Finnigan Debonaire possessed all the euphoria of a man who was on the rise and knew it. He had made all the right connections and was capitalizing on his admittance into the Chicago based crew of Blue Note Label lead by the Don The_Kid . The son of a poor Irish immigrant, he had seen his fair share of poverty and despair. He was not about to let a simple thing as his start in the world affect where he wanted to be in life. The man was hungry for all things denied to him in his earlier life and that desire is what drove him through all of his endeavors, including a most recent opportunity presented to him.

Finnigan had become such a good earner for the Blue Note Label crew that his boss Sandberg had recently afforded him the opportunity to employ a bodyguard to watch his back. The man's name was Desmonde and he was not what most people would consider as the norm for a bodyguard. Desmonde was lean, vocal, and completely bat shit fucking crazy. Finnigan was honestly slightly unnerved by Desmonde's complete disregard for what was appropriate social standards and what was not. The young Irish mobster on the rise however let this slide because having someone look out for him professionally fed his over inflated sense of self worth and that was alright by him.

Recently, Finnigan had slowly been easing himself into the drug trade because it seemed to be the most efficient way to access fast cash and a young mobster certainly needed a steady bankroll in today's ever changing world. Desmonde, who was eager to please his new boss or at least appeared to be eager, had a business opportunity for the younger mobster.

“Hey boss! I noticed you've been working a lot of contacts in the area but have you considered maybe some out of town endeavors?” Desmonded offered up in observation.

Finnigan replied, “Um....not really. I mean, what is out there that I can't get in Chicago?”

Desmonde appeared to be completely dumbfounded and replied, “Boss! You gotta know that coke is on fire right now in Los Angeles! A buddy of mine down at the precinct says that LA can't keep enough of that shit in stock. Regular fucking circus down there.”

While the young Irishman desperately wanted to appear as a man of action to his new employee, he also weighed the fact that he had another side objective of wanting to make a rendezvous with a certain Nikki_Swango , a woman he had spoken to in his home city of Chicago and who had invited him to stop by if he ever happened to be in the City of Angels.

“Well then what the fuck are we doing here! Let's buy as much coke as we can and get the hell down there!”, Finnigan replied to his overly eager bodyguard.

Several drug trades, a night at a burlesque club, and 27 hours later, Finnigan and the most professional of all bodyguards landed at the airport, grabbed a taxi, and arrived downtown to meet one of the contacts that Desmonde knew.

The Irishman could feel the wrongness of the whole situation when they entered the meetup spot from the very beginning and placed himself on high alert. His bodyguard appeared to be either completely oblivious or unnerved to the entire scenario and eagerly walked up to the two contacts that he “knew”.

There was absolutely nothing that would have prepared Finnigan for what exploded before him. He noticed that Desmonde tensed up instantly and started reaching for his gun holster, but in the act of doing so, his head exploded from the back as a bullet ripped through it and his body dropped like a dead sack of potatoes. Finnigan acting out of pure adrenaline, grabbed his own gun from inside his coat and began firing it for the first time ever in the direction of his two sudden enemies. Acting out of more primal survival instincts that actual training, he quickly unloaded the chamber of his firearm in the direction of the two men. Six bullets rang out but only two found their mark and put to rest one of the men.

The remaining assailant locked his sights on Finnigan and began unloading his gun in the Irishman's direction just as he dove for cover.

HOLY SHIT FINN!!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!

Finnigan was completely unprepared for this type of encounter but that bastard had another thing coming if he thought it was going to be an easy fight. The Irishman turned around with an uncharacteristic fury that even surprised himself, aimed his revolver in the direction of his assailant and began firing.

* CLICK * * CLICK * * CLICK *

FUCK! Where did all the bullets go?

He had only been selling drugs to young degenerates at bars looking to get high and escape their parent's overbearing standards but nothing life threatening. Hell, he didn't even know of a reason to own backup ammunition up until this point.. He tossed his Colt .45 down in disgust and contemplated his next move.

