Standing at her office window, Briya tapped the envelope absently on the windowsill as she gazed out over Summerlin. She'd led a charmed life...she knew this as surely as she knew her name. The transition from gypsy upbringing to mafia life had been nearly seamless. Easy, even. Everything had seemingly fallen into her lap after that...a place in a godfather crew. A godfather's Hand. Her own crew. Her own city, and now, a godfather position herself. Money was flowing, she adored her crews, and she was married now. Not in an arranged marriage as her parents had planned, but one she actually wanted and cherished.

So, of course the house of cards would come down. It's the way of things, isn't it?

Pulling the letter out of the envelope again, she re-read it.

Enjoy your reign, it won't last much longer. You came to Summerlin and took what never belonged to you, a weak, pitiful woman trying to swim against the stream of a man's world. Your Right Hand is a ticking time bomb of an addict, and your Left is soft, with no ambitions of his own. 

You could save yourself a lot of trouble by doing what gypsy mongrels do best...move on. You do not belong here, and the clock is ticking.

No signature, no indication of whether she was up against a team or a force of one. She assumed it was one of the old godfather's men...or the ragtag remains of his crew. 

She could ignore it. She could put the city on alert. 

She could call in her pinch hitter.

Lifting the phone, she dialed Kate Logan.

"We...may have a situation. I could use your help," she said quietly.

Kate's eyes snapped awake and she was already reaching for her gun. It wasn't too bright out- which meant something was wrong if she was awake. She'd essentially adapted to become nocturnal, waking up around the middle of each day and spending a few quiet hours before prowling into the early morning. Now, with a light barely visible through the window, something must have happened. She waited, listening, and it seemed like an eternity until the phone rang for what she realized must be the second time. Ignoring the senseless murmurs of the person in bed next to her, Kate sat up and listened.

"We...may have a situation. I could use your help."

"Wassamatta?"

Kate kicked the pair of legs next to her and stood up, trying to wrap the sheet around her with one hand as she walked as far away as the phone cord would allow her.

"I'm up. What's up? Do you want me to go somewhere? Pick me up?"

As the sheet Kate was wearing slid away from the bed, the sole remaining occupant began to loudly complain about being left without it. Kate was tempted to reach for her gun, now on the nightstand, but realized that she had her phone in one hand and the sheet in the other. Instead, she angrily mouthed "SHUT THE FUCK UP" until the room was quiet and she could listen to Briya.

Briya paused at the sound of someone murmuring on the other end of the line...someone who wasn't Kate. With a quiet smirk, she continued.

"Did I interrupt something? Anyway. Yeah, maybe it's something, maybe it's not. I can't get a read on it. Received a threat, by telegram. I've got no proof, but it has the last 'godfather's' flavor all over it. Maybe his leftover, ragtag crew aren't happy with their new lot in life, I dunno. 

"There's an old dump of a blues club on The Strip. None of us own it but I've got a singer that works there part time. Wanna go check it out? It's about the most private, unconnected joint I can think of. I can pick you up outside in fifteen. Unless, you know...you've got something going on," she grinned.

Jesus Christ. They were still bitching.

Kate dropped the sheet and picked up the gun, cocking back the hammer and pointed it at her now infuriating paramour. They didn't need to know that she always left one chamber empty, for safety. That gesture shut them up pretty quick, and the gesture of the gun toward the door sent them gathering their clothes and heading down the rickety stairs and out the back door of On the Rocks. 

Kate sank back down on the bed, listening to Briya and calculating.

"Okay. Sounds serious enough... I'll be ready in 15. And no, nothing going on. Nothing important, at least."

She hung up the phone, splashed some water on herself, slid into her clothes, and was on the sidewalk waiting for Briya when she pulled up.

As soon as Kate was in the car, Briya passed her the letter for inspection. They drove in silence, until Briya pulled up in front of the old jazz club. 

Once inside, Briya looked for Terra, but didn't see the singer. Too early, perhaps. Instead, she turned to Josh the bartender and said hello. 

"My friend Kate and I here would appreciate double whiskeys, if you don't mind," she smiled politely. Once he'd moved away to pour them, the smile disappeared and she turned towards Kate.

