A/N – Congrats to Razorsmile for guessing the nature of one of our heroes!

I'm actually surprised at how many people are having trouble with the other two. Don't worry, though: the players didn't guess what one of them was until the 20th week or so.

Previously on Ivory Tower:

At the door, however, two pairs of dry eyes took turns looking out into the alley. Clark and Kenta heard the coming of many footsteps, and Clark's experienced ears caught the sound of something wooden being dropped followed by muffled cursing. He motioned toward Anthony, who paused in the middle of fixing a drink, reached down behind the counter and held something above his head for all to see.

The sharp rapping of wood on metal filled the bar as the words "Open up! This is a raid!" echoed throughout the speakeasy.

Ivory Tower

Chapter 2: A Meeting of Minds

The heavy door opened slowly, despite how many cops were pushing on it. One burly detective tried to ram through the opening, only to rebound off of Kenta. The shorter man snorted softly, and then stepped aside to allow the flow of police to continue into the Tower. A full dozen of New York's Finest prowled throughout the room, searching each table and the bar beyond for any and all alcohol. Many of them slowed their search when Delilah stepped gracefully down from the stage, drawing appreciative glances from every male in the room.

They finished their search just as the detective from before stepped in through the front door, red-faced and furious, brushing off his coat as he walked. His eyes scanned the entire club in seconds before holding on the club's owner. One of his subordinates hustled up to him.

"Inspector Duhan! There is no alcohol on the premises: they're all drinking milk!" As one, the Ivory Tower's clientele turned to the detective and lifted their white glasses to him.

*Flashback*

At the bar, Anthony saw Clark's signal at the door and felt a moment of dread. He stopped everything to reach beneath the bar and pull out a sign with the word "Raid!" printed in large letters. He held it up for a full five seconds before, dropping the sign, his hands became a blur of motion, pushing hidden buttons and moving certain levers just so.

The wall of bottles behind him swung around quickly to reveal an identical set of shelves stocked with bottles of milk. One of his frantic motions opened up a hidden drain, into which all alcohol on the bar was poured. Long-time customers of the bar lifted the silver disc centered on each table, revealing a similar drain for their forbidden beverages. The waitresses hurried around the room with bottles of milk, filling each glass with the liquid before bustling off.

At the door, Kenta watched as Clark pulled one of the empty coat-rack pins out of the wall. Immediately, a mechanism on the hinges clamped down, causing the already-substantial door to feel as though it weighed a full ton.

As it was still early in the evening, there were no drink-sodden bodies to hide in the hidden compartments within the walls.

As the door opened slowly, every eye turned toward the young man in the corner many knew to be part of the Bureau of Investigations. He looked up from his milk, glancing around the room before giving a slow, deliberate wink and holding a finger to his milk-mustachioed lips.

*End Flashback*

Delilah watched as the Inspector bore down on her, eyes blazing. She merely lifted a statuesque eyebrow when he stepped uncomfortably close, face mere inches from her own. A low growl filled the air between them as he snapped out, "Alright. I'm only going to ask this once before I start tearing this place apart. Where's the booze?"

Delilah shrugged, shifting her posture to rest a hand on her hip. "I run a clean establishment here, Mr. Duhan," she said. "You'll find nothing illegal here. Just a few friends getting together and enjoying some mil-"

He cut her off, "Milk. Not likely. Your story's almost as likely as the BI actually doing something useful in this city." He growled at her again, looming large. "Tell me where the booze is, or you and me are taking a trip downtown."

"I," Delilah said primly. "The proper grammar would be 'you and I are taking a trip downtown', which I have no intention of doing no matter how you say it." She met his glaring brown eyes with her own gray orbs. "I think you have done enough for one visit, Mr. Duhan. Would you kindly get out of my establishment so we may continue to enjoy our evening?"

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready! Like when I've found where you're hiding the booze so I can lock you up for good!" Duhan bellowed.

"D-d-don't you yell at Ms. J-J-James like that!" Duhan appeared startled, looking around for the source of the stuttering, but still pugnacious voice. When he finally looked down, he saw a spindly, brown-haired young man glaring at him, trying to be intimidating.

Delilah mentally sighed. This was Carl Jeffs, a regular customer who constantly showered her with compliments and gifts. She had joined him for one petting-party, and ever since he was hardly ever absent from her club. And right now, he was sticking up for his 'lady' in a situation where she neither wanted it, nor needed it.

Inspector Duhan's face twisted in fury, and he slammed his fist down on the table in front of the stick-figure. "Listen, you little-" he stopped himself as he heard a chorus of voices behind him.

"Cheers!"

Flynn lowered his face into his hands, feeling a headache forming already. The handsome investigator had watched as Kenta sat down with Clark, pulling a bottle and several small, shallow cups from one of his pockets. Several of the officers nearby immediately swooped in to identify what was in the bottle.

