The Irishman stood across the street from the neighborhood bakery and inspected it with caution. He scanned up and down the street for several minutes and took note of any possible cops, rival gangsters, or excess unwanted foot traffic. All things considered it was a rather quiet night and it was probably getting close to be closing time for the little bakery.

This will be good for the kid. Nothing too crazy, very quiet. Not much risk for her. Vincent and I will take care everything.

Finnigan took note of his personal bodyguard Vincent. The man had been in his employment for about a week now and all things considered, he was the perfect bodyguard. A towering mountain of a man, quiet, kept to himself, and knew the value of complete discretion towards all things related to his boss, be it business or personal time with the ladies.

He handed a note to the young woman that read, “Finn:

Small time thugs fancy themselves hot shit. We've had problems with a group who's roughing up some of our bookies and numbers runners in the Loop. They hole up in a bakery about a block away from the park. Leader's name is Frankie Cantino. It is disrupting our operation and needs to be dealt with in the Streets.

Handle it.

-The Dead Poets-”

Finn said to Vesper, “Listen Kid. That bakery is a front for a small “crew” trying to move in on Mr. Torretta's business. The details are in the note. The boss has tasked me with handling business in that bakery. I'm going to be civil. Vincent here is going to be civil. We are going to try to talk to this Frankie Cantino character in there. But the bottom line is...it's probably not going to be very civil. I want you to go in there under the pretense of ordering some bread to take home to your Ma' for dinner. You don't fucking know me and I don't know you. It's safer for you that way and you'll get a front seat view to the show. If shit goes down, I want you to act extremely scared and freaked out and remember that you don't know me. I'm not much for blowing smoke up people's asses. You deserve to know what you are getting into before it's too late and this is the best way I believe for that to happen.”

Christ Finn, she can't be more than eighteen. She is not ready for this...but she needs to see it. They might smile at you and weave this magical fantasy of sunshine and rainbows back at the lofts darlin' but there is a darkness to this life. It seeps deep down inside you and changes you. It's still changing me...

Finnigan looked at her and awaited her response.

Shortly, after having her first drink, then her second, Vesper finds herself following Finnigan outside. She was silent as she walked at Finn's side, trailing slightly behind him. She marked the approach of another man and nudged Finn, but the lack of response seemed to suggest that he was a friend or some sort of associate- thankfully, since he was enormous.

She read the note quietly as Finn passed it to her, heterochromatic eyes skimming it and processing quickly.When she glanced up, Finn began whispering about Cantino. When he was done, she nodded and crossed the street. She didn't particularly enjoy the sight of blood, and she sincerely hoped that no one would get killed, but she'd seen plenty of fights before.

The bell of the bakery jangled slightly as she opened it, and the crew she assumed belonged to Cantino looked up and stared at her. Ignoring them, she made her way directly to the register and spoke to a man wearing an apron as she pointed. 

"Two loaves, please. The best you have; my mother will know if you try to get away with giving her yesterday's bake."

She grinned as she said it, but forced herself to freeze her expression as she heard the bell on the door ring again behind her. 

The Irishman entered the business and the smell of yeast, sugar, and treats rushed to meet him. It had an almost soothing aroma to it that made him briefly think about when he was a young boy in his mother's kitchen watching her bake. She had always faked being mad at him whenever he tried to swipe treats from the counter when she was baking and would swat at him with her apron but he knew that she really didn't mind. That seemed like ages ago.

He snapped back to reality and noticed the kid at the register in the middle of ordering from what Finn assumed to be the actual baker. Judging by the nervous looks the baker shot the men in the corner, it was somewhat clear to the Irishman that the current state of affairs was not entirely appreciated by the actual owner of the business.

Finnigan examined the three young men huddled around a small table. They looked very much the youth of this generation, expecting everything to be handed to them on a silver platter and not even having a single ounce of professionalism within their bones. He studied them like a panther stalking its prey as they counted wads of money out in plain sight, discussed their takes for the day, and the tight little ass of the girl at the register.

Fucking amateurs. How they even got this far would be a mystery to anyone. Keep it cool though Finn. They are just some young punks. Surely Cantino, the brains of the operation, isn't here. He must be in the back or somewhere else.