"I don't know how much you know about the structure and hierarchy of...well. This business we're in. Being a godfather myself means that it could be detrimental for me personally if I go after the little guys. The fates have seen to it that the odds are no longer in my favor. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. Every day that I live, my chance of survival decreases," she paused as Josh set the drinks on the bar and moved away. Smart guy; he knew what was what.

"That huge retainer...you'll definitely be earning it. This person, or these people," she said, tapping the paper, "they need to be found and dealt with quickly. I can get you any and every resource you might need, but you're the trigger man, Kate. You up for it?"

Kate leaned back in her chair as they waited for their drinks, noticing a sign.

"Terra Gato, huh? I feel like I've seen that name in every city I've ever been in. Gal gets around, apparently. Never actually met her."

She shut up as her whisky arrived and Briya started talking serious.

"Well, every day everybody lives decreases their survival... but I can see how that would be extra applicable in your case. And yea, I'm up for it. That's what you're paying me for. How long is the list? And who are the targets?"

"Well, that's what I don't know. But that's about to change shortly. I've been in touch with a guy who ran with the old godfather. Not particularly loyal, obviously, since he's ready to sell out to me on the list of remaining members. There aren't many...five scattered to the winds, work for other crew leaders now and can't even remember their old boss' name. A couple more tried to throw their weight around, use his clout to step up themselves. I hear they're at the bottom of Lake Mead," she grinned into her glass before drinking.

"So that leaves two possibilities, by process of elimination, beyond our contact. He's being paid to give up those two names, and to work with you on finding them and ending the problem," she said, glancing at her watch. "I've asked him to meet us here, should be along any minute now," she said and, as if on cue, the door to the club opened and a figure made his way towards the bar. 

"Kate, this is Mark. He'll be your partner until this is wr-" Briya stopped there, blinking in confusion at the look on Kate's face. 

Kate, however, saw nothing as she stared into the eyes of her adopted brother.

Kate looked up into Mark's face, and it was like the flames of their burning home were in her eyes again. The last time she'd seen him, their "father" had been killed, and Kate had left on a quest to kill their "brother" Matthew, the one who'd done the killing. Kate and Mark had been friendly, growing up. Mark had had a kindness in him where Matthew had a mean streak... but Mark had also stayed plenty quiet during a lot of Matthew's worst moments. 

And when Kate had been sent into town on an errand, it was Mark who'd watched Matthew kill John. 

The past flashed through her in a single heartbeat as she looked up and felt a lot of conflicting emotions- but those were buried before they even registered.

Kate immediately froze. Her green eyes practically radiated cold, and it seemed like her hackles were raised. Briya saw Kate's hand slowly creep toward her gun under the table, even as the rest of her remained motionless.

Mark and John had been close. Maybe he'd approve of how she'd avenged their "father". 

But Mark had also been close with Matthew, who Kate had killed. Slowly.

She hadn't seen or heard from him since she'd rode off for revenge. Whatever Mark was here for, Kate was ready.

The cocking of the revolver's hammer under the table was audible to all three of them. Kate's voice was quiet.

"What are you here for, Mark?"

Briya stood, positioning herself between the other two.

"Whoa, now. He's my connection. He's here to help," she said, as Mark slowly raised his hands behind her, showing they were empty. Turning, Briya looked back at him, then turned back to Kate. Clearly she was out of the loop, here. Flagging down Josh, who was doing an impressive impersonation of a statue, she smiled weakly at him and indicated that the three would need a round of drinks, and that they would be moving towards one of the tables. Briya grabbed Mark's upper arm and led him over to one as Kate, unsurprisingly, strode over and took a seat with her back to the wall and her body facing the door.

"Something you all wanna tell me?" she asked, her eyes bouncing between the two until finally, someone spoke.

"Seems my sister works for you, Briya. I was not aware of that fact. I'm not saying it would have changed the course of things, but it certainly comes as a surprise," he said, turning to face Kate.

"How you been, Kate? Long time no see. Looks like we both got ourselves into a godfather crew. What are the odds of that? Although it looks as though yours will fare better than mine did," he said, his eyes shifting to Briya. There was no spite there...in fact, Briya heard something close to admiration in his voice. His hand reached inside his breast pocket, the other raised again to stop Kate from again reaching for her piece. With two fingers, he extracted an envelope, which he laid on the table. 

