"And what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr...?"

"Colt. Jeremy Colt." he said, the door echoing its locks clicking shut as he leaned back on the now securely closed door.

"...Mr. Colt." he finished. The man's demeanor was very calm, smoothed out, and relatively easy going. Colt knew as well as anyone else that gangsters were always up to no good, but they were always sweet and seductive. If just by their Italian nature of being suave, the man seemed to just be meeting a good friend he had heard much about, with a slight smile and no rudeness to be had. "Please, sit." he said, his hand sweeping to a chair in front of the oak desk, a crimson leather set on a polished oak frame, belonging to the same furniture set as the oak desk and the oak chair the Don sat in, despite his being much more fancy and elegant.

"I want some information."

"Of course, I have plenty of that." he said with a smile. "Bourbon? It's a local brew" Corisione said, reaching into a desk drawer to pull out a crystal ceramic jug of the orange liquid and two large glasses.

"Surely." Colt said with a smile, reaching forward to the now filled glass as the Don filled his. The quark was put back on, the bottle replaced to the desk drawer, and it shut. The entire atmosphere was something Colt knew well, his memories instantly aligning his thoughts with Marlon Brando. It's been a long time since I've had to deal with one of these smug fuckers... Colt downed half of the gracious glass of bourbon with a dozen or so aspirin, grinning in delight as the Don only gave a look of being impressed, and drank his by sips.

"Let's get down to business" Corisione said briefly, folding his hands again in front of him. "What's your question with me, Mr. Colt?"

"I want some information on a man named Quint Darton."

"Quint Darton...never heard of him. But, even if I did, why should I?" The Don asked with a smug smile, drinking another bit out of his cup. They both knew it wasn't the best bourbon, and neither said anything, but their held back puckered faces and tongues burning with the taste of a boot made their tongues a lot easier to hold, instead of saying something either would regret. But, as it stood, the Don had a lot more to lose.

"Because I just kicked the ass of your entire gang, and one of your street patrol kiddies. I'm not here to kill you, unless you piss me off. I only want to know where I can find the guy."

"I will admit you have quite a knack for being persuasive, as far as your fists go" the man said in a heavy Italian accent, slurring his own words on purpose to emulate figures of old he had heard about. Colt only smirked as he placed his pistol on the table, a thunk emitting as it hit the oak, and he turned it slowly until the barrel faced the Don, who gave another facial expression of being impressed, but no fear crossed his face. If there was anything a gang leader needed, it was class. He could be violent and brutal and anything else he needed, but he had to have class. To hold the gang together, to get more gangs, to solve issues between gangs without going to war, and just to have that authority.

"I see you are a man of very interesting methods. But, I don't see why I should help you. You've come into my home, where I live with all of my brothers and family, and you've shown them no mercy. I do not know if you have killed them, but I am assuming not. Though, I do hope you gave Billy a good few licks, as he's been in need of it."

"I'm sure I did."

"But, back to my point, Mr. Colt. You've shown me some mercy and reserve, only because I am the Don, and forcing me to tell you would serve you no good."

"Well, it's Plan B if the talking doesn't work."

"Let's stick to Plan A then, Mr. Colt. I am in no mood to start a quarrel with a gentleman such as yourself, andI'm quite tired."

"You're smarter than your street thugs who chose Plan B." Colt chuckled, finishing off his tall glass of bourbon liquor, and sliding it across the desk. It was enough to sufficiently make anyone drunk, and especially too much to just be shot, so the Don was even more agitated by Jeremy, but didn't let it show. The Don stood up slowly, turning around and poking down the blinds over a few windows to look outside.

"You know, Mr. Colt, you've done something very stupid."

"Is that so?" he said mockingly, leaning back in the chair he sat in.

"I am the most respected and powerful gang boss on the Lower Side of Troy, and the other 4 gangs here have just become mine. I have enough contacts all over to make sure you don't see the sun rise, and I have enough friends to make sure that there wll be no evidence of you."

