-Canaries-
Connor and Murphy decided at they needed to hit up their contacts. The hole left after the Yakavetta thing meant that there were new players on the scene and without Rocco they boys had had to find new ways of securing information.
Their current informant was an old Russian by the name of Yakob. He worked in a bar, running illegal games of poker for the mob, and generally doing all the bookkeeping for the Russian syndicates. He wasn't attached to any one family, and his disdain for the lifestyle made him a prime candidate to help the brothers. Yakob was former KGB, and he looked like he could snap a man in half with just his left arm. His right arm was nothing to take lightly, either. If he'd been attached to a specific syndicate, he'd have been a first-class enforcer. Now, however, he was just a wealth of information.
Connor knocked on the back door.
"I have been waiting for you." Yakob drawled in English, his words heavy with this accent. "Come in. Hurry up."
Connor and Murphy slipped into the back room of the smoky bar. A familiar place for them. It was well past closing time and no one seemed to be hanging around.
"Things are happening that are beyond my control." Yakob explained as he led the brothers back into his bar. He pulled down a bottle of vodka and set it on the counter, followed by a bottle of whiskey. He then poured each of the brothers a glass of beer and set three shot glasses on the counter.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Murphy crooned, picking up the offered beer and ignoring the harder liquor. He knew that he needed to be sober and thinking clearly if they were going to get their writer back before too much harm had befallen her. He wouldn't stop Connor from having a few drinks, however, should his twin feel the need to take the edge off of his nervousness.
Connor simply lit a cigarette, scowling and waiting to hear what Yakob had to say.
"I heard about the writer already." Yakob said slowly. "She works for the police, ya?"
Connor narrowed his eyes and Murphy pushed the other beer towards his brother, telling him silently with the action to calm down.
"Is she a friend of yours?" Yakob asked further.
"Aye." Murphy agreed with a nod, watching Connor carefully. His brother wasn't one to fly off the handle. Usually, Connor fumed and plotted and unleashed his rage in a sadistic and highly inappropriate manner. Murphy was the one with the shorter temper of the two of them, but Blaise had never been in this much danger before. Adding the seriousness (and, Murphy was loath to admit, intimacy) of her relationship with Connor to the mix made for even more dangerous decisions on Connor's part, and Murphy was worried about what his brother might do if anything worse happened to her.
"What do you know, Yakob?" Connor asked.
Murphy nearly choked on his drink, the pain and desperation in Connor's voice was uncharacteristic of the twin and it broke Murphy's heart.
Yakob stared for a long moment at Connor, understanding and sympathy behind his carefully blank mask of neutrality.
"Not much." Yakob admitted. "It was not the Russians, though, I can assure you of that much." He explained slowly. "The families are worried that there has been much immigration into the city in the wake of your work."
"Sorry to ruin the family reunions." Murphy muttered bitterly.
Yakob smiled at the joke before continuing. "Many of the families are worried that the writer will turn her sights onto them next. There has been much talk about what should be done about her, but the bosses say that she is not to be touched. She is not an enemy, and that if everyone is more careful, there will be nothing for her to work with. The fact that she is able to find the holes and pull them apart means that we are growing sloppy and complacent in our ways. She only does what she is asked to do, and she uses our own weaknesses against us."
"So if it wasn't the Russians?" Connor asked.
"I am getting to that." Yakob assured him. "Believe me, your friend is is in no danger from my families. She would, in fact, be more than welcome to come and share a table with many of the men who drink in here."
Murphy nudged his brother, a gesture of reassurance. Blaise was smart and respected, even by those who would consider her an enemy. She'd managed to pull off something that the brothers had otherwise been unable to do.
"We think that you are facing a new problem." Yakob said solemnly. "There are new families moving in. Not Italians, not Russians."
"Yakuza?" Connor asked. "Triad?"
Yakob shook his head. "No, they do not worry themselves with the territory here. The few who try are run out by the Yakavettas or their other families. You're dealing with a new threat, my friends." He explained, watching Connor carefully. "The lure of the gun-running that the IRA has had such a stranglehold on has become very sought-after. The fertile grounds here make for an alluring target, and many new families are moving to America to try their luck."
"Who?" Connor asked flatly.
"We believe that the Slovaks are now moving in against us." Yakob said finally. "And that the writer has become a target for information."
Connor growled.
"But she doesn't know anything." Murphy pointed out. "She puts things together logically and shows people how to work out their own cases andd arguments with the evidence she pulls from thin air!"
"She shouldn't be a target." Connor agreed. "And how the fuck do they know she's involved with the cops anyway? It's no' like she's out there flashing her smile on camera with th' DA or anything!"
A moment passed and Yakob looked away from the brothers, sheepishly.
Connor and Murphy exchanged looks.
"Motherfucker." Connor growled.
Murphy shook his head. "Dirty cops?" He asked incredulously.
"Please, Yakob, you have t' tell us who." Connor begged.
Yakob frowned. "He is a police officer named Chaney."
A moment passed while the brothers tried to place the name, and why it was so significant.
"He's one a' Duffy's friends." Murphy said quietly, running a hand through his hair. "Shit."
Connor was already on his way out by the time Murphy had figured out the significance of the name.