"Those are the two names, and their usual hangouts. I know these guys, and I can almost guarantee they're the ones you're looking for. You need any more help than this, I'm game, but I don't work for free. Gotta eat, right, Kate?" The things that girl had done in the orphanage, and more, the things she'd done to get out of it. He shook his head at the memory while Josh stopped at their table and set down three whiskeys, then moved off to pour one for himself.

Kate had her gun in the holster, but her hand was still in the vicinity. Her voice was calm, slightly curious, but she still seemed like a cat ready to leap. She ignored the new developments until the old ones were settled.

"I've been good, Mark. Still alive. Killed Matthew. Not sure if you heard. Not sure if that's an issue for you. I know you cared for John, but..."

But you were still close with Matthew.

And while I don't believe you'd ever kill John, you were still there fucking watching as Matthew shot him.

Her fingers twitched slightly as she studied Mark's eyes- and his hands. John had trained him as well. She was better, but still. Mark was better than most.

Mark sighed, then placed his palms flat on the table and studied his drink for a very long moment before speaking. 

"I heard what you'd done, sure. Matthew had it coming. I loved him, but he had a rotten spot on him, like a bruised apple. The bruise just kept on spreading outwards over time. That day with John, well, I may have slowed the bullet that killed him, but I was no match against our brother. I'd have died, too. If that makes me a coward, Kate, so be it. You have bigger balls than I do," he said, his fingers curling on the table top for a moment before his right hand reached for his glass and lifted it.

"I won't apologize for self-preservation. Am I sorry that John's dead? Of course I am. He was the closest thing to a father we would ever have. If you got a problem with me, I get it, I'll turn down this here lady's job offer," he said, tilting his head at Briya. 

"Rather not, seeing as how I'm currently unemployed," he said, flashing a quick smile and downing his drink.

Briya saw Kate's shoulders noticeably deflate as the tension started to seep out of her. Maybe tension was the wrong word; she was still sense, but she seemed less likely to kill. Her hand was still near her side, but it was resting now. Still, anger flashed in her eyes as he matter-of-factly mentioned how he would have simply died protecting John. 

You could have tried. He was worth trying. Worth dying for. It would have been different, if I was there. 

"The only problem I have with you is that I would died defending John, and you didn't. Doesn't matter what he would have wanted. But I'm not going to put a bullet in you just because you're a coward. Don't think John would approve of that at all. So you'll be plenty safe around me. Just don't expect me to respect you."

She leaned back in her seat, placing her hands on the table and glancing at her boss.

"I hear you have a couple names for Briya. Loyal of you. That sense of self-preservation again, huh? Why don't you tell her what she needs to know?"

Mark pushed the envelope on the table with the tip of his finger towards Kate.

"As I said, it's all in there, Little Sister. Names, places you'll likely find them. As secure as this charming place may be," he said, glancing around, "I'm not about to start vocalizing names. These guys are lightweights, but they're not dumb. They have friends. Friends with eyes and ears," he said, glancing at Briya, who nodded for him to continue.

"I'm ready to move on this whenever you are. Sooner the better," he said, holding up his hand in a 'no thanks' gesture when Josh pointed at his empty glass from across the room. 

"Your boss lady here is willing to pay, if you're willing to work with me. Can start right now. All you gotta do is open that envelope, and we're off and running," he finished, waiting.

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly at "Little Sister", but the rest of her face didn't react. Kate grabbed the envelope and glanced at @Briya.

"Other than handling these two with him... anything else, boss?"

Briya smiled at that; Kate was treating this like a walk in the park, which spoke volumes about her confidence in taking care of what could be a very big problem. 

"I think that's all for now. You two know where to find me if you need...well, anything. I don't suppose you do, unless we're talking about the patience of a saint," she said, standing as Kate mad-dogged her brother. She had no reason to believe the two couldn't work through the job together, but Briya began to wonder if Mark wouldn't come out of it slightly worse for wear. 

Kate, well. It didn't even occur to her to worry about Kate.

