Phillip Harris, age 34.  White male. Smoker. Wife of two years who he's been fucking around on for three.  She's had no less than three miscarriages that the sweet Harriet Belger (FBN Retired) knew about.  There were rumors as to why, but Harriet hated to gossip about what a man does with his wife behind closed doors.

Every Sunday at 8am leaves his house to grab the newspaper and heads down to the donut shop where he orders a cup of joe, one lump of sugar, no cream.  He reads the paper while he eats a donut and enjoys his coffee. He buys a pack of smokes at the main street deli where he and the owner Mr. Haggerty talk about the Detroit Tigers’ hopes of making it to the World Series this year.  Like most people who know Phillip, Mr. Haggerty likes Phillip. Phillip is a charming 'every man's man' who has a smile for anyone he doesn't know well, but Phillip has secrets too.

Phillip has worked for the FBN since he was 27.  In that time he has received two reprimands in that time for excessive violence, but there should be a whole lot more.  This is how his superior, Agent Garrett, got his loyalty. Phillip, as it turns out, is an unrepentant sadist and before Garrett engaged his services, he no good outlet for his brutal tastes.  A milksop wife and the occasional criminal wasn't cutting it. He wanted more... and Garrett needed someone with few moral qualms and a fuck ton to lose including a pension and a comfortable life in suburbia.



Chad Miller, age 46.  White male. A graduate of West Point Military Academy; special honors for marksmanship.  Closet Alcoholic & compulsive gambler; someone who had real trouble come prohibition. Miller's obedience didn't cost Garrett as much time or effort as Harris' had.  Miller had lost his wife in divorce years ago, she took his two kids Billy and Susan with her when she went. She lives in nearby Utica to this day and maintains no real contact with her husband despite being only a few minutes away by car.

Chad's father was abusive and left when Chad was young.  As such the boy grew to be a man who had a hole in him that just never was filled... not by scholastic or military achievement, not beautiful women, not by all the times his favorite teams won, and sure as hell not by emptying bottles of booze.  Garrett should have fired him after he drunkenly hit and run that young black boy four years ago ... but the FBN takes care of its own and Garrett was never one to let a useful (if broken) tool slip through his fingers. The papers didn't even cover the boy's death which was ruled an accident.  Phyllis Carrigan (FBN, Retired) wasn't ever going to forget 'losing' the paperwork though. It just never sat right with her. As she put it, Miller is a bad seed... trust that.

Albert Fitzpatrick, age 29.  White male - VERY handsome. Proudly Irish.  Devout Catholic. Living alone in Warren in an loft apartment on 8th Avenue.  Grew up on the streets of Boston and would have likely fallen into the world of Crime if not for a gangster filling his father full of hot lead during a bank robbery.  Albert decided then the whole fucking world was out to devour itself, and no one got shit given to them worse than Irish Immigrants. He wanted the power to stop it, and the only way he could see to fight the criminal element who victimized his people… was to become the heavy and vengeful fist of the law.

Fitzpatrick is a ‘crack a few eggs to make an omelet’ sort of Federal Agent and in this he and Garrett saw eye to eye.  If Garrett did have a real friend in all the world, and not just flunkies, it was Fitzpatrick. Old Mary Zimmerman, a friendly Jewish grandmother who got into the FBN as one of the few women who kept books, remembered the special bond they shared.

Special, of course, was one way to put it… another was to imply that maybe both men enjoyed each other’s company a bit more than was considered ‘natural’ or would have been allowed by Catholic law.  Mary didn’t say this much, it was clear she thought the bond was innocent enough -- but Isabella had her doubts especially when she’d learned that Garrett had been exceedingly generous with gifts for his friend… gifts that most g-men and coppers couldn’t afford and wouldn’t spring for when it came to their male friends.

Isabella knew all three men were going to be a handful but taking them out one at a time was leaving Garrett room to know what was going down.  So, it was agreed that the three accomplices would be dealt with simultaneously leaving Garrett with no one to fall back to - at least no one they had names for at the moment.

It was 5am.  The hotel room that Isabella had taken the boys to the night before was a buzz with their activity.  Taking turns dressing, each man stealing a kisses from her as the other disappeared to go through his morning routine… Gavin barely grooming to get the lion’s share of the time.  Coffee being brewed and donuts being delivered by Neil.

When Will finally emerged he smelled so nice that Isabella sincerely considered going over and hugging him one more time just to fill her sense with him… but she just smiled into her coffee mug instead.

