The Broken Soldier
"So what was he like?" Alena asked earnestly around the dining room table. It was almost eleven in the morning and the cool air was giving way to a modest mid-day warm breeze across the recently harvested wheat fields.
Elsa set her cup down and looked between the two young ladies on the other side of the table. Inhaling deeply, she got started. "Viktor was… well, he was perhaps the fiercest man I ever knew."
"What do you mean?"
"He had a fire inside him that made Viktor a force of nature. There's a reason Atlas May got him out of jail."
"Jail?" Alena asked. "No one had mentioned that before."
"Oh yes, your father had been in and out of prison. He was sentenced for injuring police officers during a labor riot. He lost his eye just fighting for the right to work and provide for his family."
"So that's the connection. I knew someone had taken his eye in a fight, but not why."
"I could have said something but didn't want to spoil the visit." Ivy said, recalling that night where Alena told her all kinds of stories.
"Anyway, I'm sure you know your father was in the war. Ethan could tell you more about his unit, but Viktor was in the 79th Division. They earned the name "Cross of Lorraine" for defending that French town. He was a volunteer, one of the first to willingly go fight against his own countrymen."
"Wow."
"But his courage came at a price. Viktor… saw things. Horrid things that were even worse than what I or Bobby went through. For a while he was recovering out here in Defiance. I like to think the quiet helped him out, but he'd often say that a piece of him was still back in France. His mind wouldn't let him forget what he saw."
Alena found herself starting to understand her father's demeanor. "I'm glad to know he had good friends to help him."
"I wish we could have helped more, but the long and short of it is that your father thought he was a monster. A killing machine, a feline weapon of war." Elsa said, shaking her head. "I don't think he was ever able to shake that feeling. I can only guess, but I'd say that's possibly why he didn't write to you much. He thought you'd be better off with your mother, safely away from St. Louis. That's something I agree with, by the way."
"Is it really that dangerous here?" Alena asked, worrying Ivy who hoped to not scare her friend.
"It is. We're generally safe out here, but in the city itself you must be careful. I'm sure more than a few of those thugs Ethan has been dealing with over the summer would love to take revenge on Viktor by harming his daughter. I would especially be careful of Mordecai Heller."
Ivy almost spit out her drink, remembering vividly the night Mordecai found his way into the speakeasy.
"Mordecai Heller? H-he was there, in the speakeasy. Wanted to speak to Ethan and Mitzi."
"Oh? I thought Ethan would have killed him if he got the chance."
"Eh… not exactly." Ivy tried to clarify. "It turns out Mordecai was looking for Atlas' killer the whole time. Ethan said they had a "deal" worked out."
"You two should keep your distance from anything related to the Lackadaisy, understand? Mordecai… he was the one who crippled Viktor. It was a parting gift for his associate before defecting to Marigold."
"Wait, what?" Alena tried to get clarification. "Did you know this, Ivy?"
"Yes…" She said.
"Why wouldn't you tell me this?"
"I didn't want you to worry!"
Alena stood up from the table and shook her head. "Thank you for telling me about my father, Mrs. Bastion. I think we should go, Ivy." Alena then walked out of the house and up to the barn.
Meanwhile, Freckle was finishing his camouflage job using straw bales to hide the half-a-truck full of contraband liquor from prying eyes. Bobby, taking care not to hurt his back, was helping by tossing bales down to Freckle. "So, what happened to quitting?"
"Oh, this? One time deal."
"Careful with the one-time deals, lad. They have a way of becoming permanent."
"Ethan will just have to find someone else to run the liquor. But at least this is simple enough. Just don't get caught, right?"
"True. We'll all be fine with that attitude."
Just then the two ladies came in through the front door of the barn. "I can't believe you'd keep that from me, Ivy!"
"Hey, I was just trying to keep you from feeling worried."
"I'm not talking about the dangers, Riley. I know what you do for a living, so while I'm surprised at how dangerous things are, it's not exactly a shock. But keeping information about Mordecai and Viktor from me? Why?"
"I… I didn't want you to know how much he suffered. Mordecai broke more than just his kneecaps; he broke the man's trust. I didn't want you to think of how miserable he was despite his friends."
Alena shook her head. "Well, I guess I'm starting to get a picture of what my father's life was like."
"Ah, so my wife has been retelling those stories again. They sure aren't pleasant." Bobby said as he climbed down.
"How much pain was he in?" Alena asked.
