Unwanted

"Hey kid, you back here?" Zib called out down the cave system. A good chunk of the limestone caverns had been mapped out when Atlas first built the speakeasy, but it was still quite possible to get lost in the maze of channels and openings that ran beneath the city. Despite living below ground half the time, Zib found it creepy outside of the familiar areas. What made things worse, especially in this situation, is that sound didn't travel far. Zib was soon out of earshot of the speakeasy, running past the various storage and utility rooms carved into the rock. Rounding a corner, two watery blue eyes peered back at him from the shadows.

"There you are! I was worried you'd run off and get lost."

Rocky didn't respond, instead putting his head down on top of his knees as he huddled in the corner. Zib could hear him sobbing.

"Ah geez…" Zib said as he sat down beside his violinist. "I take it you and your pops don't have the best relationship."

Rocky shook his head. He hadn't disclosed to anyone besides Ethan, Freckle, and Ivy how he was abandoned by his father.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't have much of a father either." Zib explained, pausing to see if that would get a reaction out of the kid. It didn't, so he kept going. "Yeah, he and I never saw eye to eye on things. He said my mother 'spoiled' me. Truth was, I just wanted to make music and see the country. He couldn't understand why I would want to leave the boring grey gloom of Wisconsin. Haven't spoken since."

"I know you're trying to help, Zib. But I don't think our situations are comparable." Rocky said, voice smothered by his clothes.

"Well, I guess I could regale you with days of my youth… or you could tell me wats eatin' you. Clearly there's a problem and it's taken the shape of your old man."

Rocky wiped his eyes. "I wrote letters, called, and did whatever I could to stay in touch. After I got kick—left Aunt Nina's residence to live life on the road I never got a response from him."

"Okay, I might be tired and stoned most of the time, but I do still have two working ears. You were about to say, kicked out, weren't you? You've never told us that."

Rocky wiped his nose. "There's a lot about my past I'd rather not advertise, but yes. There was an… incident. One that necessitated me going to my uncle's house. But I wasn't wanted there, so I ran off. I could have used a father right then, but he only ever saw me a few times after mom died. And now he shows up, just as I was getting my life together? Who does he think he is!?" Rocky got angry toward the end of his story.

"Well, then tell him to get lost." Zib said, shrugging his shoulders. "You don't owe him anything and I'm sure your new family will have your back."

"I should, but… what if he's being genuine? What if he really wants to reconnect? I've always wanted to know my father. There are so many questions, so much we could do…"

"Then let him stay." Zib said, sounding equally unmoved. "As long as he's not trying to kill us all, that is." He said, flicking his cigarette off into the darkness.

"He wouldn't do that, would he? Why would my father want to hurt us?" Rocky said, alarmed at the thought.

"I don't know him, but I'm only speaking in hypotheticals. It's your choice, Rocky. No one else's."

"Just got out of prison, huh?" I asked, circling the table at a slow pace. Mitzi gave me a look that said she didn't approve of my aggressiveness, but my brother right now was vulnerable and I wasn't about to let this possible threat hurt him.

"Yep, five years for petty theft, illegal gambling, and a host of other things."

"And you thought that would make us trust you?" Mitzi said with a voice as dry as August. "Thieves aren't exactly welcome in an establishment like this."

"Thieves aren't welcome anywhere, Miss M." I said, stopping behind her while glaring at our unexpected guest. "You think you can just walk back into your son's life after all those years, make some half-assed apology, and be welcomed with open arms?"

"A father can dream." Ransom replied. I let out a low growl and leaned him close, teeth bared. "You don't have a right to call yourself that! I know all about what Rocky had to go through while you were off picking pockets. But maybe he should count himself lucky to have not been around you."

"And who are you to judge, rum runner?" Ransom spat back, leaning into the seat with a smug look on his face. "That is what you do here, right? Because so far, your interrogation game is weak at best."

"I move liquor, yeah."

"Now I might be showing my age a bit here, but I remember earlier in the decade that moving liquor often required some dark deeds to be done. So I don't think you should be standing there judging me to be a poor role model when you're a killer."

I couldn't think of a response to that so I glared at him harder.

