us follow Knyazev," he continued. "He led us right to her, Mr. Queen."

Oliver frowned as he stepped onto the second floor hallway. "Right to who?"

"To Ms. Smoak. Knyazev is sitting with her in Nuddy's now."

Oliver stopped and stared at his phone. For a few seconds, the only sound was his slightly labored breathing.

Then, to be sure, he repeated, "Anatoly is meeting with Felicity?"

"Yes, sir."

"In a bar in the Glades."

"Yes, sir."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Felicity was talking with Anatoly right now - not at SCPD headquarters, which might make a modicum of sense - but at a bar in the Glades.

"Is she by herself?" he snapped.

The security man's brow furrowed. "She's with Ana-"

"She works with another cop," Oliver interrupted impatiently. "Thirty-ish, about six feet, brown hair and brown eyes. Is he there?"

"No. As far as I can tell, it's just her and Knyazev."

Fuck. It had to be a prearranged meeting. After all, Felicity had dropped the Bratva earlier that morning. There was no way she and Anatoly would bump into each other by coincidence at a bar in the Glades. And Oliver had no doubt who had done the prearranging. Felicity had come up with the same idea as him - get the Bratva to stop following her by going to the source of the problem. So, she'd called Anatoly.

He clenched his jaw. The woman refused to appreciate the real threat that the Russian posed.

She was making him nuts.

"Fuck," he said aloud.

"Sir?"

"You keep an eye on her...you do not let her out of your sight. I'll be there in twenty." He hung up without waiting for a response and sprinted the last few yards to his bedroom. Two minutes later he darted back out with his jeans clinging to his still-damp legs and zipping up a hoodie. Then he raced to the garage for his motorcycle.

Felicity spotted Anatoly before he spotted her. From her seat at the bar, she watched him step into Nuddy's and sweep his gaze across the crowded room, his brow furrowing as he observed the eclectic groupings of patrons. She almost laughed as he took in the heavily-tattooed quartet of bikers seated next to the women examining a selection of purses arrayed across their table. He even stopped and looked at his phone, as if verifying the address. But then his face hardened and she knew this wasn't a laughing matter.

As she'd requested, he had entered the bar alone. However, Felicity noted that a man followed him through the door less than a minute later, talking on his phone. The second man took a seat at the end of the bar without looking at Anatoly, and appeared to divide his attention between the baseball game on television and his call. Felicity didn't recognize him as one of the men who had been in her building, but she wasn't taking anything for granted. She caught Slade's eye and nodded subtly toward the man. Slade looked at him and then nodded back at her.

Felicity reached behind her back and felt the reassuring bulk of her stunner. She considered sliding the holster out from under her sweatshirt and around to her hip but then discarded the idea. If things went well, she wouldn't need it. And if they didn't go well, she preferred to have the element of surprise.

Anatoly saw her and began walking over, a calculating expression on his face. Yesterday at SCPD headquarters he had made some effort to be civil. She wasn't so sure he was going to make that same effort now.

"Detective Smoak."

"Anatoly." She patted the stool next to her. "Have a seat. If you haven't had lunch, I recommend the pizza. Nuddy's uses only fresh ingredients. I don't think you'll find better in any of the more expensive parts of the city."

He glanced at the remnants of her pizza and didn't take the offered seat. "You asked me here to talk. I am busy man. So, talk."

She shrugged. "You're sure you don't at least want a drink? It's the polite thing to do. Slade could easily fill this seat with a paying customer." She gestured behind the bar at the big Australian as he topped a pint glass from the beer tap. She wasn't sure why she was needling Anatoly, but it seemed important not to show fear.

Anatoly gave her an annoyed frown and said, "Vodka," to Slade.

Slade nodded. "Russian?"

"Of course."

Slade retrieved a shot glass from under the bar and filled it from one of the many bottles on the shelf behind him. He placed it in front of Anatoly.

Anatoly barely looked at the glass. He picked it up and downed the vodka in one gulp. "I am losing patience," he said to Felicity. "Talk."

Felicity saw Slade's shoulders stiffen, just the slightest. She felt better knowing he was paying attention.

"Very well," she replied. She pushed her plate away and swiveled in her seat to face the Russian, their faces on the level. From this proximity, she could see the lines around his eyes. They appeared fresh, the result of grief and fatigue. It made him seem more human, and for an instant she felt sympathy. Then she remembered that she was dealing with a Bratva captain.

She straightened her spine. "You've had men following me ever since I told you Isabel used drugs," she began. "You're hoping I'll lead you to her dealer, where you can take care of him or her as you see fit."

Anatoly regarded her blankly.

"It won't work," Felicity continued. "I think I've already proved that. I've dropped your men every time it mattered, so all you're accomplishing is making me take time away from finding Isabel's killer. I can't risk leading your men to an innocent person so I run around in circles until I lose them. It's getting old."

Anatoly shrugged. "Maybe soon you fail to lose them...if such men really exist."

"I find it ironic," Felicity went on, as if he hadn't spoken, "that you're so anxious to eliminate her dealer. The Bratva supplies drugs to an entire network of dealers in Star City. It's a big source of revenue for you. Most of the people you sell to have family, too; fathers and uncles who love them and don't want to see them becoming addicts. But that doesn't bother you. It's only when your own child starts using that it's a problem."

Anatoly's face darkened. For a second she thought his anger would erupt, but then he shrugged again. "I came here to make deal, not get lecture. So far, you have not made me offer. I give you one minute. Then I walk."