"A lot. But he was a soldier, just like Ethan and me and millions of others. He did what we were taught to do, keep marching and hope for better days."
"But that's… so sad." Alena said, sitting on the tailgate of the farm truck while Bobby wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Aye, that it is. I'm sorry if while telling you about all of your father's good qualities that we glossed over the more depressing bits. He truly was a good man. But the life he lived was hard, and it turned him into a hard man."
"Look, Alena. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I just didn't want you to think that Viktor's life here was terrible." Ivy said, holding onto Freckle as he stood there without knowing what to do.
"I want the truth, Ivy. I'm not scared of Mordecai Heller. Ethan and the boys aren't about to invite him back there. But don't leave stuff about my father out… please. I want to know him, all of him. He's my father, I want to know who he was."
"Okay. No more omitting information, got it."
"Now, with that settled, I believe Calvin and I have this week's load ready to travel. So unless you want to be subjected to Abelard's after-mass ramblings, I suggest making tracks toward St. Louis."
"Thank you, Mr. Bastion!" Alena said. "We should probably say goodbye to Elsa properly before we leave though."
Freckle sighed, wanting to get on the road. "I'll bring the truck around."
Moonshiners?
"So it's settled then. I'll get Rocky and Freckle to help me with setting up a still operation in that old dugout. We'll need some copper line, a few large buckets, and as many old bottles as we can manage." I said, looking over the notes I had been writing down while drinking from a tall glass of some concoction Horatio had been practicing. Riley had her head in my lap, attempting to read despite our conversation.
"The bottles shouldn't be an issue…" Mitzi said, gesturing down the cave. "We use one of the holes for disposing of items which might draw attention."
"Good. I suppose I can set Rocky to work at learning how to make the stuff."
"Rocky? I surely thought you'd be a better fit for the task." Mitzi said, tilting her head in confusion.
"He's better-read than me, Miss M. Besides, he's got some additional responsibilities now." I said, pointing my thumb over at the stage. Mitzi leaned around me and remembered that we now had an additional mouth to feed. Rocky was currently showing off his prized violin to Joseph. Letting the child pluck one of the strings, it's sound reverberated around the cavern. The boy looked up in wonder at the acoustics of the speakeasy. Rocky too was in awe. Music never grew old for him. But in Rocky's excitement he lost control of the violin and ended up crashing off the stage while trying to save it, landing next to Joseph in a heap, who took an even greater delight at his new friend's clumsiness.
"You're letting Rocky care for the boy? I thought the plan was to find him someone safe to look after him?"
"Well, after arguing with him for a week we came to a compromise of sorts. Joseph stays with us until we can find the right family. Besides, it's not like the goofball is going to hurt the kid. That's more than I can say for a lot of our alternatives." I said while Rocky tickled the boy in retaliation for laughing at him. "He's incredibly protective of Joseph. I'm sure Rocky would rather get himself killed than let a single hair be harmed on the boy's head."
Mitzi wasn't convinced. "I do hope the right family comes along soon. For as long as I've known that boy, Rocky hasn't exactly earned a reputation of caution and stability."
"True, but I don't see a lot of takers. Maybe I should ask Wick if he'd like a son?" I said just loud enough for Wick to spit out his drink at the bar. "What about a son?! Surely, I'd remember if I had—"
"It's a joke, Mr. Sable! But not really. Wealthy Barons of Industry adopting young orphans is all the rage these days. I heard your business friend recently did just that. Edmund Church, if I remember correctly. It was in the paper last month."
Wick, realizing what I was suggesting, moved from the bar to the lounge chair around the table with a drink in his hand. "You want me to adopt Joseph? I couldn't possibly, he deserves someone with the time to give him attention."
"In jest, Wick. In jest." Mitzi said while patting his hand while I smiled and winked at him. She looked up at the clock and realized that the place would be getting customers soon. "I had better go make sure Zib is conscious enough to lead the band. I'll be back soon."
As she walked off, Wick slumped back in the lounge chair. "How do I win her, Ethan?"
"What?" I asked.
"Mitzi. She told me some time ago that she wasn't ready to completely move on from Atlas. Don't get me wrong, I respect her dedication to the man she loved. But I'm thirty-two and haven't so much as gone on a date in a decade!"
"Oh God. Wick, why ask me?" I said, exasperated. "I'm not exactly an expert on dating myself. Just ask Isabella."