"I'll leave you two to it, then," she said, dropping enough cash on the table to cover the tab they'd racked up. 

"Oh, Mark? You, uh. You'll need to drive," she said before laughing her way out the door and into the sunshine outside.

Kate's mind was spinning as she watched Briya exit. Despite her confident attitude, she knew these jobs were different. Most of her targets were scared, trying to hide. Even the ones considered "dangerous" by the cops hadn't really been in here league.

But these two... 

Kate sliced open the envelope with her finger as she slid into Mark's car. She did her best to ignore him- and the drive.

Francis Martinez.

Dennis Campbell.

They may be "lightweights" compared to Briya's status, but they were predators, just like her. And what's more, they had resources. People. And they knew she was coming. This wouldn't be a case of strolling into someone's house and popping them in their sleep...

The access was really the issue. If she was standing in front of her target and she had a free hand, they were as good as dead... assuming there wasn't a crowd of other guns to cut her down as soon as she shot.

Relying purely on her gun hand wouldn't work here, unless she planned to shoot multiple targets already established in a defensive position.

Her approach- the puzzle- that's what would matter here. Especially for the first one. The second one, after he knew there was trouble, would be even harder to surprise.

Could she talk her way in somewhere with a smile? With sex? Were there other connections she could lean on to get to her target, forcing someone else her target trusted to take her in? Find leverage?

Looking at Mark for the first time, she spoke.

"Tell me about Francis Martinez."

"Francis Martinez. Low-level guy by appearances, but a shooter. Served as the hit squad leader under the godfather. No family, no real friends or acquaintances outside the family. Slept, drank, and trained. That's all he did. Does," Mark replied, slowing as they passed a local dive bar on The Strip. 

"Drives an old Ford...can't miss it, it looks like it's got half the desert caked on it," he said, shaking his head as they continued to pass. No Ford. Accelerating again, he turned onto one of the main roads and headed towards Summerlin.

"As I said, these guys aren't brain surgeons. But they had enough street smarts to get themselves in favor with the big guy. Both were there that day that Briya took him out, and both of them came out, guns blazing, after her. Were you there? Of course you were," he said, glancing over at Kate for a moment. The kid had a loyalty streak a mile wide.

As the car entered Summerlin proper, Mark took a right, then another right, into what looked to be one of the less blessed neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city itself. Again he slowed, but this time he came to a stop and killed the engine, half a block behind a filthy Ford parked at the curb in front of a faded yellow bungalow.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," Mark muttered, nodding his head at the residence.

"He'll be alone. Armed. Probably drunk, possibly sleeping. Francis always was a night-owl," he said, leaning back in his seat with a sigh.

"All you, Baby Girl. I'll have the car running when I hear shots. I don't see you within sixty seconds' time after that, cut through the backyard and meet me one street over. Another minute after that, if you're not there, I'm in the wind,' he said, folding his hands on his stomach and closing his eyes for an impromptu siesta.

Hitsquad Leader. Faaantastic. At least he'd be alone. She'd trust Mark's information... to a point.  But she'd still be careful.

Kate did her best to ignore showing any signs of discomfort in the car, and she didn't need to fake it as much as she used to. Perhaps she was getting acclimated- if never to planes, then at least to cars.

As Mark pulled the car to a stop, Kate pulled out her revolver and loaded a final round. The 1873 Colt SAA had a bad habit of going off by accident if it got jostled too much with six in the cylinder, which led her to almost always leaving an empty chamber under the hammer unless action was imminent. Like it was right now. 

As she clicked the gun closed, she glared at Mark.

"If I'm not out in 60 seconds, go another street over. And feel free to do a couple streets after that. But you stay out of the fucking wind for 5 minutes unless you really think ditching me is a smart move."

She didn't wait for an answer, and she barely refrained from slamming the door. Instead, she closed it quietly. 

It was a long walk to the bungalow, but things were quiet. The whole neighborhood seemed deserted. It was certainly shitty enough for people to have left. Or just locked their doors to keep their heads down.

The soft sound of her boots making their way through the yellowing grass was interrupted by a quick series of three gunshots. 

Kate Logan dropped to the ground as if she was dead weight; her hat rolled a few paces away and came to rest in the dust.

