"So I thought a little professional courtesy might go a long way," said the unsavory hired dick from New York. "I mean, I'm thinking 70-30, since I had to do the travel and all, but it's still a nice payday for you if you can help me find our boy. The Boys back home are willing to pay fifty thousand if we can get him back to the Big Apple before the week's out. There's a wedding that's been put on hold for quite a while now; time to get these two crazy kids hitched," Abruzzo leered, settling himself further into the chair across from her desk. Money was money, and she wasn't going to fuss about the cut, but the ethical fallout of what was being implied bothered her.

"So this Connelly you're looking for. He ran from what amounts to an arranged marriage, and you're dragging him back to it? A grown man?" She asked, her brow furrowed. Abruzzo slid even further down in his chair, if that was possible. His grin spread further as he crossed his legs at the knee. 

"He'll come to his senses. Just needed to sow his wild oats out here in Vegas. He's had his fun...it's time to go home and be an adult," he said, suddenly sitting upright again and drawing a rolled, crinkled manila folder out of his back pocket. Abbey didn't want to touch it, but fifteen thousand was fifteen thousand, after all. Carefully unclasping it and tipping it upside down, a couple photographs fell onto her desk, one facing up, the other down. The face that had landed right-side up made her physically flinch; no wonder the guy had run. This had to be the most unfortunate looking woman Abbey had ever seen. 

"The bride to be, I assume?" she asked, and Abruzzo nodded, as if his favorite dog had just performed a cute trick. Abbey lifted the other photograph and flipped it over, then watched as her whole life as she knew it spun sideways. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, simply to keep any obvious reactions off of her face. Abruzzo lazily reached for a cigarette and was hunting his lighter when Abbey saw Michael out front, about to enter. While her slimy guest was otherwise preoccupied, she frantically shook her head at her husband once he'd made eye contact with her through the glass, his hand on the door. After a moment's pause, his hand fell away and he continued on down the sidewalk, cutting through an alleyway further down the block and backtracking towards the rear entrance. 

By the time he'd slipped in and positioned himself inside his own office, Abbey had managed to hustle the hustler out of the building, exchanging information and promising to get in contact the next day. When Michael heard the front door click shut, he waited a beat and then emerged to stand behind his wife at her desk, where she sat unmoving.

'What was that all about? Is there trouble? Jesus, Abbey, you're white as a ghost!"

"You tell me. It's all about you..." she said, sliding the pictures into his view with shaking fingertips. "....Michael. 'Connelly' is it?"

There are times in a man's life when he realizes he's run out of time to soften the blow for a hard conversation. This realization is often sudden and emotional and impulsive since he always convinces himself he has 'more time' to prepare for it, however, it always catches him by surprise. For Michael this was definitely one of those moments, and it could adequately be summarized in his breathless reaction to the photographs on Abbey's desk,

"Shit!"

He ran frantically back to the front door and locked it, being sure to pull the blinds closed on the windows before pacing back to the desk as he helplessly ran his hands through his hair. He briefly disappeared into his office to lock the back door as well, leaving Abbey momentarily seated in the lobby alone before he emerged, still just as flustered as when he left. He moved back to a chair across from her and picked up the pictures in disbelief, still caught up in his own troubles.

"Abbey I-" he shook his head as he stared at the photos, still unable to believe this was really happening, "Dammit, I should have had this conversation with you a long time ago, but in my heart I never thought this part of my life would ever show back up again so I didn't want to disturb it."

He laid the pictures back onto the desk and leaned back in the chair, "God, I don't even know where to start..." he stood abruptly in the thought that movement would somehow work the right words up his throat and into the air and paced in front of the desk, "My family name is Connelly, which I had legally changed when I left New York. The reason I left at all is because my parents had tried to force me to marry the daughter of a gang leader in the neighborhood. Thought it would earn them some special privileges if I stuck a baby in his horse-faced daughter. I told them there wasn't a chance in hell that they'd force me into it, changed my name and jumped a train headed west until I hit Vegas. I never in a million years would have thought that old Joe Mack would actually come looking for me."

His face betrayed a true, learned fear, that comes from being all too familiar with an enemy's methods. Joseph Mack and his gang ran the Five Points with an iron fist. The neighborhood had always been a mesh of ethnic gangs, mainly Irish Catholics, but Mack had somehow turned it all into his personal playground through various acts of terror committed up close and personal with steel blades, earning himself the moniker, "The Knife".

Michael did his best to explain himself and the danger that this revelation brought with it, only able to guess at what his wife was thinking until he finished,

"All I wanted was to marry you and start a brand new life; leave the old me buried in the expanse between the city and the desert..."

Abbey stood and stopped Michael's movement, simply by standing in his path. She guided him back to a chair and, once he sat, she kneeled before him and rested her hands on his knees.

"First off, I'm quite happy to know I'm actually legally married to you, no matter who you are. Second, I could slap the taste out of your mouth for not telling me this earlier...Jesus, Michael, the night we met, what about me told you that I wouldn't have listened, or understood you?" She said, equally exasperated and relieved. "Third, we're going to get this taken care of. I don't know how yet, but it will happen, one way or the other. I'm not sure just how involved you can be, since he has your face, but I suppose after all is said and done we should be grateful he came here, and not another agency. Although there's no telling how many other city or states he's been sniffing around in, I mean, it's been a year. 