Felicity nodded. "Fine. I'll get to the offer." She looked him in the eye and hoped to God her voice remained steady. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. "I did a little research last night, Anatoly. I used to work in the SCPD's Digital Evidence Division and I'm pretty good with computers. I thought it was time I dug into you a little more thoroughly."

"And?" He sounded bored.

"You have several bank accounts in the Caymans under the name of Oscar Smith."

He stiffened and his head jerked very slightly. He no longer looked bored.

Okay, Felicity. You've got his attention now, so you better make it convincing. She smiled, hoping it didn't look like a grimace. "I wonder why you chose that name. You don't look like a Smith and you really don't look like an Oscar. But that's not important. What's important, is that you have a healthy balance in those accounts - close to ten million in total. I'm wondering if your colleagues know about it, or if you've got some kind of side business going. Maybe you're doing a little siphoning."

He was silent for a moment. Then he raised his chin. "Is mistake. I know nothing about bank accounts for somebody named Oscar Smith."

"No?" She shrugged. "In that case, I guess you wouldn't be concerned if they disappeared then. It can happen. The servers at the bank can become corrupted and..."

"Stop!" he interrupted. "Enough with the games. Say what you have to say."

He was glaring at her but, strangely, it made her feel more confident. His anger told her she was hitting the mark. "Here's the offer," she said. "It's a one-time deal, take it or leave it. If your men continue to follow me, if anything happens to the people I speak to in the course of my investigation, then that money disappears. I don't care what it is; car accident, food poisoning, a slip in the shower - the money's gone. And if anything happens to me, it's the same thing. I've got automated programs set up to drain the accounts if I don't log into them every night."

His jaw muscle twitched. "This is bluff," he replied. "You cannot do this." But he pulled out the stool and sat down on it.

She pressed her lips together. "They're supposed to be hidden accounts, but I managed to find them in about an hour. I can't recall the account numbers off the top of my head, but I believe one of them starts with five-two-seven and has two million on it. Does that sound about right?"

His jaw muscle twitched several more times.

"But if you leave me alone," she repeated, "then I won't touch the money. And I won't say anything about the accounts to anyone."

He shook his head. "You are police. You believe I am Bratva. If you are doing your job, you would report those accounts, not take away money. Taking the money would be corrupt thing to do. You do not strike me as corrupt."

"I'm Star City police," she clarified. "I'm not federal. Movements of funds to places like the Caymans are a federal matter not a municipal one - unless, of course, you injure Star City in the process. So, no, I'm not obligated to report it. And I didn't say I would keep the money for myself. There are any number of charities that would be thrilled to receive an anonymous gift, especially one in the millions."

He studied her face as if trying to weigh her resolve. He would make a decent poker player, she thought, but not perfect. He was slumped a little on the stool and his posture communicated his emotions; astonishment, disbelief, frustration. She wondered what he saw in her expression. Could he tell that her heart was racing? It didn't really matter. She was prepared to follow through on her threat, even if her insides were shaking.

"This is my only warning," she said. "The next time I see your men, the first account gets drained."

He looked down at his empty shot glass, and for a long moment said nothing. Then he lifted his gaze to her. She was surprised to see a gleam in his eye. It almost looked like appreciation.

"Very well," he said. "I will remove men."

"Thank you."

"That won't stop me from looking within Bratva for dealer."

Felicity nodded. "What happens within the Bratva is your own business. Just don't interfere with my investigation." As soon as she said the words, she recalled her conversation with Oliver about everyone being entitled to due process and felt a tightness in her chest. Was she letting go of her principles in favor of the expedient solution?

Anatoly stepped off of his stool. "Are you finished?" His voice was hard but no longer angry.

"Yes," Felicity said, "although I have something to give you." She got off her own stool and bent to reach into her backpack. Then she straightened.

"I thought you might want this," she continued, handing him the small stuffed dog that Isabel had kept in her bedroom. "I think it meant a lot to her. She didn't have many things from her past, but she kept this by her bed, along with your picture. I know you're not happy with me," she added, "but I hope you believe that I'm doing everything I can to find your niece's killer. She's mine now too...maybe not in the same way that she was yours, but she is mine. I have a duty to her."

He studied the dog, and in a barely perceptible movement ran one finger along the worn nap. Then he tucked it into his suit coat pocket. "You are unusual woman," he said. "You look like young girl. Innocent, blond girl. But you are not so innocent. I think maybe Isabel's killer should worry."

"Yes," Felicity agreed. "The killer should worry."

He stared at her. Then, without another word, he turned and left.

As soon as he was out the door, Felicity let out a long breath. She wasn't surprised to hear a quiver in it. Looking over at Slade, she said, "I think I'll have that beer now."

Slade held a glass under one of the spigots and began filling it. "I don't know what to say, Blondie. You surprised me - really surprised me. I didn't catch all of that, but I caught enough to know that you're a force to be reckoned with. I hope this doesn't come back to bite you."

"You and me, both."

She noticed that the man at the end of the bar hadn't followed Anatoly out. So, not Bratva, she decided. He was talking once more on his phone, looking a little worried. She picked up the beer Slade slid across the bar and raised it to her lips.

"Thanks for letting me use your bar," she said to him. "I owe you one."

"No worries. I'll call you the next time I have a problem with the wireless."

She smiled. "No worries, " she echoed.

Her attention was on Slade so she didn't see Oliver Queen when he came charging through the door.

A/N: Happy Mother's Day weekend to all the moms out there.