This son of a bitch isn't leaving me alone after I dropped his friend like that and I've got all this product on me but....SHIT....how the hell am I getting out of here. He has me pinned down!

Suddenly the man converged on Finnigan out of nowhere and commenced pummeling him with reckless abandon. The Irishman was by no means a small man and had been in his fair share of fights but by all standards he was receiving a complete asswhooping. Desperate and not about to die in a god damn alleyway over a couple pounds of coke, Finnigan was able to pin his assailant down in the struggle for his life and in one precise moment, flicked out his switchblade from inside his coat pocket and rammed it home under the man's jugular. The man's eyes rolled in the back of his head, a struggling guttural noise escaped his throat, and he slumped in defeat on top of the Irishman.

Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching Finnigan in a red mist of his former assailant. Nothing in his entire life had prepared him for this moment. The assailant completely folded on top of Finnigan and the young man felt the full bodyweight of the dead corpse.

Jesus Christ Finn. Why does shit like this keep happening to you??

Pushing the corpse off his body, Finnigan brought himself to his feet and stared at the walls of the building before him while he zoned out to an existence where he didn't have to accept the shit show that had just occurred to him. Several minutes passed before he was snapped to reality as he heard police sirens blare their loud wail and gain in volume as they gained in their approach of the scene.

You need to leave. Now. Get the fuck out of here. There is nothing you can do for Desmonde. He is gone. Leave.

Finnigan ran. He ran like he had never ran before. And he didn't just run like a normal person runs. He ran like a gazelle about to be devoured by lions runs and kept on running until sheer exhaustion caught up with him and then he kept on running until he felt like his side was about to explode as he entered a small secluded courtyard in downtown LA. The Irishman collapsed in the front of a city fountain, too tired to even look at the water that sprayed from the center and swirled about inside its basin. He just laid there and wondered how the hell he wound up in this situation. Everything swarmed about him in that moment and he felt absurdly dizzy. His stomach turned and he wretched up the contents of it on the ground next to him. Completely distraught, wounded, and afraid, he just prayed for a moment of rest while he pondered his next move and what would become of him...

The sirens wailed past as Nikki made her way back from the coffee shop she'd grown rather fond of since her arrival in Los Angeles. They stopped not far down the block, so with to-go cup in hand, she continued walking past the entrance of the ballroom and her living quarters above it and let curiosity guide her to the scene.

When she got there, one of the policemen was on his radio bellowing for backup as a second draped a sheet over a dead man. Blood soaked through it immediately, indicating an arterial wound. This was a murder scene.

Backing away unnoticed, she turned to go home when she noticed drops of blood leading away. She looked up at the coppers, then down again at the trail. Without thinking about what she was doing, she began to follow it. 

It led her roughly a block down and into the fountain courtyard she'd passed on occasion but had never had the chance to visit, until today. She spared a glance at the dancing water before her attention was drawn to the man slumped in front of it. Nikki quickly assessed him as non-threatening, sipping casually from her coffee before speaking. 

"If I found you this fast, you've got about five more minutes until they find you. My place is across the street if you need to gather your bearings," she said with a small smile. She'd been there once herself, knew the look, and had always upheld that old 'honor among thieves' truism.

The Irishman's vision was blurry from the beating he had received. He could already feel his right eye swelling up while his left eye kept burning furiously from blood and sweat continuously dripping into it. Everything began to hurt all over as the adrenaline began to fade from his body. He bit his lip in anger at how stupid he had been.

Get your wits about you Finn. You are a nobody and just because you made a little green, it doesn't make you a somebody. Keep your edge and don't be blinded again. That was too close of a call.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The man tensed up instantly and drew up whatever reserves he had left into a heightened sense of alert. Even though the man's vision had been severely reduced, his hearing was still completely functional. The telltale signs of someone approaching from the north registered and he focused harder to interpret the steps.

Definetely a woman or a small man...no definetely a woman. Too graceful for a cop or mobster.