She heard Mark pull out immediately. Fucker.

Taken entirely by surprise, Kate echoed something she'd seen her mentor due almost a decade earlier when he was ambushed: if you're standing out in the middle of nowhere and someone's shooting at you, let them think they hit you. Matthew, Mark, and Kate had seen John use the same move against a pair of cattle rustlers. 

Hitsquad leader, my ass. Maybe he WAS drinking... although perhaps a couple of those shots were closer than she wanted to admit.

Either way, Kate stilled her breathing as she heard cautious footsteps approach.  She intentionally left her hands away from her gun so as not to arouse suspicion. She got kicked once, hard, and it took everything she had not to react- fortunately, she was facing away from Martinez. It was when she felt him nonchalantly try to use his foot to spin her around and get a look at her that she finally made her move, grabbing his boot and thrashing to the side to send him off balance to the ground. Her gun was out in a second as she leaped for him, but both combatants grabbed the others' wrists as they rolled on the ground like polecats. Kate took a couple hard knees to the stomach, driving her back against concrete, before she was able to use Martinez's own motion to redirect his gun- not towards his center of mass, but to the very edge of his shoulder. The crack of her revolver sent a bullet into his shoulder, and he was suddenly unable to keep her gun pointed away from himself. In desperation, he let go of his gun and slammed his fist into her mouth, but she used the opportunity the shoot him three times in the chest. She felt her lip split, but thought it was a fair trade as her target slumped to the ground. One more in the head made sure the job was done, and she took off at a painful jog to the car... which was three blocks away. 

She slammed the door as she entered.

"Drive. Who's next?"

Mark hit the gas as Kate dropped into the seat next to him, then speared her with a long look. Her mouth was bleeding, but she seemed okay, otherwise. Instinct had him reaching to check under her coat, but his hand was smacked away with a quickness and ferocity that reminded him just how well trained she was. And how much his concern was not appreciated.

"Well then. Dennis Campbell. Right Hand to the godfather. Another low profile guy, but not socially. Wife and four kids, but you'd never know it. Sleazy fuck has likely given his wife countless STDs. We'll find him in a cathouse; he's never home," he said, following the same path now back toward The Strip. Whorehouse Central.

The first four stops proved fruitless. There was no filthy Ford to advertise this one, but a dozen bodyguards should have the same effect...yet all seemed tame on this Thursday evening. 

And then they rolled up on the fifth. 

At least two bodyguards were mid-coitus with a couple of the ladies in the adjacent alleyway. A third was getting a hand-job by the front door.

"This should prove interesting. The bodyguards aren't trained in much other than venereal disease, so you got that going for ya. Denny is a title guy...bare bones effort to find his niche, then proceeded to fuck off after that. Decent gun, but nothing impressive. Always has at least three women around him when he should have three guards. Look for him in the back rooms, I bet dollars to doughnuts he's gettin' his knob polished as we speak," Mark said, then looked at Kate again. 

"He's got the numbers, but the numbers are zeroes. You got this. I'm not even moving the car. She and I will be idling here, waiting on you. If you can't backtrack out the front, there's s side door there that spits out into that alley there. You'll be a ghost of a memory before they even realize what's happened, " he said, then smiled his first genuine smile in half a decade. Was there pride in there? 

Kate rummaged through Mark's car, eventually finding a napkin to wipe the blood off her lip. After a short time, it had stopped actively bleeding. She could feel the soreness where Martinez had kicked her and driven her to the ground, and she could tell that tomorrow would be a bad day. But for now, she'd barely started bruising and her adrenaline was racing enough that she barely noticed. She used her emotions to suppress the pain, alternately throwing herself into lust or rage whenever an injury protesting. 

She listened to Mark as he drove past the whorehouses, evaluating whether the target was there. The number of bodyguards made the fifth one the obvious choice. Mark seemed fairly confident that she could waltz in and waltz out, but she was less convinced. 