Finnigan walked up to the group of young men, very much a man on a mission in an area that he felt was beneath his talents and very much annoyed by this fact. He took note that Vincent took up post near the door and in doing so, allowed him to creep up on the gentlemen unthreateningly.

“Excuse me gentlemen. I'm looking for Mr. Cantino. Might you know his whereabouts or could you direct me towards him please?” he said as he broke the silence.

The three wannabe gangsters jumped up with a start. The apparent leader of the three or simply the one with enough balls said, “Who the fuck are you?”

“I'm a man that would like to speak to Mr. Cantino if you please.” replied Finn very coolly even though he could feel his blood start to boil.

“Get the fuck outta here you fucking paddy. And take that fucking goon by the door with you.” the young leader sneered at him.

A fucking paddy am I? This little son of a bitch needs a lesson in manners....just don't kill him Finn...don't lose control again. Not in front of the girl.

Finn put on the show of being a man irritated but giving up and started to turn around.  As he was turning around he muttered to noone in particular, "Well thats a shame." while his hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket, gripped his brass knuckles, flung himself around with a violent turn, and connected his fist with the man's jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Quick as a snake, the Irishman was on top of the lad and commenced pummeling him several times in the face until the poor man could do nothing but moan and bleed. While Finnigan had started beating the shit out of the man, his two companions had moved to help but Vincent had whipped out his shotgun concealed within his trenchcoat and directed it towards the two young men and upon viewing it, they remained motionless, not even daring to breathe.

Knowing that his point had been made, Finnigan stood up, glanced down at the beaten man, and let out a long sigh as if the whole scenario was a complete waste of time for him. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped the blood from his hand.

Keep your cool lad. The time for subtlety has come and passed. They are terrified of you. It's time to stop being coy and give a name to what they now fear.

He took one last look at the man still writhing on the ground and then turned to his companions and said, “Now gentlemen, let's try this again. My name is Finnigan Debonaire and I am under the employ of a one Mr. Torretta....”

At the mention of Mr. Torretta, Finn could sense a sudden fear grip the men before him.

He continued on, “ ...of the Dead Poets and I would very much like to discuss a number of transgressions inflicted against them with your boss Cantino. Now where might he fucking be and if you don't roger up right quick, Vincent over there is going to make mince meat out of your no good arse's with that blunderbuss of his.”

One of the young men had lost all color in his face and immediately replied, “He's in the back mister! Me and Johnny ain't seen him in an hour or so, he's probably passed out drunk in the back! Don't fucking shoot us! I don't even like the asshole like that! It was just easy money!"

It's always supposed to be just "easy money". Your loyalty is complete shit though. Giving up your boss lickety split with not even the slightest amount of holding back a thing. You'd never make it a single day in a real crew.

Finnigan looked behind him and locked eyes with Vesper, gauging on whether or not she was receiving an education in intimidation before he headed into the back room to discover the whereabouts of Cantino. Her emotions were a mystery to him.

This life isn't for everyone kid but you needed to see this. Are you still going to be here when I come out of that back room or not?

Vesper kept talking to the baker as Finnigan walked by, but her voice trailed off as her new acquaintance began questioning the group of men. She quickly scooted around the counter and pushed the baker down, but she kept her eyes up to see what was going on. When the punches started flying, she picked up a rolling pin. Just in case.

Finnigan was certainly able to handle himself- an impressive blend of speed and strength. She stared for a moment at the blood on his knuckles- and on the shirt of the beaten man- before looking away quickly. She didn't faint at the sight of blood, but she certainly didn't enjoy it. Easier to steal without anything knowing you were there. 

Still, she nodded to him once and stood up, starting to follow him again, wondering if he even wanted her there.

The Irishman approached the entrance to the back room of the bakery and was greeted by brown beaded drape curtains. Those annoying things in doorways always pissed him off right from the get go. It literally reeked of people too lazy to put an actual door in the way but wanted privacy in a room beyond. This laziness though would give him an edge in creeping into the room beyond unawares so it lessened his annoyance slightly.