The wounded man remained slumped against the fountain, kept his head bowed and faced towards the ground.  As the figure's steps grew closer, the noise grew louder and then it stopped a short distance from the Irishman. He could almost smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee since he sat slumped down wind from this person.

“If I found you this fast, you've got about five more minutes until they find you. My place is across the street if you need to gather your bearings,” he heard the unknown figure say.

A woman, I was right. And young too. But what is her angle in this? Nobody helps anyone for a damn thing in this life for free and especially not a man half beaten to death.

Finnigan looked up for the first time and peered at the woman. It finally dawned on him how bloody blind he was when he couldn't even see the woman's face standing not six feet in front of him. He attempted to flash a cocky grin but grimaced at the pain and replied, “Time's must be desperate if this is how you pick up men, darlin'. I swear I was dressed much more daper not even an hour ago but I had some friends who wanted to show me true hospitality here in the City of Angels. Are you my guardian angel?”

It became apparent to the Irishman that he was still sprawled out in a growing pool of his own blood and what appeared to be vomit.

Lovely. And here I had almost forgotten that happened...

Finnigan placed his palms on the ground and began to raise himself in up off the ground. Every single movement hurt, but staying here was not an option. Once upright, he faced the mysterious woman and began to wonder if he would even make it across the street.

"Not even close, Mister. Just plain old Nikki Swango," she said, her movements concise and measured now as she heard the backup squad car arrive. Time's up. 

She shoved her coffee cup in his hand and draped one of his arms over her shoulders, just a friend helping a friend fresh off a bender from the night before. They jay-walked across the road as two more cars came to a halt on opposite ends of the street, effectively setting up a roadblock of sorts. Nikki twisted the handle to the ballroom door and began the slow process of helping Finn to the second floor, where she deposited him in the seating area and excused herself. Moments later she returned with a pile of folded garments in her arms and set them on the coffee table before him. 

"Those should fit you, you look about Cesare's size. Are you injured? There's a first aid kit in the bathroom. You can stay until the heat dies down," she said, moving to a window and checking the street below. 

"Which may be a while," she said, shaking her head and returning to sit across from him. 

"So. What was that all about? Deal gone bad? I'm guessing you're kinda new at this?" She asked, taking a cigarette from a case on the coffee table and lighting it. Her smile appeared through the exhalation of smoke afterwards. 

Upon mention of her name, it dawned on Finnigan to whom he was talking to and allowed himself a small chuckle under his breath. Of course it was Nikki, the woman he had met back in Chicago at the Blue Note Label club.

Man, I really got my bell rung back there. Can't even recognize a friendly face.

He could feel the warmth of the coffee cup in his hand but didn't dare not take a sip from it as he was pretty sure it would burn like hell. He attempted to keep up with Nikki as she escorted him to safety but in truth, he was only half walking as she seemed to be supporting most of his weight.

"Those should fit you, you look about Cesare's size. Are you injured? There's a first aid kit in the bathroom. You can stay until the heat dies down," he heard her say as she approached the window and peered out of it.

Am I injured? Ha...you should see the other guy. The other guy...

Christ! The other guys were dead! You killed a man! No...you killed two men? What are you doing? This isn't normal Finn. You are losing your edge.

Finnigan, was lost in his thoughts when he heard her say, “....you're kinda new at this?”

Understatement of the century right there lady.

“What? New to being shot at? New to seeing a man I ate lunch with blown away right in front of me? New to stabbing a man in the throat because he's trying to kill me? New...new....new. You could fucking say I'm new to any number of bloody things going on right now....” Finnigan trailed off as he looked at the floor.

After a good pause he looked back up and apologized, “I'm sorry you didn't deserve that. Mostly, I'm just new to being in such a freaked out state of mind. I like to be mellow and in control all the time but that was completely crazy!”

Finnigan sighed looked back down at the floor and felt a stinging in his eye that wasn't from being punched. He then glanced at the bathroom door and said, “I think I'm going to change.”

