The phosphorus head scratched along the book’s striking surface, fizzed and burst into flame on the end of the match, briefly illuminating Tiberius’ face as he puffed on the cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. The sound of ignition had become such a stress relief in itself, he could no longer be sure if it was that or the nicotine he so desperately craved. 

“Which one of you babbos wants to try explaining this fucking mess first?”, he finally said, waving his arm to extinguish the match as he turned to face a small gang of sheepish youths. The boys shuffled nervously for a moment but none of them wanted to be the one to break the silence. Tiberius continued to glare at them, smoke billowing from his nostrils, the only sound to be heard was the soft clicking of his teeth clacking together impatiently.

“See… here’s what I’m struggling with…”, he said as he began to pace and gesticulate with his smoking hand, “... When I spoke to you all at the pier this morning, you were all keen as mustard to prove your worth... When I asked if you knew the jeweler, Carvolho over on Walnut St. - you, Reggie! You chirped up and told us how your old man got your mom’s rock from there...” The boy Tiberius had pointed at lowered his head and began to fiddle with his switchblade.

Tiberius paused for a moment to see if any of them would respond until he finally shook his head angrily at the continued silence.
. 
“Simple instructions - simple collection - Carvolho’s always been happy with the arrangement, I said.”

“So - Imagine!” He shouted, raising his hands above his head as his voice grew louder. “Imagine, my surprise when I get a call down at the pier to come all the way uptown…But not to Carvolho’s - Oh, no!” Tiberius swiveled on the heels of his brogues and scooped a cauliflower out of one of the crates behind him.

 “I got to come to some fucking greengrocer’s you three decided to knock over on the way there!” Tiberius roared as he hurled the cauliflower towards Reggie.

The cauliflower punched into his torso, despite the boy’s feeble attempts to shield himself with his arms, sending the switchblade skittering across the tiled floor. The lad directly next to him bent over to console Reggie in the aftermath before looking up at Tiberius. 

“Aww come off it, Uncle Tibz, we only wanted a few bucks for the trolley back!” 

“There’s never a good reason to draw attention on a collection run, Shaun!” Tiberius responded with a jab of the smoldering remains of his cigarette as Shaun helped Reggie back to his feet. “Just go wait out-fucking-side and keep an eye out!” He flicked the rest of his cigarette out the open door and closed it behind the boys before turning his attention to the eldest of the group.

This lad was the eldest by far, compared to the two lads in their early teens who’d left the shop already. They both stared blankly at each other for a second. Tiberius raised his eyebrows slightly and in one swift motion, slapped the back of his hand across the youth’s face in response to the start of a shrug.

“Be a fuckin’ man, Terry!” Tiberius shouted as the youth whimpered slightly. “You’re what? Nineteen now? You’re fucking, nineteen?”

"Twe...Twenty-two." Terry responded, clutching his cheek.

“Jesu- Twenty-two! Fucking hell, you’re old enough to fucking drink before all this bullshit and you’re up here messing up my shit like you’re a fucking twelve-year-old!”

Tiberius grabbed Terry by the lapels of his suit jacket and shook the young man straight.
“If you’re going to dress like a man - you better stand up straight and sharpen up your fucking act! I expect this Young Turk bullshit from those two - but for fuck's sake, Terry, at twenty-two you need to start doing exactly what I tell you to do, without a fuckin’ hitch. Capiche?”

Terry shuffled nervously while Tiberius waited for the words to sink in. 
“That being said,” he finally concluded, tugging the bottom of his own suit jacket to straighten the creases, “let’s take a look at this body and get to fixing this situation.”

Tibz lit another cigarette in an attempt to cover up the smell protruding from the shopkeeper's corpse. Terry stood a few feet behind him, dry retching slightly, after learning that bowels no longer function post-humously. The shopkeeper had clearly made a grab for the Colt stashed under the counter but the stab wounds riddled all over his chest indicated that he'd not gotten anywhere near firing off a shot. Tibz stepped over the body and knelt down to pick it up. He was surprised to see, upon closer inspection, that it took .38 Special cartridges. One of the newer 'Official Police' models, he thought, as he snapped the revolver's cylinder shut again. Man must have had some screw friends. He turned his attention back to the shopkeeper and froze. Hunched behind the counter, Tibz had a much clearer view of the man's face.

"Wassamatter?" Terry mumbled through the hand pressed up against his face, still trying desperately to block the stench of defecation.

"I... don't... rec-og-nize, this guy," Tibz responded slowly as if he didn't want to believe the words he was uttering. 

"So what? You don't know some chump greengrocer - I don't know a lot of greengrocers," Terry quipped, holding up both hands in dismissal. This left himself open to an assault on his senses, which caused him to violently hurl on the floor next to him.

"No," Tibz responded, ignoring Terry's predicament entirely, "no, no - I know everyone on our turf. I know every face in every business we collect from..." His voice trailed off as he heard the distant sound of a trolley bell ringing. Tibz fedora rose slowly from behind the counter as he raised his head just high enough to peer out onto the street. There he could see Shaun and Reggie laughing and hurling stones at some poor schmuck rushing to grab onto a streetcar trundling past.