Finn reached into his jacket and pulled out his Colt 1911 with his right hand and took a look back at Vincent. The large man still had the two small thugs at gunpoint and would do so until Finn returned. He used his revolver to part the beads and started creeping into the back room when he felt the warmth and presence of a woman press up against his left shoulder. He smiled inadvertently to himself, a very uncharacteristic thing of him to do.

So the little shadow decides she is intrigued by this life. Maybe she is made of harder stuff than I thought. And my god little Miss Vesper, you can certainly creep better than any prowler I've ever known. It's a good thing you are on my side.

Finn whispered to Vesper, “Listen kid. Let me do the talking and just follow my lead. The old man is probably in there drunk off his arse. Those pups out there were just pawns, this is the supposed brains of the operation and the person I have to deal with. Should be a cake walk. Wait,  do you have....a fucking rolling pin in your hand? That is so classic. I'm telling Mrs. Torretta later. She is going to die of laughter.”

The Irishman almost started laughing right there but professionalism and the seriousness of the situation prevailed and he fought down the urge. He instead turned his attention to the room beyond and continued his stealthy approach into the back room.

The room was a complete pigsty. It looked like it was meant for cargo and merchandise to be stored in but instead all of the boxes and crates were shifted around to make a makeshift office. Papers were thrown about everywhere and flour had somehow been spilled making everything in the room white and chalky looking.

Where the hell did I wind up at? A powdered hellish existence that was made to screw up my suit and make me look like an amateur stage actor pretending to be a ghost? This bloody job better be damn well worth it.

In the back corner was a man passed out in a dingy hammock. He was balding, overweight, and looked as pale as the flour spewed about all over the room. There were several empty bottles of what Finn presumed to be bathroom gin.

The Irishman got close enough to smell the man and was assaulted with a stench of alcohol sweat and body odor.

Fuck this man reeks. But he fits the description that Mr. Torretta gave me. Best wake the fool up. He is not going to be pleased but screw him. My suit is god damn chalky right now.

Finn reached into his clothes and produced his trusty switchblade. He flicked out the blade in one smooth motion and then sliced across the lashings that held the hammock to the wall. The snoring gentlemen who was so eloquently sleeping in said hammock crashed to the floor with an enormous THUD!

The old man awoke from his slumber and in a state of disaray and drunkeness said, “EGAD! What the hell?? I'll get de lotz of yoos!! Come heres! I'll shoz yous a thing or two you sombitch!!!”

The Irishman having worn out his patience out on the three fools out front was in no mood for games. He backhanded the old man with the butt of his handgun and then kneed him in the gut brutally. The old man was thrown against the wall and began slumping down against it but Finn slapped him across the face twice with his open hand and then began lifting the man up against the wall with his free hand.

Finn pulled the man up by the back of his collar with his free hand and then placed the barrel of his revolver on the man's groin. It was a fairly awkward position to say the least but nothing sobers a man up faster than having a gun pointed directly at his manhood.

The old man with new found sobriety said, “Whatcha want man? You got that pea shooter pointed awfully close to my johnson! Can't a fellow catch a nap around here you fucking wanker?”

Finn let out a hearty laugh like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. This bastard had no idea how much shit he was in.

“You honestly are so piss drunk you have no idea why the fuck I'm here? Or are you just that ass backwards stupid you can't comprehend it. Frankie, your time here is done my man. And I'm here to collect all debts.”

The old man stared at him blankly for a moment and then said, “Dah fuck you mean my time is done? And how you knows me name? You fucking paddy bastard.”

The Irishman lost all emotion in that moment. It was as if he had never laughed or cried a single day in his entire life. He was deathly calm and without any warmth or compassion said, “Quite Frankly Frankie, I'm here to end you. To eradicate the very existence of your presence upon Mr. Torretta's businesses. You've been a very naughty man. Having your boys beat up several of the bookies and book keepers under my boss' employment. That ends now with you leaving town or me dealing with it my way.”

The old man looked Finnigan in the eye and then screamed, “FUCK YOU!!!” and then spit on Finnigan's shoes.