"You're right. Apologies, I shouldn't let my own issues fill your ears." He said, polishing off his tumbler glass.
I could smell a bit of alcohol on his breath already. "You may want to pace yourself if you're fixing to get drunk. It's 5:30 and you're already asking about women."
"You think it might be the drinking? I could cut back."
"What, for Mitzi? I've seen Mitzi outdrink the band. Zib can barely keep up and I don't think he's been sober for more than three hours all summer."
"Then what must I do?" He asked out of desperation.
"You're trying to catch the wind, Mr. Sable."
"What does that mean?"
"It's a saying the old Scottish folk had in Butte. You can't catch or tame the wind; you can only appreciate what it brings."
Wick shook his head, disappointed. "It shouldn't bother me. But I've never met a woman like Mitzi before. It's just… I can't bring myself to seek out anyone else."
"Okay, look. It's just my own intuition, but I happen to know that the amount of things I do for work and running that farm makes Isabella feel left out. She loves me and I love her, but I must make sure that she and everyone else is out of harm's way. If people come for us, I want them to be focused on eliminating me, not everyone else. So, there's still a gap between us that I need to find a way to close. That's why I'm meeting her parents this week, so Isabella knows I want this to work out."
"So, being busy might be an issue?"
"Might? Wick, it is an issue. I know how many hours you work and I know how many hours you're here in the speakeasy. Obviously, you have responsibilities, but you can only be married to one thing at a time. Mitzi isn't a thing, she's a woman. If she's willing to at least give you a chance, then she's going to expect to be central in your life. I'll bet my last dollar that she sees you married to your work and that's where she feels your priorities are. It's the same reason why I was only joking about you adopting Joseph. I don't doubt you could give him a safe and, frankly, privileged childhood, but if you're in the office and the only people around are a maid and a butler then I can guarantee you he'd feel alone. Rocky, despite all his shortcomings, cares about him. I mean look over there right now…" I finished my rant by pointing at Rocky who was doing a stellar job of entertaining the youngster with some story about the violin.
"That does make sense. You give better advice than you give yourself credit for, Ethan Kelly."
"Don't thank me unless it works. Maybe there's something in the latest batch of coffin varnish?" I said, staring at my empty glass.
"Well, at least Zib is up and ready. Had to track down a shirt that wasn't stained with all manner of disgusting liquids." Mitzi said as she slid back into the booth.
"Is it just me, or has Zib been getting worse lately?" I asked, but Mitzi was quick to dismiss the concern. "Oh, Zib always gets like this right before winter sets him. Something about fall and the death that comes with the cold."
"So he's a romantic poet too, no wonder Rocky loves him so much." I said, shaking my head. "It is starting to get late; I wonder how long until Freckle and the ladies are—"
"We're here!" Ivy shouted as the door flung open, everyone carrying a handful of bottles straight from Defiance.
"Speak of the devil!" I replied, getting up. "Let's get this stuff into the back before the crowd comes down here for some weekend fun."
Rickaby Reunion
With a stolen pin from an old evidence locker as his ticket for entry, Ransom made his way down the steps and was greeted by two tough-looking cats dressed in plain suits. "Evening, boys." He said, flashing the three-lobed club pin before tucking it safely back under his collar. "Enjoy your evening, sir." One of them said as the other doorman swung open the heavy oak-frame door that looked like it belonged in the last century.
He was immediately struck by the immensity of the operation before him. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, fitted with electric lights. A bar that must have stretched out for thirty feet was bustling with activity as working joes and janes devoured their nightly concoctions. There were billiard tables, blackjack, poker, and whatever else a gambling card shark like himself could use to net himself a small fortune on the side. The fed didn't have too many stipulations, only that he couldn't outright commit murder.
As he took a seat at the bar, scoping out his new territory, Ransom felt as if he were now an apex predator coming home to an old territory. Everything was familiar, yet different. He had been in establishments from Chicago to Kansas City. Even so, the immensity and grand scale was unlike anything he had scene before. It was truly the grand jewel of a once-great empire. It was living history, a piece of the soul of St. Louis!
"Can I get you anything, sir?" Horatio asked as Ransom got comfortable. He was at the end of the bar, in the shadows where he could look around without drawing attention to himself.
"Are you able to make a Manhattan, son?"
"Yes sir! I've been practicing that one for a while. We have our own spin on things here."
