Edited version of this chapter is edited.

Chapter 2- Gathering Storm

Padraic Lawrence O'Malley, alias John Kelly (Kelly, quite by coincidence, was his mother's maiden name), walked back from McSweeney's with his partner, Will Kirkland, alias Edward Teach.

The two young men, along with about 10% of the city's population, worked for Padraic's uncle Seán O'Malley, the Irish mob's Council Chairman, although with English, Scots, and Welsh families holding 3 of the 9 Council seats, it wasn't an exclusively Irish organization anymore. The snatch and delivery of David Gilman had been ordered by him in order to make sure that the man knew how things stood in O'Malley's city. The last commissioner had chosen to let the Organization do its business in peace, but Padraic had the feeling that this Gilman wouldn't be so accommodating.

"Ye think there's gonna be a scrap, Ed?" Padraic asked. Organization rules said that no real names were to be used while on Organization business, and Seán O'Malley's rules were broken at the breaker's peril.

"What'd McDonnell say the terms were?" Will asked.

"Mmm… Oi talked ter Davitt before we left… He said Gilman has a week ter decoide whit his role'll be in the city. If he doesn' let us be, it'll mean war."

"Between us and the city?"

"Aye. The Russians'll come down on our soide, though; Davitt an' Braginski have an… accord o' sorts."

"Means the Chinese and Americans will go against us, if shit starts going down…"

"Davitt's sent Drake an' O'Hanlon ter the Germans, an' O'Connor an' South ter the Italians ter try an' keep 'em out'f anythin'," Padraic said.

"Won't do any good; Bielschmidt figures we're too close with the Russians," Will said thoughtfully. "If anything, they'll go against us, and we'll be stuck with Vargas' men."

"An' then God have mercy on our souls."

Will laughed and nodded, then looked up at the building at which they had arrived- Headquarters. "Anyway, see you around. Tell your brother to turn in that report by Friday, or Davitt'll have all our hides."

"Aye. Slán, Ed." Padraic left his partner and went up to his office, sitting down heavily in his desk chair. His cat, Tom Cloney, was sitting on Padraic's keyboard, staring intently at him.

"Hey there, little guy," Padraic said, scratching Tom's ears. "Ye miss me whoile Oi was out?" The cat purred and butted into his hand. "Aye, Oi figured ye would, mo chara," the Irishman said, smiling softly. "Yer a loyal one."

"Hey, Padraic," said a voice Padraic recognized as his cousin, Edward MacLeod. He looked up from the cat, and saw Ed was standing in the doorway.

"Hey. Whit d'ye need, Eddie?"

"Ah dinnae need anythin'. Yer wanted in the C.C."

"Command wants me? 'M on me way," Padraic said, standing and walking out of the office.

o.o.o.o

"We've an intercepted police message from Commissioner Gilman to the local news stations," Harrison Powell was saying. The Welshman was probably the most level-headed of the nine Council members, and as such, he was normally the one to give briefings.

Dainial Lawrence O'Malley was listening to the briefing from where he was sitting on a desk, his long spindly limbs drawn up around him in a way reminiscent of a praying mantis.

"The message," Powell went on, quelling faint murmurs from the younger Organization memebers, "calls a press conference tomorrow at noon to unveil a, quote, 'radical new solution to the city's crime problem,' unquote. It is very likely that he means to publicly reject the ultimatum the Organization sent him."

"If that happens," Ferris O'Malley said,, stepping up beside Powell and leaning heavily on his cane, "we'll be ready. Moichael!"

Dainial, looked up, with none of the hesitation some of the others had at responding to a code name. "Aye, Harvey?"

"The Council's named ye Armorer. As such, ye'll be in charge'f the weapons an' such. Ye kin git the key at the end o' the briefin'."

"Aye, Captain."

"So," Ferris went on, "if't comes to blows, we will be at war, an' we'll foight accordin'ly. Tha' means hit-an'-run, loightnin' stroikes on enemy positions, an' there will loikely be fatalities."

There were shocked murmurs, and Dainial's cousin Padraic said, "Harvey, the accord between us an' the Russians'll hould, won' it?"

"Aye," Ferris said, "it will. We've worked together enough toimes tha' Braginski won' betray us."

"Any other questions?" Powell asked.

There were none, so as people filtered out of the Command Center, Dainial walked up to Powell. "Oi need the Armory key."

The Welshman handed it to him. "Here you go, Michael."

"Go raibth maith agat." Dainial took the key and walked back to his office, where he grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. He then went back to the Armory, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

He emerged shortly, walking over to the nearest desk and glaring down at its occupant. She was one of Arthur Kirkland's daughters, he saw. He thought her name was Anna or something. "Who the fuck," Dainial asked angrily, "has been maintainin' the Armory this whole goddam toime?"

She looked up at him with a 'how the Hell would I know' look on her face.

"How the Hell would I know?"

He made a noise of disgust. "Yer fuckin' useless. C'mon, Oi'm appropriatin' yer toime." He grabbed her shoulder and stalked back to the Armory, showing her how the guns were stacked in careless piles, boxes of ammunition were strewn about on the floor, and how the lights had long since gone out.

"No maintenance," he spat. "C'mon, we're gonna git this organoized- cancel any plans ye had fer the foreseeable future."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Joy."

Credit for Anne Kirkland (Durham City) and Will Kirkland (Hartlepool) goes to greygreenwolf.