Flynn had watched, puzzled, as the Asian man pulled out a worn piece of paper, which he handed to the officers. Words were exchanged in low voices as Kenta filled six of the low cups, passing one to each man at the table and leaving the last in the middle.

The officers shrugged, and they drank along with Clark and Kenta. Kenta downed his with no visible effect, while two of the officers fought to keep the fiery liquid down. Oddest of all was the effect on Clark and the third officer: both of them suddenly sat straighter, and Flynn could see even from where he sat that their eyes had brightened and smiles adorned their faces. Clark even began rolling the shoulder that had taken a bullet in the Great War, wonder dawning on his face.

The Inspector barreled toward the table like a train down a steep mountain, barely-contained rage evident in his every step. "What do you chuckle-heads think you're doing? This is an investigation, damn you!" He paused to sniff the air, eyes narrowing in recognition as he turned toward Delilah, who had followed him.

"I thought you said there was no alcohol here, Ms. James? So what exactly is this?" he shouted triumphantly, grabbing the bottle and brandishing it in her face.

Delilah opened her mouth to denounce her involvement, but was cut off when Kenta said, in a low voice, "That is the sakē I brought with me to this country, baka. I still have the receipt from when I passed through Immigration."

The grinning officer passed the worn paper to his superior, who barely glanced at it before barking, "This date can't be correct, Chinaman. I'd say that this is a forgery." He moved to dash the porcelain bottle on the ground.

Flynn, looking on, swore that he saw Kenta's eyes gleam beneath his hat as the short man's right hand snapped out, catching the bottle almost as it left the Inspector's hand. Duhan looked down at Kenta, growling loudly. The light above that table began to flicker, and Flynn felt something large and angry brush up against his senses.

Moving quickly, Flynn stood and stepped to the Inspector's side, snatching the receipt from his hands. Looking for something, anything, to defuse the situation, his gaze flickered first at the date: January 1, 1875. That meant the 'sakē' was made before Prohibition, and thereby legal to own and drink in a private environment. It would also make the immigrant at least 50 years old…but that was a problem for another time.

As Inspector Duhan turned to face him, Flynn examined the list of belongings. Clothing, heirlooms, antiquities: his eyes scanned down the list as Duhan opened his mouth to begin shouting about interfering with an ongoing investigation.

One bottle of sakē, laid down in the year 1425. Currently valued at…

Flynn's eyes widened, and he turned the paper toward the Inspector, once again interrupting him in mid-diatribe. He simply pointed at the number, and Duhan's eyes began to widen as the line of zeroes continued.

Turning in a circle to glance around the room, the Inspector identified not less than five millionaires, seven city politicians including the mayor and the police chief, three famous authors, and Senator Robert Wagner, all of whom was glowering at him and jotting his name on napkins.

The Inspector turned slowly, deflating like a hot-air balloon slowly falling to earth. He motioned to his men, and they began filing out of the club, tipping their hats to Delilah as they passed. The last to go were the Inspector, who cast one last hate-filled look at Delilah, Kenta, and Flynn before leaving, and the still-grinning officer who thanked Kenta on his way out the door. Slowly, the customers finished their milk and, in near silence, began ordering drinks again as Clark closed the door.

"What the Hell was that? With how well Mr. Rothstein seems to think of you, I had at least expected some intelligence. Maybe a sense of timing? Propriety? Self-preservation?"

Delilah was not pleased, and had no trouble letting Kenta know this. She had requested he join her in the back-office, and then closed the door to begin verbally ripping into him. Flynn had been invited as well, and sat wide-eyed as Delilah described in great detail just how much of an idiot Kenta had been.

Kenta weathered the abuse, nodding occasionally with a neutral expression. He'd taken off the hat after stepping into the office, and it seemed that his face aged further with every word from the beautiful redhead. When she finally stopped for breath, he raised his black eyes to match her silver ones and spoke for the first time since entering.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. James. The little wolf needed to learn some humility." Kenta's voice was, again, calm and emotionless as he attempted to calm the redhead.

Flynn chuckled. "Well, mortification counts, I suppose. Odds are rather good that after that little display, the Inspector will be looking for a new job tomorrow. So, all's well that ends well?" He looked hopefully to the scowling beauty behind her desk.

Delilah sighed and stood. "You have my thanks for your timely intervention, Mr. O'Connell. You, at least, acted quickly and reasonably." She smiled briefly at Flynn, who felt a similarly brief, but potent, rush of emotions.

Delilah paused, realizing something. "We've never been formally introduced, have we, Mr. O'Connell?" When he shook his head in a negative, she laughed warmly, her previous anger gone.

"Well, you know my name is Delilah James, and you know that I run the Ivory Tower. This man here," she glanced briefly at the shortest person in the room, "is Kenta. He is working for me on certain…issues."

The old albino nodded to Flynn from his chair. "Mr. O'Connell. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Flynn said, nodding amiably. His eyes flickered toward Kenta, studying the wrinkles and spots before moving on to Delilah's much-prettier visage. His heart leapt in his chest as he almost met her gaze before settling somewhere below her neckline.