"Good, I'll have that." He said while scrounging around in his pockets for the small sum of money Ulysses had sent him in there with. Seed money to get himself fully integrated into the speakeasy. Drink in hand, he also pulled out a notebook and started writing down his observations. He didn't know anyone there. All the cats he used to roll with were either dead or in the slammer like he was.
The band took a brief respite to get ready for another set. The audience applauded the music, a welcome evening of entertainment after the disaster of the tornado last week. Ransom noted that they were good before counting some of the stock that was behind the bar. Though the variety was limited and the volume was barely enough to appease the crowd that had gathered. Suddenly, some of the stage lights dimmed while a lone figure appeared front and center.
Bow struck the string and out came a sound that instantly filled Ransom with memories. Only one woman had swindled the scoundrel's heart. The notes were unmistakable. Every quiver of the hand, every movement of the bow, the timing was the definition of perfection. It was as if Sophia was there beside him, playing in the parlor. That woman he had abandoned so long ago to pursue easy money and cheap drinks.
Then it dawned on him who that cat must be. The pattern was like his mother's, but his stature, his face, his smile… He was unmistakably Roark. For the first time in years he felt a bit numb. His nerves, though frayed by years of hard drinking and injuries from being caught stealing minor valuables, were showing some signs of life. He breathed deeply, shaking off the feelings he was getting. He barely knew the kid, hadn't seen him in years. Sure, he wrote to Rocky on occasion, but once he found out the boy had gotten kicked out of his aunt's house Ransom decided it was better to cut the kid loose. The last thing he needed was someone slowing him down. The irony was he found himself in the state penitentiary scarcely a year later.
A dull pain in his stomach reminded him that he couldn't take too much alcohol. He wondered if enough of it would kill the cancer growing inside him but the doctor was quick to shoot down that idea. No, he had precious little time left. But at least he would get to enjoy his final days outside The Walls! Pulling out some of the medicine the doctor had prescribed, Ransom took a swig. The burn of the alcohol he chased it down with at least got rid of the taste.
As he sat there, he couldn't get the music out of his head. "At least he's got talent." Ransom said. Part of him was glad for the boy. He sat there wondering what he'd have to do next. Should he reintroduce himself to Rocky right after he was done? Or perhaps he should wait until late in the evening when everything would be quieter? Did his son drink like himself? If so, was he prone to anger? He knew that there would likely be some resentment, but he had talked himself into and out of far trickier situations.
Hours passed. Rocky alternated between playing by himself and playing with the band. He could make any tune he wanted from that violin. Western fiddle, old Irish jigs, and reels to dance to, followed by big-band jazz and the newest stuff records were putting out in the eastern cities. Genre didn't seem to matter to that boy, he could make it all his own.
Just then a flash of a tail and ears near the stage caught Ransom's eye. Something he didn't expect to see in an establishment like this, a young child. The kid was carefully following everything Rocky was doing, and Rocky seemed to be paying special attention to the kid. Despite being so late in the evening the little boy still had plenty of energy, all of it carried by the music before him.
As the last song finished, Rocky gave the final notes his own flourish, ending in a long, slow C-note before taking off his hand and bowing to the dance floor and the people taking it easy in the back. Ransom couldn't help but applaud alongside the crowd. He could scarcely believe his own blood could have a talent that far outshone what he was capable of on a musical instrument. Rocky then picked up the boy that had been watching him half of the evening. In Rocky's arms, Ransom got a look at the two of them. They were dissimilar, but could it be? Was he… a grandfather?
His chance came soon as the crowd found their way out in small groups. Most taking the main entrance, others using side tunnels and other entrances hidden deep in different alleys in surrounding blocks.
"Last call, I'm afraid." Horatio said while cleaning out a glass.
"Certainly, friend. I need to pay my respects to the band first though."
"Of course, sir!" Horatio said before continuing his duties cleaning up around the bar.
"Well Ransom, let's get this over with." He said to himself as the middle-aged cat stood up from the bar. Putting one foot in front of the other, he approached the stage. One lone figure moving against the crowd.
"That was cool!" Joseph exclaimed. "Can you teach me?"
"Hmm, let me think about that for a minute…" Rocky said, scratching his chin. "Oh come on, it looks easy!" Joseph said, pleading. Rocky winked at the boy in his arms to show he was only messing with him. "I think that's a great idea!" He said, ruffling the kid's hair.
"Roark!" A voice from the past caught his attention. Gravely, old, worn… it couldn't be!
