He leaned against the passenger side window, the glass cooling down his head as he stared out through the rain at the illuminated storefront. He turned and looked to the Treasurer in the driver's seat, who was simply staring out through the windshield. Turning back, he patted his suit. Gun? Check. Camera? Check. Cash? Check. He looked down and pulled at his lapel. There was the key to the whole operation— the pin. He cleared his throat and used his right hand to open the door. Quickly, he slammed it closed behind him, looked either side of the road, and as there were no cars coming, he hurried across the street, trying to keep dry.
He steeled himself as he opened the café door and the bell rang. He swiped water off of himself and fixed his hat, and he continued further into the room. Other than himself, a young woman was the only other one present in the room. It took everything in him to maintain his composure. He turned and pulled at his lapel, showing the pin. The woman sighed. "First time?"
"N… well, yes. It is, yes," Roland admitted.
She stood up and walked over towards the shelf. "Well, I've gotta be going the same way as you anyway." She fiddled with the shelf for a short time. And as her back was to him, and the shelf began to turn into a hidden door, Roland quickly snapped a picture with the small camera. His heart was racing. He was unsure of the picture's quality, but regardless, quickly put the camera way as the woman turned towards him. She gestured into the dark cavern with her hand. And down into the speakeasy Roland went.
"And how do you plan to get Zib out of prison?" Rocky questioned.
"I've figured out that there's someone I can just bribe. Simple," Mitzi stated.
"Well, surely he alone can't simply allow any given prisoner to leave," Mordecai rebutted.
"If not, then I'll just bribe a few more people," Mitzi added. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ivy coming her way. "Ivy, thanks for stickin' up there for a bit longer."
"Yeah, well, there were only a couple of people I had to show how to get in," Ivy said.
"Well, thanks, sweetheart."
Roland found himself a seat at what he was rather certain was a bar. The person he guessed was the bartender certainly didn't make it feel much like a bar, but there were drinks, so he supposed it was.
"Ehm, excuse m—"
The bartender swiveled his head over to look at Roland, staring at him with an intimidating look. "Ya?"
"A beer?"
The bartender grunted and reached over somewhere behind the counter and retrieved a bottle of beer. Roland thought he might have to specify what kind, but perhaps this was the only type on hand. Well, he wouldn't really complain. The bartender set it on the counter and held out his hand, looking over to his side, hardly even paying attention to the person at the bar.
Roland reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash Dominic had given him. He began to rifle through it, asking quietly, "Uh, how much…" Roland held a dollar between his index and middle finger.
"That is enough."
Roland handed it over. "Is that— do I get… any…" The bartender had put the dollar away somewhere in the bar and walked away. Roland put the remaining cash back and he opened his beer. Looking over, however, he saw that the bartender was speaking to a few other people. It looked important. He glanced over and strained to hear what they were saying.
"Well, it's just that, uh, I'm not quite a fan of so many killing people," Rocky muttered.
"Yeah," Freckle agreed.
"It's starting to weigh on me more than it has in a long time," Mordecai admitted.
"I guess I assumed as much," Mitzi said. "But I doubt that there's much in the way of peaceful resolutions to this still. If somehow there is, I'll try to go for it. But otherwise, I'm afraid that it's gonna keep happenin' until it's all sorted out."
"It's a little hard to feel like we're, uh, better than Asa or whatever when we're killing people constantly," Rocky stated.
"Unfortunately it's either that they destroy us, or we destroy them."
"Surely those aren't the only two options?"
Roland tried to keep from looking like he was staring. With all of the eyes in that group either facing away from him or focused intently on another person, he carefully set down his drink and carefully snapped a picture of the bar itself— the camera hidden within his suit. He snapped another one of the group to the side that he was somewhat listening in on.
"Either way, I do hope to try and use some of the money from this to somehow make things better after all this. I don't want so many people dead either. Somehow, I wanna make up for all of the things we've had to do recently." Mitzi was half declaring her intentions, half thinking out loud. "Anyway, we can talk about that later. Can y'all go ahead and guard the garage again tonight?" Mitzi gestured to Rocky and Mordecai.
Rocky quietly sighed, "Yeah, yeah."
"Good. Thanks, honey. Should be quiet again tonight, anyway."
Setting down a slightly bent ace of hearts, Rocky looked back up and asked, across the crate being used as a makeshift table, "When do you think the utilities will come back on at your apartment?"
Mordecai set down a card. "Well, I imagine it might still be a few days for the payment to get to them. Unless something goes wrong, no later than Thursday, surely."
"Well, that should make things much more comfortable. You could keep food in your refrigerator again!"
"Yes, well. I'm not exactly a fantastic chef, but I'd like to think I'm decent."
"Oh, I need to try some food of yours, as soon as you're able to make some."
"It's mostly just existing recipes."
"Better than me."
"Ah, well, you can follow a recipe, too."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Rocky advised.
"Well, I wouldn't be sure about that."
"About what?"
"About you not being sure of me being sure of your ability to follow a recipe," Mordecai dryly half-joked.
"Oh, jeez."
"Was that to what I said or the fact that I just won?" Mordecai asked.
Rocky looked over the cards. "Ah, you're right." Rocky set down his cards. He stood up and several of his joints cracked. Twisting and stretching, he grunted, "I'm gettin' tired."
"Well, it is quite late," Mordecai said, setting down his cards, too.
"I hope we don't have to do this every night, forever."
"I don't think that we will. This will come to a head at some point, after which I imagine this sort of schedule won't stand."