If she was dueling someone one on one, none of them would have a chance. But this wasn't a scenario where she could win a bunch of duels against BGs and then take down the boss. Five or six bodyguards spraying a hallway with bullets, even if they were idiots, could easily cut her down. And it would take would be one guy saying "HEY!" too loud to alert Campbell, who'd then be locked in his room with a few guns pointing at the door. The idea of shooting her way in, shooting her target, and then shooting her way out... that seemed somewhat suicidal. Even if it she could pull it off, it was risky as hell. 

Was that what Mark wanted? Her to walk in, start a long gunfight, shoot the target, and then get cut down on the way out? Briya and Mark had made it seem like the previous godfather's operation was done with except for these two, so she probably didn't have to worry about Mark using her to make a powerplay... she was probably being paranoid. John had always said to never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity, and this was almost certainly a case of the latter. If there were four bad guys, six quick shots might get her to her target... but who knows how many more there were inside? If she was stuck reloading, it didn't matter how much talent the bodyguards had...

No, for this one she'd have to get past the bodyguards, both outside and in, and get back out without putting herself in a position where three mooks could know she was coming and point guns at her in a narrow hallway. 

Kate exited the car without a word and backtracked, making her way around the block to come at the cathouse from a different direction. This time, instead of the alley where some bodyguards were being entertained, she found a single woman wearing negligee and a long jacket while smoking a cigarette. Kate placed a finger to her mouth for silence, and dug out all the cash in her pocket. It looked like almost $200. Whatever, this was a big job. She stuck the roll of cash at the woman with a smile.

"How I about I buy that outfit from you, and you head home early tonight? Quietly?"

A few minutes later, the woman had walked away with her jacket held tightly around her. Kate had folded her shirt, vest, jeans, boots, and hat neatly in the alley and was wearing the barely-there black number from her new friend. Her gunbelt was hidden under her hat, but her gun was in her hand. She didn't want to make a lot of noise heading in or out, but she sure as shit didn't want to walk in without a weapon. After trying a few different options, she managed to position her revolver in between her shoulder blades, held in place by the tight bra strap. She'd leave this out of the story when she told Briya...

She checked her lip to ensure there was no blood and started making her way slowly towards her target. The sound of slapping flesh in the other alley, outside the main entrance, confirmed that the men there were occupied. She didn't get a second look from any of them as she walked in. 

The cathouse itself, at least from this back entrance, seemed like a long hallway with a series of small rooms for "business". There were no doors, only curtains, and Kate began peering through them as she walked. Based on Mark's description, Dennis Campbell liked having multiple women around him... and a guy like that usually didn't like seeing his subordinates getting the same treatment. So the rooms with a man and a woman weren't her target, and she managed to rule out a few rooms by taking a quick look through a slit in the curtain.

A man walking down the hallway was a potential threat, but she stuck out her chest and grinned at him as he passed... and she also had the presence of mind to turn and walk backwards for a bit, ensuring that when he looked back to check her out he wouldn't notice the gun. 

The sixth room revealed a man deep in bacchanalian revelry, or at least the aftermath of it. He was wearing only a robe and he was surrounded by three female figures. Kate was in the process of looking for a silent way to take her target... perhaps a knife, if she could cut his throat quick enough he couldn't scream... or a makeshift garrote... when she noticed that one of the "women" in the room looked about fifteen years old.

She stared for a moment, and then her body started operating on instinct as she reached around to her back. Two bullets passed through the forehead of Dennis Campbell and by the time the mix of blood and brains and skin and hair had sprayed the wall behind him, Kate Logan was running. There was no trouble in the hallway; Kate heard some confused shouting as men struggled to detach themselves from their previous pleasures. She pushed through the door she'd come in, and two quick shots dropped the man, now smoking a cigarette, who'd walked past her in the hallway. Kate grabbed her clothes and hustled around the block to where Mark's car was waiting. She opened the back door and fell in with all her things, slamming the door behind her.

"Drive. And I swear to God if you make one comment on what I'm wearing I'll put a bullet in your head and tell Briya you were caught in the crossfire."

Her voice was usually detached, but there was a rage present here that hopefully conveyed just how dangerous it was for anyone to get in her way at the moment. She simmered in the back seat as she reloaded her revolver, in case of pursuit, before laying it on the floor and putting her clothes on over the ridiculous get up she was wearing. 

The job was done, but Kate still needed to have words with Briya. Serious words.