"Considering your pals back there..." Colt chuckled while he said half of his sentence, and no more.

"You're a very skilled man, and powerful. I can see that by way of which you entered my home." he said, turning to face Colt. Don Corisione wasn't too old, only about 34, but older than about anyone in his gang. Also, he hadn't many wrinkles to him that would be passable as signs of age, but he was indeed aged by the standards of normal life and other gangs. "I could use a man like you on my side. Wouldn't want you getting tangled up with the Tudeskis on the North side of town."

"I'm not a gang man."

"Please, we're a family here, Mr. Colt."

"...The family? And is there a Godfather also?"

"He recently passed away, sadly. I will be named the Godfather within a few short weeks, and it was a vicious attack by the Tudeskis. They killed him in cold blood. The other four families of the city are aligned with me, and all are under me now, except for the Tudeski family. And, I'm hoping to eliminate them very soon. I could use you in this operation, Mr. Colt."

"Sorry, I don't work for 'families" he said sarcastically.

"Have it your way, Mr. Colt. I assure you though that my men will find you, and they will be most unpleasant with you."

"You can send all you have against me, and it won't matter. Maybe I'll kill them though. I've only actually killed maybe three or four of your men tonight, I could do more. ANd, maybe help the Tudeskis, if they're willing to give me the information I need."

"Mr. Colt, we're reasonable men here." He said, slowly walking around the table to Colt and standing behind his chair, resting both of his hands on Colt's shoulders like a friend would. "We can work something out, can't we? We needn't involve the Tudeskis now."

"I thought so" Colt sneered at the threat rebuked now to a mere pleasantry thrown at him earlier.

"But...what am I to gain?"

"Hmm, me not going to the Tudeskis is one."

"I already know that, do I have any other advantages?"

"I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. I let you live."

"Mr. Colt, if you killed me, even the Tudeskis would be out for your blood. There is a very delicate balance in this sytem...the gangs need to be balanced, and we live harmoniously with each other really. Just, sometimes, things get out of hand, and drastic measures are taken. What is bothersome to me is that you have shown no respect to me at all, Mr. Colt, when I will help you."

"If you help me."

"So, this Quint Darton...he's a bounty?"

"2,000 big ones."

"Hmm...what if we split it, fifty-fifty?"

"Ninety-ten."

"Seventy five-twenty five?"

"Ninety-ten. And, I'll give some hell to the Tudeski familyif I meet any of 'em."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Colt, but I'll see what my men can get together. Come see me tomorrow night, and we'll conclude our business." Corisione then walked back around to in front of his desk, sat down in his chair, and turned aroud to face the windows covered in blinds. "You may go now, Mr. Colt."

"Thanks for the shit bourbon" he said with a snicker, adjusting his black cowboy hatslightly, then picking up his gun, holstering it, and walking out of the room. Colt found his way out from the entrance in the alley he had made his way in through earlier, passing the bruised and bloody patrons of this establishment,a few on their feet, hobbling around, getting ice, sewing wounds, others sneering at Colt and trying to grab him, each of the dazed men reciprocated with their actions in turn with a quick jab that broke stitched wounds open again. Colt finally made his way out to the brisk night, adjusting his collar on his darkened Seikishidan overcoat, nearly black, and then walking out into the night. That went pretty well.

"Morning Billy" Colt smirked as the slit of the door opened to show the door man from the scuffle a few nights past, a bulging black eye covered in an ice pack and a fat lip greeting him through the peep hole. The man muttered a few curses, slowly unlatching the locks on the door with loud clanks before it swung open and Colt stepped into the Corisione hideout. He took off his cowboy hat, exposing a ruffled head of black hair, not looking a day over twenty five on his youthful, but jaded face. He smiled at Billy who only sneered, tilting his head over to where the Don's room was, his left arm in a sling and wincing as he turned to nod.