"I hope so." There was a short period of silence, with only the sound of rain, as Mordecai gathered the cards together and shuffled them while Rocky yawned and adjusted his shirt. "Well, do you wann—"
Suddenly, there was a sort of knock against the still brutalized door to the alley. Mordecai stopped shuffling and set down the cards. He turned around and started to stand as Rocky took a hesitant step closer.
Rocky began, "...Um, hell—"
And the door, already practically wedged into the doorframe, was kicked in. Mordecai quickly stepped back and pulled out his gun. Rocky reached into his pocket and somewhat fumbled with it as he tried to arm himself. And, Mordecai immediately recognized the one who had kicked down the door. This night's Marigold raid was apparently being led by a moderately wet Nicodeme Savoy. Mordecai certainly hadn't seen him or his sister in a while.
Nico stepped in, looking around, a submachine gun in his hands, and stopped for a moment as he saw Mordecai and asked, nearly confused, "Mordecai?" Mordecai, stepping backward, immediately fired his pistol, just barely missing Nico. Rocky pulled back, too.
Serafine moved in behind Nico, and behind her, several more grunts moved in. The Savoys pulled to the side to make room for the other Marigolds to pile in. Mordecai and Rocky moved towards the trapdoor, using the cars in the garage to protect themselves. Nico asked out again, "Mordecai, what're you doin' here?"
Rocky bent down to lift up the trapdoor and began to go down the steps, holding it up for Mordecai to follow behind him. Mordecai's left hand went to hold the trapdoor up behind him as he loudly said, "I could ask the same of you."
"Mais, I'm not de one shootin' at his friends."
Mordecai was going down the stairs backward— undoubtedly a somewhat dangerous procedure given the stakes, but he decided it was imperative to keep his eyes on the encroaching masses. Rocky, behind him, shot at the feet and shins of the grunts, missing many shots. "Rich, coming from the ones who abandoned me two months ago."
Rocky continued to fire his pistol, "Do you need to talk with them while they shoot at us?"
Mordecai turned his head ever so slightly and quietly shouted back, "I suppose not, no." His attention suddenly shifted back in front of him as he backed up farther into the tunnels, a shot striking the abdomen of the unlucky gunmen who first lifted up the trapdoor in the garage.
Dominic watched the guests continue to funnel into the café. It was astonishing, really. How big must their underground speakeasy be to accommodate so many people? Dominic supposed he would figure out soon enough, and he leaned back in his seat slightly looking off into the dark street, watching the rain form streams along the sides of the road.
But, after a couple of minutes, his attention was drawn to the cars that were pulling up along the café. Many people began to funnel out of these cars. Some started heading into the alley that led to the garage where that trapdoor supposedly was. And others made their way into the café itself. They shook the water off of themselves and eyed around outside suspiciously. Dominic tried to stay still and stay low, just in case. After their sweep through the streets outside, they pulled out pistols and small rifles and submachine guns, just standing there, basically out in the open. If this was what Dominic thought it was, then things were about to get extremely bloody. His mind started to race as they opened up the secret entrance, like all of the others, and began down the stairs. If they killed Roland, his evidence would be gone. If he called the police, they might be able to get evidence themselves— that is, if these bastards didn't somehow find a way to elude being caught, again. But there were not any phones readily available to him. Not to mention, he didn't exactly see this police force as particularly competent. But he had to decide and follow through fast, because he was already beginning to hear gunshots.
To hell with it— surely someone else hearing the loud gunfire would call the police. He needed his evidence now, before it was all lost. Dom wouldn't interfere with any of the bootleggers or gunmen, he would just rush in amidst the chaos, get Roland, and make sure that his evidence wasn't destroyed. And then, back out. It was dangerous, but this was really his last chance before the commissioner would have him out of a job. Having failed in such a regard, he probably wouldn't be able to do any sort of government work for a long time, maybe ever. That wouldn't happen yet; not when he could prove himself.
Drago shoved open his car door, slamming it shut behind him as he dashed across the street and reached into his coat to retrieve his handgun, his other hand holding onto his hat.
Roland was near the end of drinking his third beer when he heard the gunshots. He had been about to leave— once he finished the beer, he would perhaps take a couple more pictures, and then he would leave the way he came in. Unfortunately, the way that he came in was currently choked with people with guns. He wasn't the first to react to them, as it were. Indeed, most of the other patrons were already shouting and starting to run or hide. And also, the scary guy who had served him the first beer, and the young guy who had served him his second and third were taking cover and returning fire. Roland would join in and help if it wasn't for the fact that he had had three beers and that he felt that helping might put undue attention on him and be either mortally dangerous or blow his cover. So, he pulled away from the fighting to preserve himself and began to hide with the other patrons.
The woman who Roland assumed was the head of the establishment began shouting instructions back to the patrons, instructing them where to hide so as to stay safe. Roland, along with everyone else, was hiding on the far side of the room. Between them and the intruders, a sort of makeshift cover was made. It was almost like some sort of guerilla trench system, with tables and chairs overturned and formed into a wall that was surprisingly holding up against the barrage. Roland, despite his mission and whatnot, couldn't help but feel a bit impressed with how these people were holding up; using a couple of their own bottles of alcohol as makeshift incendiary bombs was certainly a smart defensive move.
Part of Asa wished that he had gone along; the suspense that came along with not knowing what was happening was not often so debilitating. He sat at his desk, in his office, simply twiddling his thumbs. His mind was too occupied by thinking about what may be happening, or might happen, for him to really do anything that might be productive. Even the standard sort of socializing with patrons down the hall seemed daunting at the moment. A boom of thunder caused him to jump, and he could feel his heart try to jump out of his chest.
All he could hope for was news, soon.