"Ah, so I'm right, aren't I? I've done plenty of crimes, but how many people have you had to bury? And you, Miss M. How many times did you make my son an accomplice in keeping this operation going?"

"I've killed too many to keep track." I growled. "But even so, I haven't abandoned my family. Not even my worthless drunk of a father did that!"

"You would have liked it if he did though, right? I can tell you've got an issue with bad fathers. I'm not proud of my past and I'm not pretending to deserve anything close to forgiveness, but living life on the run was no place for a child, not even a teenager. He was fine with his aunt so I left it at that. You call it abandonment; I call it doing the right thing."

"I guess we'll just have to see what Rocky says, won't we?" I stood up and made eye contact with Zib and Rocky returning. It was clear that he had been shaken up by this development. His eyes were red, yet there was life behind them. And determination.

"Rocky, you had me worried." Ransom said, getting up from the table. "I gotta say, the hospitality here is lacking for a gin jo—"

"You need to leave, Dad." Rocky said, standing up straight.

That once sentence seemed to take some vinegar out of the middle-aged cat. "Rocky, can't we at least—"

"No, dad. Just go. Please."

Ransom sighed deeply, meeting his son's eyes. "Alright. But in case you change your mind, I wrote down my address. No telephone, I'm afraid." Ransom pulled a note out of his pocket and reached it out. Rocky hesitated, but out of some sense of courtesy he took the note and looked it over briefly before putting it in his vest pocket. Ransom smiled before heading for the door. Just before he left, he turned back and looked at his son one last time. "You've got your mother's eyes. I just thought it would be nice to tell you about her."

Rocky remained outwardly steadfast, but the chance to know his mother better? That was something he wanted very much, just like Alena with Viktor. But before he could change his mind, Ransom was out the door and up the stairs. He felt… numb. That is until a hand laid on his shoulder.

"You okay, Rocky?" I asked.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine, Ethan."

"I think you made the right choice. It's not easy to turn away your family no matter how badly they've treated you. But you've got a family here who has your back."

"Thanks" Rocky said before taking a seat in the booth next to Joseph. The little boy didn't quite understand everything that was going on, but he did know that Rocky was… off. So he scooted in close and leaned against Rocky's side. Rocky, for his part, instinctively put an arm around Joseph and rubbed the kid's shoulder, acknowledging what Joseph was trying to do.

Rain poured down outside Ulysses' office as he reviewed files, he had been building up over the last three weeks. He and officer Jim had been scouting around the town, trying to ID as many different mafia associates as possible. As he leaned back to light a cigarette his telephone rang. Picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Evening, Maher" Ransom said on the other end of the line from a booth phone.

"How did first contact go?"

"Well, they were hesitant. The owner and this guy named Ethan didn't trust me much."

"That's too bad. We can find you another avenue in if necessary."

"Don't bother. Give it a day or two, my boy will come around."

Sharpshooter

Frank looked out across the rural Missouri landscape through his Navy binoculars. Weeks of planning lead up to the start of what he hoped would be a critical strike against the Green Ones. This was the route where all the liquor flowed into town for the Green Ones. It was like clockwork. Trucks would meet at a secret landing south of the City, transload the illegal cargo, and ship it into town on the poorly patrolled backroads. Weatherbird stationed his posse in the only possible route in the area. It was a chokepoint in the bottomlands. To their right was a series of bluffs and to their left was the river.

"We've been here for hours. You sure de comin'?" Nico said as he leaned against the large oak tree Frank perched himself in.

"Unless they had car trouble, I'm certain they'll be here soon." Just as he spoke, a dust cloud rose from the trees about two miles out. "Ah, there they are. Nico, have everyone take their position. Wait for my signal to cut the rope."

Three trucks escorted by two carloads of thugs traveled in a tight convoy along the rural road. Each truck filled to the brim with pure alcohol. Once cut and distributed to the different gin joints around the city it would net the gang over $500,000 in profit. Chump change in Chicago but in St. Louis it was quite a haul.

As the trucks came into view, Weatherbird gave one order. "Try not to shoot the cargo! We aim to steal it, not destroy it."

