After that unfortunate adventure when meeting Via, Keats needed a weapon. If he was going to try to make it in this brave new world, some sort of protection was a must. Eviv had recommended a gun. But Keats strongly suspected that if he got a gun he'd shoot off a finger. Or a toe. Or something more important. Baby steps, he reminded himself, as the shop owner showed him the knife. Keats wanted something compact that could fit behind his back- horizontally along his belt- so it'd be unnoticeable when he had his jacket on. The trench knife that the shop owner had on the counter was perfect. The brown leather scabbard was a bit worn down, but it seemed solid. And the blade, reflecting the emerald eyes of Keats as he glanced down at it, was shining and sharp. 

Perfect, he thought again. Except he didn't have any money to pay for it.

Keats smiled sheepishly at the shop owner before speaking and indicating the knife. "May I?"

The shop keeper smiled back through his heavy mustache, leaning back with pride. "That knife'll never let you down, boy. Still as sharp as the day one our American boys took it from some Austrian bastard. And let me tell you something. America is the single greatest country in the history of the world... but our knives didn't quite measure up in terms of functionality. That knife right there- that's the one you want. "

Keats felt his hand slightly warm the wooden handle of the knife. Well, time to give it a try. 

Keats trusted his reflexes as he grabbed the scabbard and pointed the knife at the shop owner a couple feet away, shouting "Listen, pal. I'm walking out of here with this knife! I just don't have the money right now, but I promise that some day I'm going to pay you- what?"

Is that a shotgun?

The first shot blasted above him as Keats dove forward toward the counter and frantically scrambled in the direction of the door. The second one sent the glass of the display counter through the air. Keats took a deep breath and paused, appreciating the fact he was still in a breathing state. He heard the click of some sort of mechanism and said a quick prayer that the gun only had two shots as he made a break for the door.

He heard another shot, and the sound of cursing, as he twisted around the corner onto the sidewalk, sprinting for dear life down the streets, hoping to evade pursuit. 

Mimzy had just rolled up her stockings and put a final coat of lipstick on when she thought she heard a gunshot.  Not that it was rare in the neighborhood, but the sound was robust, and close.  "Shotgun?" She whispered to herself.  It had to be.  She patted her hair and grabbed her purse, peeking inside and smiling at the glint of her pearl handled deringer.  It had been a slow week and whatever waited outside her front door had to be more interesting than the few shakedowns she was on her way to perform.  Blowing a kiss to her kitten Kizzy she popped on her felt cloche and stepped outside, just in time to see a young man go running past. 

"Hey mister!"  Of course the guy didn't stop, but the shopkeep with the shotgun did, just short of Mimzy's stoop.  He was panting, face so red Mimzy thought it looked like a crushed cherry.  "Calm down Tom, whatever the guy took, it's not worth an aneurism."  She stepped down and took Tom's arm.  "Ida wouldn't like it if you ended up in the hospital again."  After taking Tom back to his shop she reached into her purse and took out three crumpled dollar bills.  "Keep the change honey. I'll take care of the sap who robbed you."   

After making sure the older man wasn't going to pop a blood vessel Mimzy stepped back outside and squinted in the direction the runner had fled.  It only took her a few minutes to decide which way to go and she sauntered to her car, sure she'd catch the robber red handed somewhere else in the city. 

Panting, Keats rested with his hand against the brick wall of an alley. He'd taken so many twists and turns that he was able to lose his pursuit. Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost himself in the process. Wiping some shattered fragments of glass off of his suit, Keats looked around to try to get his bearings. He was in the middle of a group of buildings, surrounded by trashcans and large storage crates. Looking down at the knife in his hand, Keats grinned as he slid the blade into the scabbard. Sighing  and wiping a hand through dark hair slightly matted with sweat, he undid his belt and looped it through the scabbard so it rested inconspiculously in the small of his back. 

"Now... time to find my way out of here."

Mimzy threw the car into reverse and clicked her tongue as the gears hesitated, well, ground really.  She paused, pressed down on the clutch and let it up slower, backing up past an alleyway she'd zoomed past several times.  Yes, she thought she had seen a shadow against the wall.  She parked the car and leaned over the door.  "Hey! Hey you in the alley there!  You need a ride?"  She slid back down into her seat and waited, wondering who would pop out from behind the trashcans, if anyone. 

Keats was starting to recover from his sprinting through blurred sidewalks, people, and alleys when he heard a voice cry out. His sharp intake of breath created total silence in which he clearly heard someone yell about a ride. Cautiously he touched his hand to the small of his back, reassuring himself both that the hidden knife was still there and that he wouldn't give himself a new asshole when he sat down. He wasn't sure if anyone else was around or if the question was just directed at him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

A well dressed young woman with auburn hair sat behind the wheel. Keats flashed his most disarming grin as he slowly approached and leaned against the passenger side of the car.

"I don't suppose you'd be headed toward the airport, Miss?"