“We’ve got the names, locations… all that remains is to decide who is going where.  I want to know if theses guys know anything we can use… identities of moles in our operation would be great… but at the end of the day the biggest thing we need to accomplish is to make sure these fuckers disappear so well that the Feds can’t come back on my family for it.”

“Input?  Thoughts?  Ideas… or special requests?  Gentlemen… now’s the time so, grab some coffee and speak up.”

"Give me Phillip Harris. Routine makes it simple to catch him and he'll deserve anything I do to him. His habits will leave plenty of vulnerabilities to leverage for information too."

William made sure to grab a cup of coffee. His sleeping habits hadn't been idea lately and he was going to need plenty of energy for that scumbag.

Gavin munched on a donut and looked at Bella.

"I don't care. You pick."

"Miller is older, but he's actually got some serious training.  But on a Sunday morning... chances are good he'll be out cold.  He may be an easier go for me than the young Irishman who is no doubt planning to wake up for Church."  She grabbed a donut and gave a smile to Gavin.  "You're not worried about burning in hell for killing a Catholic are you?"  She chuckled.

Gavin shrugged.

"As long as he's not a priest, it's fine with me. Then it's settled. Will on #1, Bella on #2, I'll take #3."

With a sigh, Gavin returned to the bathroom.  Fifteen minutes later, he was looking much more presentable as he walked out and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. With a wave of his hand, he was out the door. He made only one stop, which was to pick up a special item from a black market contact. It was expensive, but he figured it would make the job much, much easier.

Gavin knocked on the door to Fitzpatrick's apartment and held up his new acquisition: a gleaming badge. Gavin saw Albert Fitzpatrick's eye through the keyhole before the door clicked open. The target looked cautious, but Gavin spoke before he could say anything.

"Albert Fitzpatrick. Age 29. Active duty, Federal Bureau of Narcotics."

His voice was dry and serious, presenting obvious facts and not asking.

"My name is Walter Rivers, United States Secret Service. May I come in? However, please note that I am obligated to advise you that a refusal to do so could potentially impact your future employment."

It was still relatively early in the morning, and Fitzpatrick had been knocked onto his back foot in the conversation. Without much of a pause, he let Gavin inside. The shorter man strolled past him without looking, scouring Albert's rooms like a drill sergeant doing an inspection.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, you are one of several candidates that has been identified for possible recruitment by the Secret Service. The first step in this process is an unannounced visit to the home; you would be surprised how many people are immediately disqualified by what we find during these, but I'm sure a good Catholic boy like yourself has nothing to worry about. Yes, I've studied your file. At this early point, I'd like to have a brief conversation with you to discuss the process, increased salary, job opportunities, and other big picture factors, as well as answering any questions you have; after that, I'd like you to show me around. Why don't we sit down and talk for a bit?"

Albert Fitzpatrick finally found his voice.

"Of course, sir. Anything you need."

Gavin just nodded as he pointed to the kitchen chair where Fitzpatrick should sit. As the man settled into the chair, sitting up straight to present a good impression, Gavin considered whether he should ask him anything... but it was probably better to just finish the business and return to Bella.

Gavin knelt down to "tie his shoe" near Fitzpatrick, which earned him a glance out of the corner of the man's eye. It's bad form, however, to stare at someone tying their shoe when they're about to interview you for a job. Gavin's leg shielded his hand as he took the knife always strapped to his calf and gripped it. In a few fast motions, before he could respond, Albert Fitzpatrick was stabbed in the chest multiple times- and had his throat slit to ensure the job was done. Fighting desperately against the inevitable, Fitzpatrick slowly dropped to the floor and bled out on the carpet.

Gavin moved quickly as he locked the door and walked briskly to Fitzpatrick's bedroom. He didn't want to spend too much time, but he could afford a few minutes. He checked the top of the closet and had moved a couple picture frames before he lifted the mattress and found what he was looking for: letters from Agent Garrett. Bella might find some use for these. Folding them and tucking them into his pocket, Gavin was out the door and on the sidewalk within moments. 

Mildred Hayworth pushed her newborn baby carriage down 14th Street.  She was heading to church, her mind going through the list of things she needed to do before her husband returned home from his business trip to New York.  She didn't really think much about paying attention to the comings and goings of people around her.  Not the car starting a few blocks away, not the woman talking to the newsboy selling his papers, nor the seemingly drunk man stumbling out of a green painted door on the side of a restaurant which wasn't open at this hour - she simply gave him wide berth, and continued about her own business.

Until the squeal of tires caused her to snap her head violently in the direction of the potential danger that is.

"MISTER LOOK OUT!"  The newsboy cried out.

"OH GOD!"  The woman buying the paper screamed in terror.