As the lead car came up to the spot, the Green Ones didn't know what kind of hell they were about to walk into. Suddenly, a large tree came down across the road, causing the whole convoy to stop. The rear truck tried to back up, but another tree fell across the road, blocking the vehicles in.

"Let 'em have it!" Frank yelled as he jumped down behind a bush. In an instant, Sera opened up with her BAR supported by another Russo associate with Thompson. The Green Ones in the first car didn't even get a chance to return fire before bullets tore through them and their doors. Before Sera could reload, bullets from the rear car finally returned fire. Nico pulled her down and out of the way before two pistol shots splintered the tree behind her. A third shot grazed the Russo with the submachine gun.

"Dammit!" The first driver yelled as he pushed his passenger riding shotgun in the cab out of the right-hand side. Right as a one of the Russos broke cover to secure the first truck, a blast from the passenger's shotgun through the cab ended the Russo associate right there in the middle of the road. The two other drivers in the second and third trucks tried to make a run for it but were stopped as four Russos broke cover on the river side of the road, gunning them down with pistols and shotguns.

"Sera, Nico, take out that rear car before they can clear the road!" Weatherbird shouted as he grabbed the Thompson and started making controlled bursts of fire at the driver and the passenger. In between bursts, the shotgunner let a load of buckshot fly, clipping another Russo associate in the arm. The second shot caught the tree next to Frank, showering him with splinters. The Green Ones in the rear car held their ground as Sera emptied another magazine of 30-06 ball rounds into the car. Nico had a surprise for them though. Pulling the pin, he tossed a hand grenade behind the car. The explosion was all he needed to close the distance.

Two Green Ones were wounded, another dead from the blast. The last one tried to bring his gun to bear on Sera but all he saw was a grey fist flying at him. Two pistol shots ended the two wounded associates. Finding his feet, the last Green One standing aimed his gun at the boxer standing near him. Nico realized his mistake and, for a moment, thought he was done for. But another burst of fire from Weatherbird dropped the Green One where he stood.

As the smoke cleared, Sera and Nico burst into laughter. "It feels good to fight again!"

"Just like old times, brother o' mine!"

Frank took a moment to breathe. It worked! A victory for the Russos! Or at least it should be. Why did he feel like it was too easy? He noticed that a stray pellet of buckshot found its way through the truck. Looking at the hole, he saw a small flicker of daylight coming through from the other side. Realizing that they might have an issue, Weatherbird opened up the rear doors to the truck. It was empty.

"Shit!" He yelled as one of his associates climbed out of the ditch. "What is it, Frankie!?"

"There's no cargo, they must have known we were waiting for them!"

"What?" Sera asked as a flash of steel at the top of the bluff caught her attention.

Bang A rifle shot echoed out across the bottomlands, dropping one of the Russos like a deer in hunting season.

"Get down, get down!" Weatherbird yelled as he grabbed one of the other associates and slid into the ditch. The bravest of them tried to return fire, putting a cloud of bullets in the general direction of the shot, but he would be lucky to hit the unseen attacker. Another rifle shot brought the cat down, hitting him in the gut. He tried to crawl away but it was useless as a third shot blew away his skull.

"The hell is this, Frank?!" Nico growled as he and Sera crawled their way to cover. A fourth bullet narrowly missed Nico's head as he rolled into the ditch.

"This was a trap. The goods aren't here."

"Got any bright ideas on how to get us out?" One of the associates asked.

"Make for our cars, it's our best chance. Don't let that shooter catch you in the open."

Just as he gave the order, a car rolled up from behind the convoy. Getting out of the cab was John Giannola with two hired guns, all heavily armed.

"Shit, run!" Frank said as he pushed his two remaining associates and the Savoys to get going. Sera had the presence of mind to load a third magazine and dumped it at the new threat. However, the trio of Green Ones were unphased, merely ducking out of the way as bullets whizzed past them. Without a front sight Sera's fire wasn't accurate enough to matter. It did give everyone the chance to make a run for it though.