"Well, I'm not headed anywhere in particular, but I thought I'd get you out of this load of trouble you're in.  Hop in mister.  Mind the merchandise though, I'm armed."  She smiled disarmingly and gestured to the passenger seat.  Once the man had settled in she took off, making sure to keep her gear shifts smooth.   "Now, I don't have anything for or against you see, and in fact, I admire those who make their own way in the world, but you need to be more careful.  Tom, the man you robbed, is a retired soldier.  He fought in the Great War see, and a lot of locals admire him.  But don't you worry none about what you did, I made sure to leave Tom a little more than you took and told him I'd take care of it."  She saw the man tense and waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. "No, no. Not like that.  I can get you in touch with some people who might like your style.  And if you don't take up with them, well, there are a lot of rackets looking for enterprising youths like yourself."  She slowed to a stop and offered the passenger her hand.  "My name's Mimzy, and yours is?" 

Keats settled in the passenger seat as people and buildings began to go by, but he glanced at the woman with surprise and started to move when she revealed she knew what he'd done. Calming down after her explanation, he felt like an idiot thinking she was going to attack him. Exhaling deeply, he tried to forget his misunderstanding of the situation and move past it as best he could, shaking her hand in greeting.

"My name's John Keats, although most people just call me Keats, and I really appreciate the lift, Mimzy. You, uh, had me worried there for a moment just now. Sorry about that. Also sorry to hear that Tom guy is a veteran. It certainly wasn't my intention- well, I still probably would have done it. But I needed something, and I was in the middle of explaining how I was going to pay him back later when he pulled that shotgun on me. I expect I'll be mailing him a check in the future and not dropping it off in person..."

Keats drummed his fingers on his knee as he watched the car travel through the streets. He'd been in cars before a couple times, but it was still a relatively new experience for him. He tried to find the balance between paying attention to the journey while not seeming like he was overly interested. 

"And I appreciate the offer of getting me in touch with some people. I'm... affiliated with an operation out of Detroit, but I'm always happy to make new business connections. I've got some plans in motion to make some money, so I don't have to keep running for my life. Or at least it'll be more lucurative when I'm forced to."

"So what kind are business are you in?"

Another day, another petty theft. Gato tripped as he fled an irate shop keeper and stumbled into the street. Adrenaline was now fraternizing with alcohol, pushing his senses to the limit, intense bursts of limitless confidence coursing through his veins. He grinned as the tumble turned into a pivot, spinning on his heel. This was his life now, a drunken roller coaster that was in disrepair, but effective. He flipped his fingertips off his chin and taunted the man in pursuit.

"Ehh, vaffanculo!"

His very existence was a lucky streak that gamblers craved and casino moguls feared, his was a flame burning the very brightest it could. He was unstoppable, invincible.

A step too far took him off the kerb and off the sidewalk. He lost balance and fell backwards, turning in time to see John Keats face, before being flung over the front of an automobile and landing heavily in the windscreen.

Keats made eye contact with the man right before he hit the windshield, and he could still see him through the spider webbed cracked glass. Fortunately, Mimzy had just started driving again after halting due to traffic; if the card had been going full speed, Keats might have been looking at his first dead body. But based on the string of curses emanating from the hood of the car, the man was very much alive. Mimzy, noticing the angry man charging down the sidewalk, stuck her head out of the car and snapped "get in!". Keats opened the door, helping the man limp off the hood and sprawl across the backseat before jumping in after him. Mimzy slammed her foot on the pedal and took off, leaving the angry pursuer in the dust.

Keats, pulling the door shut fully behind him as the car accelerated, turned to the stranger. 

"Are you okay?! What the hell was that?!"

Mimzy ground her teeth in frustration, angry at the damage to her car, nerves jangling like cheap spoons in a junk drawer.  She had never been in in accident before, even if her Packard was a bit beat up looking.  Dings and scratches usually happened while she was driving on unpaved paths in the forrest on her way to get hooch, not on city streets, and certainly not because she'd connected with a body.  She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to her mouth and then touched the wheel, her own sort of superstitious prayer.  

"Are you alright?"  She looked over at Keats and spared the briefest glance at her new passenger.  "Please don't be dead, but also, please don't be bleeding too much on my seats, it won't look good." 

Gato shook his head, checking for loose parts. He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up inside the car and assumed he went through the windshield. His left arm felt broken, and probably a couple of ribs, though he was drink enough to disregard the pain for now. His head wobbled as he looked between the two people in the car and cracked a smile. 

"Hi! Did I hit you?"

He lifted his bagged bourbon to his mouth, only to feel the cool liquor dribble across his lap, accompanied by the sound of broken glass. 

Keats looked at the man for a moment before removing his coat and starting to gather broken glass. 

"Hit us... no, you didn't. Uh, no blood on your seats, Mimzy. Hopefully booze is okay, though. This guy needs to get the hospital before he sobers up, though."

Keats examined the unknown man.

"So who are you and why were you running into the road?"

Mimzy drove a few more blocks before she realised she was about to have an aneurism.  "Hey Keats?  I'm going to drop you and this clown here off at the next corner.  There's a doctor down the street that'll look at this guy, no questions asked.  I just. I need him out of my car before I actually do put him through the windshield."  

One she had pulled over and Keats had dragged the injured drunk man from the back seat she leaned over to the window with a handful of crumpled bills.  "Since he doesn't really ask questions you might need to pay him a bit more than you obviously don't already have.  Maybe you and I can pick this up another time eh?"  She gave him a little salute and drove off, hoping the garage she went to was still open.