"We're on the wrong side of the tracks," he said dejectedly, removing his hat as he rose to a full stance. He tossed it onto the counter and placed both his hands down either side of it - still staring out the shop's glass front as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Philadelphia had two main crews that ran the protection rackets. One of the agreed boundaries that split the operations was the trolley line that ran right past the front of the shop, and as Tibz had already stated, they were on the wrong side of it. 

Tibz' head slumped forward as the gravity of it all hit him. Even though there was peace on the streets of Philadelphia, no one was going to truly believe this was a simple mistake. No - they were going to think this was a deliberate attempt to muscle in on rival turf. This could easily be construed as an act of war,  Tibz thought as his gaze drifted across the countertop, resting on the candlestick phone perched on the very end.

He reached across and dragged the phone in front of him. The situation had escalated way above his authority and he was going to have to call in someone to set things right. Tibz ignored the sounds of Terry's continual chundering as he spun the phone's rotary disc at the base of the stick. 

"Tara?" He asked boldly into the mouthpiece. "Got a bit of a situation here..." 

Tara practically flew down the stairs that led from her office above the East Cat Cellars. She was in a cab in thirty seconds, taking her to the address Tibz had given her.

Spaceman's organization of himself, Arya_Stark, Star, and JackMezzo controlled the Old City and Bella Vista. In South Philly, there were groups of Italians, Russians, Irish, and a few other groups battling each other for territory- but unified against Spaceman's organization. The boundary was a train track stretching across the city.

SneakyTibz was one of the newest Made Men in the crew. Tara couldn't help but wonder what situation he'd found himself in; she'd only heard the basics on the phone, and it was enough to know she needed to get there in person.

As the cab pulled up, she saw a few young men hanging around. She ignored them, walking inside to Tibz.

"Tibz. What's going on?"

By the time Tara arrived on the scene, Terry had cleared up the mess he'd made on the shop floor and was getting some much needed fresh air under Tibz' orders. Who was now leaning on the opposite side of the counter with his back to the door when Tara came striding through demanding an explanation. Tibz placed the Colt revolver he'd been studying down next to a can of kerosene sourced from the storeroom in the back and turned to face her.

"Tara, I just want to start by saying...ah screw it, just come and take a look," he conceded, waving his arm over the counter to where the shopkeeper still lay slumped in a pool of his own blood. "I don't think anyone's going to believe this guy died of natural causes."

He briefly explained how he'd sent Terry and the other two on a simple collection run uptown and how they'd "taken the initiative" to do a bit of petty theft along the way. 

"Technically it should only have been Terry running the job - but he's still new to town and needed someone to show him the routes."  Tibz motioned outside to the two younger lads.

"It's been a couple of weeks since I've collected across the tracks myself - but I seem to recall a couple of heavy Ruskis running along this side of the neighborhood on more than one occasion." He turned back to the counter and slapped his hand on the can of kerosene.  "I initially thought we could avoid any backlash by... starting some sorta ... fire sale...," he said, rocking the can back and forth as he spoke. "But now I'm thinking that's probably going a bit too far." He concluded looking back at Tara to gage her reaction to his half-baked plan. 

Tara raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly... it's not the worst idea. But odds are, it'd get traced back to us eventually. Most buildings don't randomly burn down... and my guess is that more than a few neighbors have noticed us by now."

She sighed, crossing her arms.

"Traditionally, there's a few ways 'mistakes' like this are handled. They all have a shot with working with the Russians, but some of that depends on how close they were to the victim here."

Tara ticked off the options on her fingers in a businesslike fashion, simply presenting the range of possibilities.

"First, we could take a more active approach. Find out which individual or gang runs this particular block and go after them. A preemptive strike could neutralize the threat."

"Second, we could try pure diplomacy. Meet up with them, tell them the truth about what happened and offer a payment. Could settle it without violence... but if it does turn violent, we've lost the element of surprise."

"Third, we give them whoever made this mistake and let the Russians bury them. Then we offer some cash, which would be less needed than simply trying to buy peace."

"You'll be handling a lot of this, Tibz, although I can certainly provide you with some back up. What's your call?"

Tibz paced back and forth in front of the counter with his hands in his pockets. None of the solutions sounded particularly appealing and risked escalating the situation much further. But then again it wouldn't be considered a problem if there was an easy way out. He weighed each option in his mind; even the prospect of handing over Terry to the Russians for being led astray - despite knowing it was certainly that psychopath Reggie that had stuck the shopkeeper to death. Tibz picked his hat up off the counter and replaced it at a jaunty angle.

"The way I see it, Tara,"  he said with a smirk creeping onto his face. "Even if we did try to make amends, I don't trust that they wouldn't retaliate afterward anyway."

He nodded silently for a few seconds and looked out onto the streets as the concept began to fully sink in. 

"Yeah, I think we should hit 'em first." He finally concluded dramatically, looking back at Tara.

Tara nodded. It was her read as well. With this particular group, if they hit hard enough the first time and made sure the rest of South Philly knew it was over, they had a shot of wrapping things up cleanly. 

"There's a bar in their neighborhood; I forget the exact address, but it's got a red door. They should all be there tonight. Scope out the area- quietly. Don't bring anyone you don't trust in a fight. I'll have Gavin come back you up and provide some firepower, while I lean on the cops and make sure no one gets in here to figure out what happened until tomorrow."

She took a deep breath. A decent plan, but a lot was still left up to luck.

"Anything else you need from me before you do this?"