He rose from the seat and headed to the bathroom. Once inside he looked at himself in the mirror, saw the damage that had been inflicted upon his body and that was where he started to feel it. He attempted to choke it out but there was no stopping it. It crept up on him and he started off sobbing and then it turned into full on crying. He hadn't cried like this in years. It shook him to the core so bad he had to grip the sink just to keep from shaking so violently.

Fuck man. This isn't you. You are not like these people. You only did it because it was you or them and it'll always be you over them one hundred percent of the time. Those bastards had it coming for what they did to Desmonde. It felt good to get revenge on them! Good? It felt good...?

You are better than them, aren't you?

Finnigan pushed the emotions down into the pit of his stomach. He couldn't do this right now. There would be time later and with alcohol.

Yes, lots of alcohol and brunette or two.

He took one more look at himself in the mirror, and started changing into the clothes that were provided for him. After he finished changing and cleaning himself up as best he could, he headed back outside to see Nikki.

"Well that's better," Nikki said, offering him a smile as he emerged from the restroom. 

"They won't open downstairs for a few hours yet, but residency has its privileges. You look like you could use a drink," she said, snuffing out her cigarette and leading the way back downstairs where she stepped behind one of the bars. She poured two whiskys and slid one to him, impressed that he still had enough wits about him to catch it before it careened off and crashed to the floor. He was clearly shaken to the core, though.

"Care to talk about it? If not, we can stick to weather or sports," she said with a grin. "I haven't even caught your name, Mr...?"

Finnigan took a seat  at the bar after catching the glass of whiskey that was slid down towards him. He twirled the fine glass tumbler in front of him like an alcoholic weighing in on whether or not he was going to break his sobriety. So much had happened to him in such a short amount of time that his head was spinning. Everything was sore now that the world had slowed down and his body needed something to numb it all away. He raised the glass to his lips, breathed in the aroma of the liquid, and drank in the medicine he desired.

He closed his eyes, rolled his neck around while holding in the warmth of the alcohol, exhaled in satisfaction, reopened his eyes with a barely noticeable wince and said, “Damn, that is some smooth whiskey.”

He grinned his sly grin after gaining some composure for the first time in past couple of hours.

This isn’t your crew. Don’t you forget that. Sandberg is who you report to and you certainly don’t know enough about this woman to trust her. She saved you from an extremely sticky situation but everyone has strings and dances for a master somewhere. Whose master were those two at the drug deal? She wouldn’t do you dirty like that. You can trust her…can’t you? Best to play it cool for now.

He realized he hadn’t answered Nikki’s question yet and replied, “I’m sorry I thought you already knew my name. You seem to be a woman very much in the know unless I’ve missed something somewhere. Besides it’s rather uncharacteristic of me not to introduce myself to such an interesting woman. I’m Finnigan, Finnigan Debonaire but my friends call me Finn so you can call me Finnigan Debonaire.”

With his last remark, Finn flashed Nikki the biggest smartass grin he could muster without a single shred of seriousness in his entire being. You never would have guessed that the man almost died a couple of hours ago. He started laughing at himself because he thought himself quite the clever bastard but the laughing turned into a fit of coughing to which he brought his hand to cover his mouth. As he took his hand down, small traces of blood were on them to which he stared at.

He looked back at the Nikki and said, “As for talking about it, I feel you have a very good idea at what happened and I’m not naïve enough to believe otherwise even if I’m a little out of my depth with all of this. So what do you think happened back there Miss Swango and what am I doing here with you…drinking this whiskey that probably would have cost me a week’s labor in another life?”

"Finnegan. I knew you looked familiar. Perhaps I would have keened to it sooner had you not taken so many blows to the face," she said, topping off his drink.

"Chicago, then. How are things back home? Maybe not as well as I'd left them if my boys are sending theirs out to get ambushed in alleyways clear across the country," she said, returning the smartass grin.