Mildred watched in horror as a black car with no license plate, run down the drunken man on the side of the road and then, unimaginably, kept going!  Her baby began crying and Mildred screamed as she watched the man go down, bleeding from his mouth and a variety of lacerations.  

The woman with her newspaper ran to the man immediately.  "GET THE CAR - THIS MAN NEED TO GET TO A HOSPITAL!"  She called out to someone.  The woman looked to Mildred, "Did you see the car?  Did you see the driver?  The license plate?"

"I ... I think it was a black car?"

"Try to remember anything... quick now... don't forget!"  She urged as a car pulled up to the curb and a large man got out to load up the poor hit and run victim into the backseat.

"There wasn't a plate... oh god, will he live?!?"

The woman smiled.  "Just focus on the car, tell the police everything when they come.  Don't worry about us... he's in good hands."  With that, the woman got into the back seat with the victim and her car quickly pulled away to take the man to get help.

———————❖———————

"That," Isabella said poking a small bit of bone coming out of Chad's arm, "...has GOT to hurt."

Chad cried out as Neil pulled away from the scene of the crime.  

"Do you suppose John felt this bad before he died?"

Through the overwhelming agony, a bit of awareness came into the Agent's eyes.

"I bet he did, but don't worry... that poor little boy didn't suffer half as much as you're about to, if I don't get the answers I want."

"Who..." he wheezed.

Isabella poked the bone again and he screamed.  "Tsk! Tsk!  Didn't your mother teach you that it's incredibly rude to interrupt a lady while she's speaking?"  Pain warred with fear on the man's face and so Isabella shrugged, "You know I can tell you're not going to relax until we do introductions... so... you're Agent Chad Miller of the FBN's Detroit branch and me... I'm Don Isabella Luciano," 

Recognition registered in his tear-filled eyes.

"Fiancee to Elias Landucci... the man you TORTURED for months."  She leaned down near Miller's ear and whispered, "And believe me when I say - the BEST you can hope for here is a quick death granted for cooperation, because I KNOW you've read my file and my father's file.  And TRUST that puny file is only the beginnings of the horrors I'm responsible for."

Chad wheezed, "I'll tell you everything I know..."

Isabella patted his cheek and smiled, letting her tone return to it's normal, "I know you will, Chad.  We're going to become so close before all this is done.  For now... just rest.  You're gonna need your strength."

———————❖———————

"Normally,"  Isabella said wiping the blood from her hands.  "I don't go so poetic, but people who hurt children - even accidentally, they don't sit right with me."

"Someone ... will... remember you."  Chad said from his fetal position on the floor, his blood slowly dripping down a floor drain a few inches from his face.

"It's possible, but you're a law enforcement agent.  How often do you get two people at a crime scene who recall the same details?  How many of those people will be struggling to remember details about a non-descript car with no license and an out of town driver who is already on a plane out of the country?  How many of them will bother to commit to memory the kind face of a good samaritan rushing him to the hospital?"  She smiled.  They both knew the answer to that.  No one would remember her and if they did there'd be six different versions of who the good Samaritan was.  It would be a miracle if any of them would recall anything more than the fact that she had been a woman.

Chad returned to crying, it was much weaker than before.  He'd lost a lot of blood and hitting a man with a car wasn't an exact science.  She couldn't be sure that he wasn't slowly dying of internal injuries.  She had to wrap this up soon, even though her bloodlust wasn't yet sated.

"Enzo Landucci then wasn't your plant?"

"No.  Shit, if we had known about him, do you think we'd have let him reveal himself to you like that?  There were better ways."  Chad whispered between sobs.

Isabella nodded and put the bloody rag onto the table with the pliers and a surgical steel bowl containing three molars and two fingernails.  "I want to believe you.  It does make sense, but you've given me the names of people in my operation who get nowhere near the sorts of material with which you could build a real case.  I'm disinclined to believe this is all you have in my ranks... let alone my father's."

Isabella knelt down in front of Chad's face.  "Give me a REAL name.  Just one and all this pain ends.  Who's the blue ribbon rat?  Who's the one that was gonna make Garrett's name?  It's gotta be someone close to the top.  Someone we really trust.  Someone above question.  Is it one of my father's hands?  My hands?  Come on, Chad... meet me half way.  If you're bleeding out inside your gut, it could be days and I have got nowhere to be and you... you still have a lot of teeth left."

Chad was crying unabashed but exhausted.

"I wonder if Elias cried like this while you hurt him for MONTHS."  He didn't react.  A part of her wanted to know NOTHING about what they did to Elias, but like a wound you couldn't help but fuss with, Isabella had to know.  "You know, I'm a little disappointed, I expected some fight... some attempts at making me angry enough to kill you.  Some bravado about what you did to my fiancee." 