After letting out a long exhale in complete disappointment, the Irishman slowly dragged his revolver up his victims's side and brought it to rest upon the side of the old man's head.

Fine. Goodbye.

With eyes as cold as death itself, Finnigan said, “No, fuck you.” as he squeezed the trigger.

Vesper reached out with a single finger and parted the beads in front of her, slipping through them without a sound and resting a hand on Finnigan's shoulder, the other still brandishing her rolling pin. She trailed behind him, wincing occasionally. Finnigan's movement would be silent to nearly everyone, but it seemed to her like he was causing an unnecessary racket. 

Her eyes stared steadily at the man in the hammock, and they grew wide when Finnigan released his blade. But she watched silently as he began to rough up the target.

She saw the gun, and she closed her eyes for a moment. But she watched the target's head disintegrate, spraying blood and brains and meat and God knows what against the wall. 

Finnigan stared down at the body for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. 

And when he looked for Vesper, she was gone.

The old man's head erupted in a shower of blood, gore and brains as the bullet passed through his skull. The wall behind him was caked with brains and blood and the old man sagged against the wall and then slumped to the floor as Finn released his hold on the man.

Damn, the kid. I didn't want her to see that. It was too...soon.

As Finn remembered about the young woman accompanying him, he turned to where he thought she was and said, “Well, that didn't go how I wanted it to.”

However, she was nowhere to be found.

Yeah Finn, way too soon.

Finnigan sighed at himself once again. The night was not turning out how he had planned and he still had the situation to deal with in the front of the bakery. He took one last look at the bloody corpse in front of him and headed back to the front. 

Vincent still had the three men at gunpoint. Two of them were standing with their arms raised and the man Finn had beaten to a bloody pulp was in a sitting position still bleeding from his face. Then there was the baker who was presently completely losing his shit.

The baker exclaimed hastily, "What the hell happened back there!? Look I don't know nothing and I didn't see nothing. I've got a family to feed and I don't want no trouble from the likes of you two but these assholes forced me into this situation and I want not one damn thing to do with them. Fucking piss ants!!!"

So it was exactly how I thought. These weasels pressured this poor schlub into being a front. There's an angle here I can use.

The Irishman completely ignored the baker and turned to the two young thugs still standing and said, "Listen here gentlemen. You've got two options. The first one being you go into the back and clean up the mess I've made with your former boss, pick up this dipshit off the ground, dump the body somewhere no coppers will find and leave town."

Finn paused for dramatic effect while he holstered his revolver, "The second option is Vincent and I have to take time out of our evening to dispose of four bodies."

He then eyed them in order to make sure the weight of his words reached them. 

It appeared that he had indeed come to an understanding with them because the two able bodied youths rushed into the back with all do haste and started the process of preparing a body to be moved.

Finnigan knowing that the boys would carry through with their agreement to the letter then focused his attention on the baker. 

Having a semi soft spot for the man's predicament, Finnigan said to him, "Now I know you were involved in a situation not of your choosing here. It's a shit world we live in currently my man. The mess I made back there in your establishment was ungentlemanly of me and you will receive compensation for it."

Finn set three hundred dollars bills on the counter and he could see the visible relief in the man's eyes and paused for a moment before continuing on with the business angle, "However, from this moment forward at the end of every week you will set aside 10 percent of your earnings for the Dead Poets. That part is non negotiable. With this amount, you will never be bothered by the likes of these or any other wannabe gangsters again. You have my complete protection as long as you always pay me my ten percent. Capeesh?"

The baker nodded slowly at Finnigan and seemed to comprehend how the arrangement was going to be from here on out.

The Irishman added, "You can expect Vincent or myself to be here around Sunday to collect or if not us, then possibly that young woman who was in here earlier before the shit went down."

Unless I missed my mark on her. I rarely do though...

At that moment Finnigan saw the two men dragging out the body of the old man in some sort of canvas bag and were making their way to the front door. The third useless man struggled to get up but eventually did so and started hobbling after them.

The Irishman noting that things were starting to be wrapped up in the bakery, motioned towards Vincent to follow him out of the bakery and they made their way out as if they had just purchased some nice Italian bread to go with the pasta that their wives were cooking for them tonight.