Colt had his hat in his hand during his walk through the rooms he had violently bashed through a few nights ago, the pol table had been righted and all the balls found, the blood stains in the carpet still there, but had been tried washed, and a lowly gang member in the far corner, a scrub brush in his hand and working on the wall where streak of blood was. That's where I threw that one rat fuck face first into the wall...broke his nose. Sorry kid, you gotta clean up my mess. But, hell, not even Vito started on top. Sneers and disgusted curses met him as he walked through the room of "family" members, each stopping their activities and staring at the man in the rmidst as he walked thrugh with an arrogant smirk, looking all of them in the eye, showing no fear.

The bustle and commotion of the base of operations seemed to stagnate and die when Colt entered, the bitter memories of their ass-kicking the few days prior still fresh in their memories, and tempers not subsided. Jeremy slowly paced thrugh the people, taking his time and making sure to be as arrogant as he could without saying anything, a murmured insult thrown at him every now and then, someone spitting on the ground in front of Jeremy and trying to instigate something out of Jeremy, but their broken bones and bruises all Colt needed to prove, if it came down to it. Finally, he stopped in front of the oak door he knew to be Corisione's, knocking a few times, turning back to the crowd of square Italian faces on square Italian shoulders looking back at him silently.

"Come in" the voice responded. Colt slowly entered, holding out his hat in a sarcastic adieu to the family all gathered outside of the Don's office to wtahc him. As Colt entered, a stout and round man left the room quickly, pushing past him and jogging through the crowd of mobsters who let him through.

"That was...?" Colt asked briefly.

"A baker who wanted a favor I could not grant. We found a solution though."

"Sounds fiesty." he smirked, sitting down and tossing his hat on the oak desk in front of the Don.

"I think I have your information, Mr. Colt."

"I'd love to know it."

"Bourbon?" he asked, pulling out the bottle, at the same line it was last time Colt took a drink. He nodded, taking a glass poured for him, and downed half of it in one shot with half of an aspirin bottle he found in the pocket of his coat.

"Why do you do that, Mr. Colt? It's no good for your kidney."

"It's for my headaches. If my headaches get too bad...I give you a headache. One that will probably never go away, or be too quick. Get me?"

"Hmm...headaches. If that's what you're going to call it."

"Yeah...don't worry 'bout it...you were talking about information?"

"Yes...this Quint Darton, he's on the East side of the city. He's slumming it with some girl near the Division C kiosk district."

"I know there. Near Zimmerman's coffee shop."

"Best cup of coffee in Lower Troy. That man is a personal friend, he's done some favors for me, and I for him."

"And those are?"

"He had a small girl about fifteen years ago...she was without home or shelter. He asked me to help him find a place for the girl, and I took out some low lives who were holed up in this apartment, draining money from my operations, and gave it to him. And, he's done some business with me, some business he'd not like to talk about."

"I'm sure. Plenty of drugs running around here anyway."

"But, we're all business men, Mr. Colt. It's not personal, it's business."

"Of course." Colt said with a sly smirk, downing the rest of the bourbon and sliding the glass back to Corisione, as they did the few nights prior.

"Let me tell you a story, Mr. Colt. You seem like a well travelled man and have seen your fair share of the world. You were a 'Kishi'."

"You noticed it, eh?" he smirked, looking down at his blackened jacket. "Years took the gloss and white off of it, but it's my faithful that kept me alive in Kansas."

"A-Country front. I'm impressed. I have a few clients over seas...something I'm hoping to maximize in the near future."

"What's your story then, Corisione?"

"You see...this city, it's holding me in. I'm feeling choked, like a cornered mouse. I need room to breath, room to expand. I've already taken over this city...it's not been easy, but the families now belong to me. I am the man who is in charge. But, I am not going to stop there. Once this war is over, or when I get out of here...I'm going to France. I'm planning on uniting myself with some of the French families...get my business overseas a bit boosted, you know, business."

"To become the quintessential Godfather?"