Still, nothing.  "I would have thought Garrett's men would have had more backbone than you do.  I mean, you KNOW that you're not getting out of here... so, why not throw Garrett under the bus too?  I mean, it's not like he deserves your loyalty right?"

"You know nothing about... loyalty."

"Oh... did I find another sore spot?"

"Fuck you."

"That's good... a little fight.  Now, before you do anything stupid, consider how best to use that fight."

"We fed him bread with diuretics on it... and old rainwater from a barrel... nasty shit.  Even when he was getting stuff into him, it went right through him so there wasn't an ounce of meat on him by the end." 

She tensed and stood up.  Listening, caging the dragon inside, committed to hearing him out.

"We tried physical torture at first, but we realized quickly it wasn't going to work.  So then we moved onto something else... we told him about your every move, you parties... businesses... dates."  

"You lied to him?"  She hadn't dated, not until right before Elias had returned.  

"Was easy... after we showed him newspaper clips from you at his funeral.  He knew you thought he was dead - we told him if he ... if he sold out the old man we'd pardon him and you.  Told him he could go home to you right now."

"But he didn't break?"

"No."  Miller whispered.  "He just got sicker faster, he wanted to die.  Garrett underestimated how much that shithead cared about you."

Isabella felt her vision swimming, she wanted to throw up.  She walked away from the Agent who started to chuckle.

"Did I find a sore spot?"  He coughed.

Isabella grabbed the table with her tools on it and threw it, then she pulled her gun and ran over to him shoving it hard into his skull, "THREE OTHERS!  I HAVE THREE OTHER GUYS WHO WILL SING IF YOU WON'T!  JUST ONE WORD - GIVE ME ONE REASON YOU FUCKING SHIT!"

Miller's fake bravado melted and he began to pray.  He wasn't going to give what he knew, not unless she took it to the next level.  She didn't want to do it... but she'd committed herself.  HE'D did this by hurting Elias - not her.  This was his doing!  She wouldn't blame herself for what he made her do!

"Make them say, hello."  She growled.

Joey and Tino went into the next room to start plan B. 

"Susan and Billy have been missing for a few hours now."  She told Miller.  

"NO!"  He cried out at the sound of children's pleas.  It was louder than anything he'd vocalized this entire time. 

"Still in their pajamas, but I bet by now their mother is aware.  Likely she's called the cops... but it could take them a full day to realize their father is a Federal Agent and that they should call your field office."

"YOU SAID YOU DON'T HURT CHILDREN!"

"Actually,"  She said darkly, "I said it didn't sit well with me... but neither does what you're doing.  You're protecting a monster!  Tell me, Miller, who are you more loyal to?  Agent Garrett... or your kids?"

"PLEASE!"  he sobbed.  

"The Blue Ribbon Rat, Miller, I need a name... or your son & daughter will be waiting for you at St. Peter's gate."

For a long while, he was silent, listening to the cries of children echoing against the walls.

"TELL ME!" She screamed at Miller with all the hate and pain in her gut.  

"Zennia Rossi!" 

Isabella's mouth fell open in spite of her best efforts, he heart raced.

He laughed darkly, "We got a hand around that kid's throat, don't think Garrett won't squeeze the moment he gets the call that my kids are..."

Isabella pulled up her gun and put two slugs into Miller's face.

"You okay boss?"  Tino and Neil came over to her as she fell onto herself and grabbing her knees, her gun clattering to the floor.  

"Turn that shit off..."  She stammered before vomiting the remains of her donuts from breakfast into the stupid son of bitch's pooling blood.  The recording of the children stopped abruptly.  Miller hadn't seen the kids in a long time, she knew he wouldn't know one kid's cries from another.  It had taken her an extra 30 minutes this morning, and a dollar to get two kids into a recording booth for her 'game' ... it wasn't hard really, and she was right in thinking the pay off would be worth it.  But that changed nothing about the level of danger which Garrett had placed the LITERAL future of the Luciano family into.

Neil put a hand on her shoulder and she wiped her mouth before coming into his embrace.  For a moment she stood there, and then pulled away.  There was no way of knowing that seemingly sweet old woman's past.  Maybe she was the sort of woman who had no problems choking the life out of babies... maybe Garrett hadn't put just a mole into her father's most private trusted circle, maybe he'd put insurance that he'd weasel out of whatever trap the mafia cooked up for him.  A kill switch that, if something happened to him, the Luciano family would lose it's most vulnerable member: Aurora Luciano, Marie & Salvatore's newborn daughter.