Well, hopefully the boss was okay with me taking that sucker out. He just said take care of it. Not how. And where the hell did Vesper go.

Finn pulled a joint and a lighter from his jacket pocket, lit the joint and started walking down the street while Vincent trailed him by six paces. He put the lighter back in his jacket pocket and took a long drag from his joint.

Seriously, where did that little shadow go?

It was a beautiful day in Chicago- that was mostly what Vesper was thinking about. The autumn air was cool and crisp, but not uncomfortable. The golden sun was perched on the horizon, and the sky was so blue that it almost cracked your heart. A light breeze caressed Vesper's face. Yes, it was a perfect day, thought Vesper, as she threw up again, this time trying to do a better job of avoiding her shoes. 

She'd seen dead people of course. Her father's death was carved into her memory with a knife. And there'd been others, older people in her building. One time a middle aged man had been killed falling in a construction site. But she'd never seen the violent, deliberate extinguishing of a human being: the reduction of thoughts, language, and dreams to an uneven pile of meat and bones. She'd slipped out the window immediately after it had happened, climbing the fire escape and hiding on the roof. 

Remembering the way the blood and brains slid down the wall sent her leaning forward again, hands resting on her knees, although at this point there wasn't much left to lose- her first glass of wine was somewhere down in the reeking puddle. 

Vesper was wiping her mouth with her sleeve when she heard someone leaving the building. She crouched down against the edge of the roof, daring a quick glance and seeing the three thugs from inside carrying a suspiciously heavy package. Vesper was resting with her back against the brick when she heard someone else exit and make their way down the sidewalk. When she looked, she saw it was two people; she'd only heard Vincent. Standing and making her way to the corner of the roof, Vesper spoke before Finnigan could get too far.

"Hey. Sorry to bolt like that. I just needed some fresh air... to throw up in."

She rested one foot up on the small wall as she leaned forward and down at Finnigan. 

The Irishman was adrift in a sea of his own thoughts as he strolled down the sidewalk with the strong desire of reaching his place, taking a long hot bath, getting numb with whiskey, and fading the memory of this day from his consciousness.

You are getting too comfortable with this shit, brother. That man's eyes are never going to open again and it didn't even send a shiver down your spine. What has happened to you...? Stop whining about it you fucking nancy. Life happened. You're still breathing and he's not. Deal with it.

His conflicted self loathing of his decisions of the day was interrupted by the little shadow saying from seemingly nowhere, “Hey. Sorry to bolt like that. I just need some fresh air...to throw up in.”

Finn laughed aloud like a great weight was being lifted off his shoulders. It wasn't because he thought it was funny that she threw up, it was just that she reminded him so much of himself. The first time he had ever seen a man die a violent death firsthand, he had thrown up shortly after. It was also good to hear her voice again because he didn't want her to fear him or keep her distance. 

So, the kid didn't stray too far. She had to process what happened to her but isn't shying away. Alright, I can understand that. It would have been a telltale sign something was amiss if she had been completely okay with it.

He noticed that the girl was perched on the ledge above him and waved her to come down while saying, “Come on down kid, I won't bite. Swear it on the Virgin Mary herself.”

Vesper climbed down the side of the building with the grace of a cat and took up position beside the man as they walked along for several minutes of silence.

Finally, he broke the silence with, “You know, the first time I ever saw a man shot to death, I wretched up my lunch not five minutes later. It was a rather low point in my life for me. I was alone, scared, and didn't know what the hell to do. You know what happened?”

Vesper shook her head at him.

“Nikki happened. She got me the hell out of a sticky situation and talked me through it. I can't tell you where I'd be right now if she hadn't taken pity on some stupid young mick from Chicago biting off more than he could chew in LA. Not only did she rescue me but she had a way of putting me at ease and calming me down without coddling me like a child. That is what a crew is for. That is what....family is for. You know what I mean?”

Vesper didn't respond for a while but then nodded her head in agreement.

The Irishman put his arm over the kid's shoulder very much like a big brother consoling his little sister, and they walked off into the night in silence.