"Please, do not compare me to stories. I am a realistic man. By the time I am in Paris, I will have succeeded the title of Godfather, my family will stretch the ports and coasts, as well as the skies. I have big plans, Mr. Colt. I could still use you in the future, if you were interested."

"Afraid I'm still fucking not."

"It's a shame. I have a feeling that next time our paths cross, we will have a different type of conversation and friendship."

"Don't flatter me, you Italian mobster prick. I just want my information." Corisione conceded, reaching for a small folder in a drawer of his disk, sliding it across the desk.

"Will that be all for you, Mr. Colt?" he said, keeping his temper in check and his mannerisms perfect the entire time, never wavering above a friendly tone, and never being cold in how he talked, except for the fake drawl he put on his words.

"Seems like it." he said, fingering the pages, finding the information inside was what he expected. "Till next time, Corisione." he said, standing, putting his hat on and tucking the folder under his arm.

"What about my ten?" he said to Colt before his hand reached the knob. JEremy turned, smirking as he replied.

"What about your ten?" he mlaiciously said, then opened the door and exitted.

"You will not be so fortunate on our next meeting, Mr. Colt." Corisione said, turning in his chair and looking out at the streets of Troy behind him as the morning sun rose slightly.

The familiar bell of the shop rang with the door opening, the small string doing its job of pulling on the central metal ball to ding the sides. Zimmerman looked up from his perch on the bar, a glass in hand, rag in the other, like it was his God given job to always be scrubbing those mugs with that same cloth.

"Zimmerman, right?" the man said in a low cowboy hat drawn over his eyes. He was standing slightly in front of the door, still and in place, like he was rooted to the ground.

"Yeah, I'm Zimmerman, this is my place." the short, rotuned shopkeeper responded, showing eary eyes to the new face in the place, but in actuallity, his face was covered by the sunlight draining in behind him and through the door, through the heads and bustling bodies outside.

"Took me all day to get my ass over here, then I stuck it out the night. I hear you got the best cup of coffee around here."

"I ain't gonna toot my horn, but the locals call it that. Up for one?"

"Yeah." the man said gruffly, taking off his cowboy hat to reveal a gruff lookinghead of bushy brown hair and long sideburns that hadn't seen a razor or comb in a long time. Zimmerman prepared the glass in the cup he was just holding, so the man knew it was clean, but its not like it mattered anyway if it were clean or not. People had amazing immune system now a days, since the whole medicine scene had kind of got killed by ack and the ability to not get it everywhere, people started to get over things that had been neutralized in past centuries and become nothing much were still nothing. Animals have great immune systems as well, and humans had to start adapting, or they'd too fall prey to nature, so they became stronger. Yet, things tha were considered pushovers in past centuries were now highly feared, like the flu. No use for cancer or diseae, you usually didn't live long enough for it.

The cup wa set in front of the man, who put a bottle of aspirin on the counter as he walked over and sat down. The cap came off, and a dozen pills went down his throat, along with half of the unsweetened, uncremed coffee in one gulp. He seemed immune to the scalding hot coffee, and only muttered a satisfied "mmm".

"Got any business here or just here for the coffee?" Zimmerman asked, grabbing another cup and starting his ritual. He downed the second half, putting the empty cup down, another "mmm", then nodding.

"Yeah, I do. My business is a bounty. Name's..." he was cut off by the jingle of a bell and the door opening to the shop. Quint Darton walked in, brushing the dirt off of his shirt from the crowd, ruffing his long brown bangs a bit before walking to the counter where Zimmerman was, sitting down next to the stranger. He raised one finger, and nodded, Zimmerman sneering and getting to making another cup of coffee with his newly picked up cup.

"My business is a bounty named Quint Darton." There was a slight cough from Zimmerman as Jeremy Colt finished his sentence, the words invading his ears seeming to choke him momentarily. Zimmerman's back was turned, making the coffee, but there was a slight smirk on his face, the evil wonder in his head of what would happen to his favorite little friend. Darton, on the other hand, hadn't flinched a muscle. When he heard his name, he blinked once, but he hoped that this bounty hunter hadn't seen him flinch. The cup arrived and Darton sipped at it slightly, muttering a curse at how hot it was.