Up on the bluff, Henry analyzed the situation. He had just picked off two enemies and he was hoping to make it a solid three kills for the day. It was nothing more than target practice for him. Adjusting his rear sight, Henry pivoted his rifle so that he could take advantage of a hole in the trees he knew his quarry would have to cross through. As the first one did so, Henry lined up the shot for where the associate would be and let a bullet fly. The Mauser bullet found its mark, tearing a gaping hole in the lead man as he dropped dead.

"Go, before he can reload!" Frank ordered as his remaining hired guns took their seats. Nico started the car and floored the pedal, tearing up gravel as the narrow tires struggled to find traction. He looked in the driver's mirror and caught a glimpse of the Giannola brother standing on the other side of the tree, lining up for a shot. Nico leaned in as a bullet took out the mirror, sending glass across the cab. Nico roared with laughter, feeling alive for the first time in months. He made quick time with the car, using his knowledge of the backroads to weave an impossible trail to follow. After nearly twenty minutes, Nico backed the car into a little hollow he liked to use back in the day, turning off the engine and leaning back in the seat.

"I thought you said this would be easy?" He said while Sera lit a cigarette.

"They knew we were there. Someone must have squawked!" Frank growled.

His surviving associate, spitting out some blood from catching a splinter in the lip, offered a suggestion. "Perhaps we should go see Santino? We can't take losses like that again."

"Agreed." Frank said. "Well Cajuns, time for a little reunion, wouldn't you say?"

Both the Savoy's smiled devilishly.

Alliances

Mordecai was reviewing paperwork when the phone rang, breaking him out of his intense studying session. "Hello?" He said, picking up the receiver.

"Santino needs you at the office, Heller. The Russos are ready to negotiate."

"About time. Inform Santino that I will be there shortly."

Mordecai finished reviewing the file he was holding. It was just one of a long list of suspects, all of whom were in St. Louis around the time of Atlas' death. He regretted not being able to get someone else to assist in his ongoing goal. Ethan might not be a detective but he at least had some intelligence. Shaking his head in frustration, Mordecai carefully gathered the contents of the file and put it back in a locked drawer that contained every "Tony" in the mafia.

Why was Atlas murdered? At least Mordecai had that question answered. Really, it was simple enough that he should have seen it months ago. He recalled a meeting between Atlas and some of the bosses. He never got the details of that meeting, but in hindsight it was clear that the bosses that came from out of town wanted to do business with Atlas. When he declined, he put himself automatically on their list for elimination. But there were a lot of bosses in the mafia, half of them found themselves either in prison or an early grave. Those still walking around all had the same motive and the means, so now the challenge would be to find out just how far up the chain of command this order came from. All Mordecai knew for now was that it came from somewhere in Capone's sphere of influence.

That was enough thinking for now. Leaving his office behind, Mordecai made his way to Santino's hideout. It was located in the back of a fake business. It had records and paid taxes, but no actual products ever went in or out. Knocking in a particular pattern, the door opened and Mordecai stepped inside, taking off his hat in the process. Despite the sleepy-looking exterior, inside the compound the place was humming with activity. Mordecai could appreciate the organization skills of his new Italian colleagues. They didn't just smash things up for fun, everything was recorded and noted.

In the back office, Santino was pouring over maps like a general looking over a battlefield. This was Santino at his best. He wasn't some petty crook; he was a crime boss with ambitions that stretched across St. Louis. He did take a moment to look up from his desk as Aiello's representative walked in. "Welcome, Mordecai. I trust you have some good news regarding your recruiting efforts?"

"I did have success in bringing two smaller operations into the fold, but they won't be of much help. One is located north of the city near Sable's new quarry. The other is in Illinois."

"Well, we'll just have to take what we can get, won't we? I just got word that the Russos are ready to talk."

"So my offer was accepted after all?" Mordecai asked.

"It would appear so. Job well done, Heller."

A clerk stuck his head inside the office. "Sir, the Russos are here."

"Send them in, Jerry. Alright people, let's make a good impression. Russos have both the manpower and connections to win against the Green Ones."

Mordecai took his usual spot back in the shadows as Weatherbird entered. The plain-looking cat didn't appear too dangerous, but it was the two felines who followed him in that shook Mordecai out of his cold demeanor.

"You miss us, cher?" Serafine said with a smile.