"Tino, clean this shit up like it never happened.  The rest of you with me.  We have to get to get back, NOW!"  

William gave a nod and tipped up the last of his coffee before walking out of the hotel room. No sense wasting time.

He'd considered stalking the man away from his home, finding a place where he and his guards could ambush Mr. Harris and take him on a nice long ride. The routine certainly had holes that would allow for such a thing, but it would be a lot of trouble to deal with witnesses. Instead, William decided to rely on the fact that the man was away from home for a while each Sunday. He knocked on the door of the Harris household at 8:30 AM sharp and waited until a timid face appeared before him.

"Ma'am I've been asked by the department to speak with you regarding certain complaints we've received about your husband, Phillip. Do you mind if I step inside to discuss this matter more privately?"

As the woman began to tear up, William pushed his way inside and shut the door. He didn't like the next part, but she was a liability that would have to be removed from the equation. 

--------------------------------

Philip Harris returned to this home, his morning having followed its structure to a T. He took pride in the unflappability of his traditions. Everything moved like clockwork by his hand and when it broke down, it was by his choosing. That made it particularly frustrating when his wife was nowhere to be seen as he opened the door. She knew better than to shirk in her duties and what such an action would mean for her. Resolving to see to the resolution of this oversight, he stepped into the house and fell to the ground unconscious before he even realized that a set of brass knuckles had smashed into the back of his head.

--------------------------------

The basement had been a mild surprise. William had known from the briefing that Mr. Harris had practiced his particular tastes at home before unleashing them upon those he caught in his work, but he hadn't realized how far that had gone. Judging by the table that Phillip was currently restrained to, stripped to the waist, and the stains on its surface he had been torturing his wife for some time. He was glad the woman hadn't been with him when he'd discovered it.

He rolled out the pack of tools that had been stashed under the table and frowned. It would be nothing more than the man deserved to have them turned around on him. Unfortunately William's hand was more suited to a shotgun than a scalpel. The man would probably received a quick death. Fortunately, Phillip didn't know that. William took one of the small blades and walked to the head of the table, slapping him awake.

"Good morning Mr. Harris. I regret that we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances, but it seems that you have made a little mistake that needs to be corrected. You fucked with the wrong person. That has in turn fucked with me and those in my life. That cannot be allowed to abide." William held up the scalpel and smiled at the man now grinning up to him from the table.

Phillip for his part seemed taken by some amusement rather than the angry shouting or pleading that William had expected. He'd even begun to laugh.

"Mr. Harris, I don't believe you understand the gravity of this situation. You helped assist the torture of one Elias Luciano alongside a number of your other associates. If you'd like this to go smoothly, you just need to tell me who those associates were and we can get along fine. Otherwise..." William put the scalpel in his hand to the skin of the man's arm and dragged it a short distance across his biceps. Phillip clenched his teeth and gave a strained exhalation but showed no other sign of discomfort.

As soon as William stopped Phillip turned and smiled at him before speaking in a snide and taunting tone. "Is that all? My god man, it's like it's your first time. Even the bitch upstairs wouldn't have flinched at that."

William felt his temper flare up. A man like this piece of trash shouldn't face death so well. He shouldn't insult a life that others would kill and die to have. The perverse pleasure he seemed to be taking in it all was just a step too far. Before he could slow himself down he'd already turned the scalpel around and jammed it down as hard as he could into the man's stomach. He wasn't sure if the grinding he felt was bone or the wood of the table, but either way the blade had stuck hard.

"You know what Phil? You're right. We'll do things my way now. Shame that we couldn't be friends." Fuck this. They had two other leads. Besides, he had a handful of files from the man's study that should give at least something for the trouble. William moved to the head of the table and cut off the gasps and whimpers of pain with the vice-like clamp of his hands over the man's throat. William hated killing a man like this normally, but he let his mind wander to the pain that Phillip and his associates had caused and would continue to cause even after their deaths. After that it was almost a relief to hold the man until the last wisps of life had fled from his corpse.

William rolled up the tools and decided it best to take them along. No telling when something like that might be handy and besides, they were evidence now. He struggled until the scalpel came free from the late Mr. Harris's midsection and wiped it down on the man's crumpled up shirt before tucking it away with the others. With his new toys and the file folders in tow, William left the house behind and was around the corner to a waiting driver before 10:00 AM. He'd wait until the evening to have one of his men call in an anonymous tip so that Mrs. Harris could be freed from the closet she was tied up in. By that time, he hoped that things would have come to a head.