"Rocky, who's that?" Joseph asked as he pointed at the cat standing before them. It was him!
He set Joseph down and stood up, staring down at his father. Ransom couldn't quite make out what was going on with his son as Rocky stood there, looking down at him. The suit was… different, but he remembered his old tie. Ransom left it with Sophie by mistake. The two stood there, neither knowing what to do. Ransom couldn't read Rocky's expression. It was… neutral. Shock, perhaps?
Nodding off, I heard Rocky's formal name shouted out from the dwindling crowd. Mitzi took notice as did Freckle and Ivy trying, and failing, to be discreet in their kissing across from me in the booth.
"Oh no…" Freckle said.
"Who's that? Why does he know Rocky?" Ivy asked Calvin.
"I barely remember him, but that's his father!"
"They're… not doing anything…" I said, trying to assess the situation. "Ethan, what's wrong?" Riley asked, forcing herself to get up as I shifted around to get a better look. Joseph looked at us, concerned about what was happening. I motioned for the boy to run over to us. Picking him up over the back of the booth, I sat him in between Ivy and Freckle. "You two lovebirds keep an eye on him and Riley. Don't either of you dare get involved in what happens." I said, warning the kids. Riley knew I was serious and held the boy's hand, comforting him.
"Hello, son." Ransom said, carefully stepping forward. Rocky remained still. Unsure of exactly what was going to happen, Ransom continued, climbing up the steps of the stage. By now even Zib was aware that something wasn't right. Ransom continued, trying to get some sort of reaction from Rocky.
"I know it's been a while. You probably didn't expect to see me—" He stopped as Rocky took a step back, followed by another. Tears were forming in his eyes now. Things were quickly going south, but Ransom tried to salvage it by explaining himself. "I wish I could have told you, but they locked me up. Petty stuff, you know how it is. But I'm out now and wanted to find you…"
Rocky shook his head violently. "No, you aren't here. This can't be you. Just—"
"I am here. This is pretty sudden, so let's just sit for a while and—"
"No! Leave me alone!" Rocky cried as he retreated behind the band, wiping away tears.
"Rocky, wait!" Ransom called out as he tried to chase after his boy, but a hand stopped him. Turning his head, a lean cat with an angry expression and a hole in his ear moved to block him. "You're going to stay the hell away from my brother! Zib, go make yourself useful and make sure Rocky doesn't do something stupid."
"Making myself useful, got it!" Zib said as he set down his saxophone and chased after his violinist.
"Brother, huh? Well, you sure ain't mine." Ransom said, trying to step around the cat blocking him.
"And for that you should be eternally grateful, because I'd lay you out for showing your worthless face here."
Ransom growled, but a female voice cut through the tension. "So you're my rumrunner's father." Mitzi said, walking up to the stage.
"I take it my son wears a lot of hats around here…"
"No, just one. And that hat isn't yours anymore." I growled.
"You wanted to talk? Then let's talk." Mitzi said, gesturing to an empty table.
"I was hoping to talk to my son, but for the lady of the house I'll do as I'm bid."
I held the cat in place. "Try anything cute with Mitzi and—"
"What, you'll kill me? I've survived worse than you." Ransom spat back.
I smiled in response. "No, I'll just sit back and watch as Mitzi shows you why she runs this place."
Photograph
Alessio sat outside the office room, struggling to occupy his hands with something that might calm his nerves. When he had come to America, Alessio had hoped to get away from the rampant crime and racketeering of the criminals that ruled the streets and villages of Italy. Yet after setting up shop in St. Louis, it wasn't long before the devils from his homeland had found their way to his new neighborhood. At first it wasn't noticeable. The Irish were in charge, but that all changed after 1922. Now he was stuck paying "protection" money to an organization that was becoming far less benevolent than when Prohibition had first started.
Oh, how he wished to find a place where he and his family could live in peace! But if he couldn't escape the gangs after crossing an ocean and half a continent, then there wasn't much use in trying to run away again. He had information for his "protectors" and he knew the only option was to share it. Withholding information on who would kill a made member of the Green Ones was a death sentence.
As the door to the office room opened and a well-dressed thug waved him in, Alessio swallowed hard, taking off his worn hat and tucking the paper under his arm. The room, dark and smoky, concealed a great deal of creatures who best operated in the dark. In the center was a large oak conference table with a single light providing just enough light to see. Shades were always drawn in for safety and the building was heavily patrolled in case of attack from rivals. Sitting at the end of the table was Vito, warmly smiling in contrast to the deathly atmosphere. John was there too, at Vito's side. Being a loyal little brother was one of John's best qualities. Alessio stopped and was about to speak, but Vito gently raised his hand. It was improper to begin talking without first giving the appropriate greeting.