"And as for what you're still doing here, well, I imagine you could walk out that door right now, but I'd advise against it. Perhaps we could use this time to discuss what it is that you need to accomplish while you're here in Los Angeles? No need for you to go home empty-handed; I may not have the standing and clout I once did, but I still have affiliations," she offered, not totally sure why she was catering to this man like she was, but unable to turn away someone connected to her old crew, no matter how loosely tied. 

The Irishman observed Nikki’s movements and mannerisms as she spoke to him. There was something about her that reassured him even in the current state that he was in. He seemed to ease up a little once Nikki stated that she was connected through past relationships with his current crew.

Well Finn, your gut is telling you to trust her. She’s been pretty helpful and resourceful right from the get go and it’s time to take that leap of faith. Your luck has been complete shite lately  but that doesn’t mean you need to be so paranoid that you can’t accept help from a genuinely helpful person.

The Irishman turned towards the woman of means and said, “Well miss Nikki, truth be told, I was just trying to make a big play to impress the boss back home. You’ve probably seen it a dozen times before, young kid starts trying to impress his uppers way too fast and gets in over his head. Sandberg put a lot of faith in me and I seemed to muck it up a great deal. The bodyguard he hired for me had a lead out here for some people looking to buy coke. I didn’t know how crazy the man was and it got me into a sticky situation that got him killed and almost myself if I hadn’t…well…you know.”

He seemed to zone out in that moment for several seconds before continuing on, “Look Da’ didn’t raise no puff and I haven’t lived the most sheltered of lives but that’s the first time I’ve ever killed a man and it was over some stupid coke. I got carried away and a little too big for my britches and now look at me? Hiding out in a joint with you. Christ, if you hadn’t come along I’d probably be dead or in a cell about to be shanked by god knows who. All of this to raise some quick cash to start a little smuggling operation I was trying to build up on the north side of Chicago.”

Finnigan reaches into his pocket and slams several units of coke on the table in front of him and says, “Fuck drug running.”

Nikki's eyes flicked to the coke before shifting back up to Finn's face. She studied him a long moment before excusing herself and coming back a few minutes later with an envelope. Setting it next to his glass, she resumed her spot behind the counter, resting now on her elbows.

"Ten thousand per unit. Your boss will be highly impressed with your skills as a dealer. Take it back to Chicago and get out of the back alley deals. Start that smuggling business. I may be out that way soon, perhaps you can find your pal Nikki a decent deal now and again?" She said, raising her glass to him. This was how it started; you had to make those connections to fight your way up the food chain. The way she saw it, Finn needed out of the dirty work as soon as possible. Not because he was weak, but because he was perhaps made for something else. Something better. 

"No one will catch wind of this from me. I haven't been here long enough to get the local boys in blue on my payroll, but I can look into it, find some strings to pull. You'll be alright, Finnigan. Just get home to Chicago, take some time off, think it all through. In the end, I believe you'll find the value in it as a learning experience rather than an egregious series of errors," she said, finishing her drink and popping her tumbler onto the bar with a smile. 

How would things have been different, had someone not done the same for her, so long ago?

Finnigan examined the envelope as if it were some sort of sacred relic. There was more money in that envelope than he used to make in a year. He quickly caught himself gawking at it and assumed a more professional attitude about himself.

Easy lad. Don't count your eggs before they hatch now. There's a lot of drug money on the table there, just don't muck this up!

After a brief pause, he said,“That is rather generous price all things considering and a rather fortunate turn of events for me. Heading back to Chicago with this much green, some war wounds, a dead bodyguard and even more dead rivals is going to make me sound much more of a badass than I deserve. When I get the operation up and running and you happen to find yourself on the North Side of Chicago, you will absolutely get the house special.” 

The Irishman appeared to contemplate something internally before saying, “If I out right lie to Sandberg he will see straight through my line of bull. Maybe some things should be left out but not all of it? Do I have permission to mention to my boss that you had a hand in my survival? You mentioned having old ties to some of the people in my crew. There's no bad blood I assume?”

Finnigan eyed his new found benefactor with the look of one who desired to say more but waited for her response.