Zimmerman held out his hand to Darton, expecting his few coins and bills for the coffee, as per normal, but a slight sneer and forcefulness intoxicated his entire being, that Zimmerman felt if he didn't get his pay now, he might never. Darton handed him the money reluctantly, holding it above Zimmerman's hand for a second before dropping it into the fat hand, looking all the while in Zimmerman' eyes unblinkingly. Without words, they talked. Don't you dare say anything, Zimmerman. Don't make me, Darton.

"Bounty, eh?" Darton said, turning to Colt, cup of coffee in his hand sipping it slowly, his expression and demeanor instantly reverting to normal man on the streets. Colt hadn't noticed, he was too busy taking more aspiin, his head tilted back while the silent exchange between his two fellow people in present company had their talk in looks. Jeremy swallowed hard, bringin his head back down, looking at Darton.

"It's somebounty that the big shots of Troy are handing out. They say he's a spy or something. It's not like those normal jobs, where one bitch has something against another, and the one with more money wins because he can pay for the other to die. Nah...this one's special, and a special price to go along with it."

"Sounds interesting, any more details?" Quint continued, looking Colt the entire time in the eyes without flinching.

"Like hell I'd tell you anything about my bounty. It's mine, you ain't taking it from me."

"Who says I'm a hunter?"

"Everyone 'round here is, and if I see you around that bounty, you might find the same fate."

"Back off, cowboy. I was just asking." Darton said with a sneer turning back to Zimmerman with a look of contempt in his eyes that he dare not show to Jeremy. But, he saw. There was something weird about it, not when Darton had tried talking to Colt, but when he turned away and looked at Zimmerman...there was a flash. A moment later, a gun muzzle rested on the neck of Darton. Shit...he found me. Shit, I'm not armed, what do I do, stay calm, shit. Zimmerman snickered a little under his breath as he grsbbed another mug and started cleaning it, one eye fixed at the events at the bar.

"What do you know about this Darton guy?" he asked fiercely. "I've already gone through a mob boss to get here, you're not gonna matter either. Tell me what you know." Colt insisted.

Darton set down his mug of coffee, and turned in the stool to Colt with a slight smirk on his face.

"...That's all you want?" Darton said, his smirk intact, concealing his confusion. Wait...he doesn't know I'm Darton? That's good, real good.

"Well, what ya got to tell me, stranger?"

"He lives around here, partner." he respodned with equal sarcasm, the gun barrel now on the center of his neck, right below his Adam's Apple. "You must be a slick shit killer to have one of those puppies."

"I'm all slick shit, kid."

"Kid? You don't look any older than I do."

"Hey, I got the gun, you answer the questions. Not a tough ordeal."

"I'm not worth the bullet."

"The bounties big enough, I could spare two bullets. One for you, one for Darton."

"How big?"

"2000 big."

"That's big."

"Told ya. Now, you tell me. Where do I find him?"

"He's around." Jeremy cocked back the hammer on his antique six shooter, a slight smirk on his face as he did.

"Wanna be cute with me and you'll be drinking coffee without a neck."

"He ain't got a house. He lives in the alleys around here."

"Bounty said he was slumming with a girl."

"Not that I've seen."

"You sure?"

"Would I lie with a gun to my throat and a bounty big enough that my life didn't matter?"

"Probably not, but you Troy pieces of shit lie a lot."

"Good thing I'm not from Troy."

"...What?"

"I'm not from Troy."

"Bounty said the guy was an ex-Seikishidan, just got here."

Shit...I didn't know that. Oh crap, he might know its me now. Crap, think...THINK! Quicker! Be calm, play it cool...

"I was born in Dresden back when it was 3, moved here when I ws 8 with my family. They're all dead now, but I hang around."