Delilah merely smiled as she noticed the attention Flynn was paying her. Then her lips shifted into a small frown, and her entire face seemed to fall. "My club was in such danger tonight, Mr. O'Connell. I truly appreciate your assistance with the Inspector. Why, it almost took my breath away when you stood up to him like that…" she reached out her right hand to meet his upon her desk. There was a moment where both the glint in her own silver orbs and the surprise in his brown ones was plain for the world to see.

Flynn jerked back, feelings of lust and impropriety welling up inside of him. If that was what a mere touch could do, imagine- 'No, not a line of thought ye want to be following, O'Connell. Ye should keep yer head on yer shoulders and not in your pants.'

"Pardon me, Ms. James, a slight shock took me." Delilah merely nodded, eyes fixed on Flynn's face.

"All is forgiven, Mr. O'Connell. Perhaps we should return to the club and try to liven up the party?" She looked from the shaken Flynn to the silent Kenta. When Flynn nodded and Kenta coughed, she stood and began ushering them out of her office and back into the club.

Flynn walked back into the club and noticed that his table had been occupied by some new patrons. Sighing, he turned to look around the room, eyes lighting on the front door, which had just been opened by Clark.

Four figures in gray trench-coats and wide fedoras were just stepping in. The one in the lead paused as Kenta walked by on the way to his post at the front door, and seemed to be sniffing the air. Conversations slowed as patrons turned to observe these new arrivals and their strange behavior.

The leader turned and quickly motioned the others out, almost shoving them back out the door in his hurry. Delilah, who had just emerged from her office, quirked an eyebrow. She walked to Flynn, who was still looking for an empty table, and began guiding him toward the front door.

"Did you notice anything odd about those men?" she asked, hand on the elbow of his shirt.

Flynn nodded. "Their stances weren't normal, as if they were hiding something bulky beneath their coats. The mud on their shoes, which they neglected to wipe, indicates that they had come here from a damp location, probably a port or sewer." At her confused look, he explained. "It hasn't rained in two days, and most of the city has dried out by now. Mud doesn't just spawn on the sidewalk, you know." He chuckled, but it had none of the lighthearted cheer he was known for.

Kenta appeared at his shoulder. "Good eyes, Mr. O'Connell. And a keen mind behind them. You are an excellent investigator."

Flynn jumped. 'How the bloody hell did he manage to sneak up on me? Me?'

On his other side, the red-headed proprietor glanced briefly around the club before releasing Flynn's elbow and walking briskly over to Anthony at the bar. "Take charge while I'm gone. I should be back before closing." Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but found himself speaking to empty air.

Back with Flynn, the man had finally gathered his wits enough to ask, "And did you notice anything off about the four of them,Kenta?"

The diminutive man nodded twice. "I smelled steel and gunpowder on them. A lot of both." His face briefly twisted into a sneer. "Guns. Large ones. Not something you bring to a place such as this."

"Then we're agreed," Delilah's smooth voice broke in. She sauntered back up to them, motioning for Clark to open the door. "We follow them and find out what they planned to do with those large guns. Find out who they work for. Find out why they left so quickly." Her eyes tracked to Kenta, examining him again in a new light.

"Hai," was Kenta's only response as he stepped out into the alley, shrugging his shoulders with a faint clinking noise. Flynn shrugged and followed, thinking to himself, 'Well, this surely beats a day at the office. Back to beat-work for me!'

Delilah stepped out into the cold night of New York, following Kenta and Flynn as the rounded the nearest corner onto the street. Flynn paused for a moment, reaching down to touch the sidewalk. Kenta's eyes swept the entire street, taking in the minimal night-life. Delilah stood nearby and rubbed her arms for warmth. She cursed under her breath, knowing she should have brought a coat. Just as she was about to tell them to wait while she fetched one, Flynn stood suddenly.

"This way," he shouted, sprinting toward a nearby alley. Kenta followed without pause, leading Delilah to do the same. 'Why am I following them?' she thought. 'Isn't this what minions are for?'

Kenta raced past Flynn into the mouth of the alley. Delilah watched his obsidian eyes widen as he walked into a wall of flying lead.

A/N 2

Sorry about the wait, folks. I've been deathly ill for almost a week now, and family concerns have been taking up most of my non-school time. Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait. If not, I'll be publishing the next chapter in a day or two.

Inspector Duhan was an incredibly unimportant character in our game. He showed up, was verbally beaten down by Delilah, and was then sent back to the station with his tail between his legs. What do you, the audience, think? Should he become a minor villain, evolve into a major villain, or simply vanish?

Guesses on the character 'classes' are still being accepted. One of them is easy, one of them is moderately hard, and the last one is really tough.

Feel free to shoot me any questions or comments you may have. If there are enough, I'll post both them and their answers in the next two updates.

Vale te!