"Never mind all that now though, I can find out everything tomorrow when he comes back for an update. if there's anything you can help with on your end, though...these people, your family, this girl, anything at all that can prove useful here, you should probably share," she said, eyeing him steadily and with more meaning than the question deserved. 

Anything else I need to know, Michael. Now would be the time. It's your one and only free pass.

It was a shining example of why he'd fallen in love with Abbey Spillane. She could have been upset, and would have been right for it, but Abbey was already looking for a way to help. It's just who she was. Michael took a moment to comb through all the deep family secrets he'd locked away lest they should all come to wreak havoc on his life in the present. Coming up empty, he put his focus on all he could remember about Joseph Mack.

"My parents were always trying to move up in the world without ever having to do any real work for it. Marrying their son to a gangster's daughter seemed an easy step up the social ladder. Joe himself never did anything diplomatically in his life, so it's surprising to me that he didn't just send a hitman instead of a detective. Mary may be holding him back, but that may change if they find out I'm married..."

All of the sudden Michael was nervous not only for himself, but his wife. Wordlessly, he ran his fingers through her hair, pausing as she pressed her cheek into his hand. He smiled, though inside he was ablaze with apprehension and quiet terror.

"Be careful Abbey. I'm worried they'll only stop looking for me when I'm dead..."

"I know. That's why you need to make yourself scarce tomorrow when he comes back. I can take care of this," she said, smiling with a confidence she didn't really possess. He had to trust her, though...what choice did he have?

The next day, Abbey was ready for him when Abruzzo returned to sign the contract. As he was flipping through the pages and skimming, Abbey casually asked the important questions.

"So, what makes you think he's here in Vegas, anyway?"

Abruzzo chuckled. "City of Sin...most of 'em show up here sooner or later."

"And if he isn't here? What then?" She prodded.

"Oh, I'll hit Atantic City next. He's bound to show up here or there. Runners usually go as far as they can, but it's possible he didn't have that much on him to begin with and only made it to Jersey. Time will tell."

"Huh. So no actual proof that he's here, you're just sort of hopscotching around the country...?"

"Pretty much. Ain't my dime, though. It's about 75% of the job for me, all the travel and guesswork."

"Your employers...do they keep tabs on everywhere you go? Everything you do? You know...are they busybodies that need constant check-ins?"

"Some are. Not these folk, though. They just want end results. Shit, I haven't even told them I'm here, figured I'd get a night of shooting craps in before I-"

She'd left the safety off, and the revolver was already cocked, so when she casually opened her top desk drawer and lifted it out, there was nothing left to do but aim and pull the trigger, placing a smoking hole in Abruzzo's sternum. It was fast, it was efficient, and it was eerily easy to do.

Maybe one day Abbey would feel guilt or remorse, but today was not that day. She put the gun back in the drawer and locked it, then stood and pulled out the tarp from under her desk, carefully placing it on the floor and tipping Abruzzo's chair just enough so that he fell onto it. Grabbing two corners, she slid him to the back door and into the alleyway, where she'd parked the car earlier that day. 

It took her twenty minutes of manuevering, heaving, and lifting, but nothing stops a determined woman. She eventually manhandled Abruzzo into the back seat, locked up the office, and drove out of town and into the desert. 

Several hours later, Abbey arrived home, clothes soaked with sweat and hands an open mess of weeping blisters. Michael stared at his wife for a very long time before speaking.

"Abbey. What have you done?"

Keats had been walking down the street when he heard the gunshot. Instinctively, old habits kicked in as his hand went to his shoulder holster and he froze- listening and counting for more. But there was just the one.

A misfire? Or one well-placed close range shot?

He scanned the area, noticing a police officer walking his beat a little way off. Keats quickly dropped his hand to his side and visibly shook his head with a bemused grin. After a little while, he got close enough to speak to the officer.

"Christ. That sonofabitch car backfiring nearly gave me a heart attack."

He kept walking, unconcerned. People always assume that if a gun went off around them, they'd know. Like there was something special about that particularly loud bang that's different from all the other ones. But most people couldn't tell the difference. And deep down, this cop didn't want to hear a gunshot. He wanted to keep walking. And so with no further information and a ready explanation, walking was exactly what he did.

Keats, after a short amount of time, doubled back. He hadn't spoke to Abbey for a while and he'd never met her husband. Even if he knew them a little better, strolling up and knocking on the door might not be ideal.

So he leaned against the building across the street, clearly visible from the Spillanes' door and window. If they needed help, Abbey at least would recognize him. He'd tried to keep half an eye on her, when he could.

If they didn't need help- well, he'd still keep an eye out. A nice young girl like that might need a hand.

And if the gunshot had killed her? Then he'd want to handle this himself, regardless of who had done it.

A little while later, he watched her drive away. Based on how intensely she was paying attention to everyone as she pulled out, she probably noticed him, too. He nodded to her as she drove past.

If she needed him, she could find him.