"...You're lying."

"Would I lie with a"

"Yeah, a gun to your neck and shit."

"I'm not Seikishidan. Those Seikishidan bastards can go to hell for all I care."

"Seems like we got a common enemy, kid." Colt snickered. He released the hammer of the gun back to its resting position, removing the pistol from his neck and holstering it again. "Name's Jeremy Colt." he said, extending his hand to shake Darton's. Darton looked at him tentatively, the gun now removed, but the cold steel feeling still lingring on his throat. He hesitantly shook Colt's hand, half expecting to have that gun back out or get punched, but it never came.

"Jeremy Colt, eh?" Darton said, remaining calm and cool, very collected and playing the part. As long as he doesn't know I'm Darton, I'm good.

"What's your name?"

"My name?"

"That's what I asked."

"..." Quint stuttered, looking down at the counter for a moment. Think quick! "Biondello."

"Biondello?"

"Yeah, people call me Bion round here."

"Weird name."

"Colt's not much better, little horsey."

"I've still got my gun, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah...another." Quint said, leaning over the counter now, looking to Zimmerman, who had a slight twinge of disbelief in his eye and a sneer in his throat that was choked to come out by the icy cold glance of Darton. Lucky for Darton that Colt was on his left, because he could feel a slight drip of sweat on his right side, near his ear, out of nervousness and fear, but he had held his composure and self through out the entire ordeal. The cup of coffee slid in front of him, the black inside slightly spilling over the edge. "That's gonna cost you a tip." Zimmerman only grabbed the now empty cup, dipped it into a sudsy pool of water, and started wiping it clean with his cloth in hand.

"What's your beef with the Seikishidan?" Darton finally asked. Colt chuckled, leaning back in his chair, arms above his head.

"My beef? Let's just say they got me killed a couple times, and I got angry."

"I know what you mean." Jeremy looked over at Darton, then Darton remembered instantly. "Well, I would if I were ever part of it. Fuckers always get killed. Thinking sometimes, Troy is the only safe place on Earth."

"Amen to that." Colt said, thinking back on his days, finishing off another bottle of aspirin.

"Got a headache?" Darton observed.

"Always do."

"From the Seikishidan?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Right."

"Listen...I'm gonna go find that bounty. I'll be back here tomorrow, same time. You give me some information on where this Darton is, any new, good information, I'll cut you in for a hundred." Colt said looking over to Darton. "Got me, Bion?"

"Yeah, I'll see what I can dig up for a hundred."

"Good boy." Colt vituperated, standing up, leaving a few bills on the counter and walking out, the familiar jingle of the bell signifying his leace, and the invading sound of the crowd bursting in on the door opening and deafening on its shut.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch" Zimmerman said. Darton leaned over the coutner, gasping for breath and his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

"Holy shit..." he muttered.

"You're out of your league, Darton. Don't fuck this up." He finally resolved composure, looking back up at Zimmerman, his left hand running down the side of his face.

"I just played my way out of that one. He won't find me now, he thinks I'm Bion."

"That won't last for long."

"Then I'll just have to come armed tomorrow in case I need to deal with him."

"Remember, you hurt Bianca..."

"She'll be more hurt if I die, so don't be picking his side." Darton said angrily, throwing the allotted money on the counter and leaving also. Zimmerman collected his pay, grabbing cups and dunking them into the soapy water before counting the money and realizing that Colt had stiffed him.

Zeronova's Notes:
So...here we are at a pretty dramatic chapter. I really liked the whole Darton-Colt scene, where Darton had to be slick to not tell Colt that's who he was and act the part of not being him, a tense moment, not to mention a nod to the name Biondello from the original DG (and Taming of the Shrew). Also, I didn't have any Ky in this chapter, all Colt and Darton. It may feel like a lot all at once, but it had to be put there, in plus, I think it worked out well. Not much happening with Ky anyway, might as well have the side with events take centerfold. Next Monday, you know what you get.