Alessio, approaching cautiously from the side of the table, lowered himself to kiss the hand of his overlord. Gently taking the hand in his own, he gave the back of Vito's hand a light kiss before backing away. "Baciamo le mani" he said softly while averting his eyes. Vito then stood to shake the deli owner's hands in friendship.
"You are most welcome here in my office, Alessio. Please, have a seat. I hope you don't mind, but several of my associates would prefer it if we spoke in English. They do not hail from the old country like you and I."
"Y-yes, sir." Alessio replied, taking a seat halfway up the table.
"Now, shall we get anything to eat? Drink? I enjoy giving my people the traditional hospitality." Vito asked which Alessio politely declined. "Very well then, as I understand it you have something to share with me?"
"I-I do." Alessio then produced a newspaper and laid it out on the table, front page facing up. One of the associates standing nearby took the paper and quickly handed it off to Vito, who looked closely at it, noting that the date was from last week.
"A newspaper from last Friday?"
"You wanted to know who your nephew had gotten into an argument with. He is there, in the picture."
John took immediate notice of the picture. As fuzzy as it was, there was a small detail in the image which all but a few would think was consequential. A small pin on the collar of the middle cat in the image, arm around the neck of a shorter, long-haired feline barely out of high school. Above them both was a lean cat, perhaps a few years older, pointing to debris out of frame. John pulled the pin from his pocket and dropped it on the newspaper, lining it up to the one in the picture. A perfect match!
Vito then put the pieces of the puzzle together and it all clicked together. "Which of them was it?"
"The, uh, young one. Shorter than the other two."
In the caption of the image was an approximate location of where the photo was taken. Something about a photo tour of the damage involving none other than Edward Hogan. Vito smiled from ear to ear. "Well done, Alessio! Consider next month's protection fee paid in full."
"T-thank you, sir!" Alessio said, calming his nerves yet again. At least Vito had given him a positive reaction.
Vito then snapped his fingers. "Boys, give Alessio a bottle of the finest Sicilian wine and see to it that he is home to his family in time for dinner. This was exactly what we were hoping to find, Alessio. My family appreciates your loyalty."
With a wave of his hand, Alessio carefully stood up, bowed out of respect, and took his leave, flanked on each side by a mafia associate. Once the door closed, Vito turned to his brother. "You think Alessio was telling the truth?"
"He would not be stupid enough to lie to you in your own office, brother. If he says this… boy, was who Elio tangled with, then I'll bet he is the one responsible for our nephew's death."
"And what do you think, Henry?" Vito asked.
A lit cigarette found its way into an ashtray while the experienced cat took the newspaper into his hand and looked over the image carefully. "He doesn't strike me as a killer, but if you trust Alessio's integrity, then I am not one to protest."
"Integrity? I trust his fear." John said while taking the newspaper back into his possession. "Besides, this pin is a perfect match, and guess who isn't wearing one in the photo?"
"Very well, I will call up Matt and Elias. When do we move on the target?" Henry asked.
"You will need to hold off on tracking this feline down for a while, we have a more pressing matter I need you to deal with." Vito said, pivoting to the large map that displayed all their operations. Vito continued with his explanation while using a fresh cigar to point to different areas of the city. "We've figured out which of the Russo's killed Palazzola last month. His name is Frank but goes by "Weatherbird." He orchestrated the ambush, I'm certain of it. We didn't work together much, but he has a reputation of being smart. Since his brother was killed in Chicago, I can guarantee you he's spent every waking minute trying to find a way to take us out."
"So we take him out first?" Henry asked.
"Not quite." John said, stepping in. "We've got a big haul coming into the city from up the river. If Weatherbird was going to hit us where it really hurt, then this shipment would be a prime target. You, me, and your colleagues are going to shadow the trucks as they are loaded and driven into town. If Frank Russo makes himself known, we'll intercept and eliminate him."
"Once we get our newest stock in hand then you'll have all the time you need to eliminate this little pest who killed Elio." Vito said, trimming the cigar and lighting it. "We can use your talents behind a rifle for this one, if you think you can keep up."
"It's been a while since I've had some proper action." Henry said, grinning.