Mayoral blackmail... the con was old as time, but the mayors just couldn't stay clean. 

Chelsea took a seat in the waiting area, her grey tweed business suit making a slight rustling sound as she crossed her legs. On her lap, a thin folder. Her appointment was for 10am, and she'd arrived promptly. Not too early, not too late. When her name was called, she stood, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She had it up in a French knot, but her hair wasn't quite long enough to support the style. With a pleasant smile, she entered the inner office, where the secretary shut the door behind her.

"Mrs. Uccello!"

"Miss," she corrected immediately. 

"My apologies. Please, have a seat," he said from the semi-crouch he'd raised himself to. Once he was seated, he looked up at her, a question on his face. She had not sat down. Looking downwards from her subtle power position, she threw the folder on his desk. 

"Open that, or don't. i don't care either way. You might like reliving the moment."

He paled at that. 

"Mmm. Got a thing for men, do you? Nothing wrong with that, of course... my ex-husband rather enjoyed having things shoved up his ass. Your wife might be opposed to it though, along with your voters."

He was completely green, now. "Wh- what do you want?"

"Oh. Simple enough. Give me what's in the safe, and I'll be on my way."

"There's no-"

"SHUT UP!" She roared. "There IS a safe, and you will open it right now. Five, four, three-"

"Alright!! Alright," he said, nearly falling out of his chair in his haste to get up. Behind the large painting of mallards, he quickly spun the dial to and fro. How droll, she thought to herself. It was a wonder he hadn't been cleaned out repeatedly. When he turned again, his shaking hand was full of wrapped hundreds. Chelsea stuffed them into the handbag slung over her shoulder and turned to go.

"Those are the originals, there are no copies. Pleasure doing business with you, Mayor," she said quickly, without ever turning back. She re-emerged into the reception area and passed through it just as quickly, never making eye contact with the open-mouthed receptionist, who'd clearly heard every word. Chelsea opened the door, and bumped into a bearded man walking in.

"Sorry!"

"No, no, my apologies, I wasn't paying attention."

After the brief exchange, Chelsea stepped onto the sidewalk, reaching blindly for her sunglasses in the depths of her purse while trying to shield her eyes.

Halfway down the sidewalk, she realized the money was gone. She turned on her heel, then, only to catch sight of a coat tail flapping as it went around a corner.

Kicking off her heels nd dropping her purse, she ran after him.

Rufus sat on the damp rooftop of a dilapidated building across the street. A scowl appeared on his face as he watched the events unfold with a binocular. He had been trailing this mark for the better part of a week, gathering intel and doing reconnaissance. After some deliberation, he had concluded that despite the dangers, this man could provide him with an easy score if he was threatened with the insidious evidence of his deeds. 

But now as he waited till the Mayor was isolated, he caught sight of a woman jumping the gun and stealing his score. Tossing the binocular aside he let a string of curses fly and rushed towards the fire escape. With his arms covered with gloves, he did not have to worry about friction and could easily slide down the metal ladder.

Moments later, Rufus landed in a puddle in an alley beside the building he had been on top of. The water splashed up and stained the bottom of his bespoke pants but he did not seem to care. With a quick, determined gait, he exited the alley and crossed the street. Leaning against the brick wall in a seemingly nonchalant manner he waited for the woman to emerge.

Fortunately for him he soon caught sight of the blonde woman standing outside the door. She was putting on her glasses to shield herself from the sun which had just now begun to peek out from behind the clouds that had drenched the streets at dawn. As she began to move, he approached her from the opposite direction, seemingly distracted with his own thoughts.

Absentmindedly muttering to himself, he bumped into her lightly. As he apologized profusely, he retrieved the cash discreetly. Hoping the woman would not realize the sleight of hand for a while he rounded the corner eagerly. A shout erupted behind him and he realized his plan had not gone off as smoothly as he had hoped. 

Stuffing the cash into his breast pocket, he held onto his hat tightly and sprinted towards the nearest alley, leaping over a fence as the woman gave chase. Ducking under a couple of labourers carrying a wooden crate, he nudged his way past some boxes and travelled further into the maze of alleys. 

However, in his recklessness, he had forgotten that this was not the city he had grew up in and therefore it was inevitable that he would get lost. Staring at a dead end, he cursed and spun around to hastily exit when he caught sight of the woman standing ahead blocking his outlet. There was no other way out, a confrontation was inevitable and Rufus did not fancy his chances.

"You," she said, panting. Her hair, which had fallen almost completely out of its clip, moved with each of her exhalations. Her pickpocket looked frozen to the spot, a deer in headlights.

"You have something of mine," she said, moving forward on bare feet. Her eyes flickered black, then back to blue again. She studied him in an almost clinical way as she approached,  his feet to his head. Tailored pants, stained recently. Good clothing, nice gloves, a hat that was not cheap. This was no street thug. She'd never, ever been pick-pocketed before, and instead of anger or disbelief, she was...

...amused.

She thought quickly. Pros, cons.

"You have good hands. Stellar, really, what with the gloves. i have a proposition for you." He still looked stunned, there, at the back end of the alley. She had come to a stop in front of him, her breathing now more under control.

"A spilt? You earned it. But it comes with a condition or two. i need help with a bigger fish," she said, and then she grinned. it was both the most terrifying and beautiful smile he'd ever seen.

"And the other condition?" His fear scent was gone, and interest had lit up in his eyes. 

"Buy yourself a map," she said flippantly, then turned on her bare heel and walked from the alley, somehow sure he would follow. 

Back near the entrance to the mayor's office, both her shoes and her purse still sat on the sidewalk. she slipped the heels back on, lifted the purse onto her shoulder, and turned around to face him. A duck feather fluttered soundlessly to the ground at her feet, having escaped her handbag.

"Is that a-"

"Duck feather? Yes."

"Hmm. What happened to the duck?"

"I ate him," she said simply. "He was delicious."

The first thing he noticed was the bare feet. For someone to chase him down so quickly through such uneven terrain barefoot was quite surprising. It suggested a certain history of agile and dextrous manoeuvring, more than the run of the mill thug. The second thing was something stranger, something he almost put aside as a figment of his overactive imagination. Her eyes had seemed to change colours for the briefest of instances. He wondered if that had been a trick of the shadows or something else entirely. Either way, a slight chill ran up his spine and his brows knitted together.

She spoke with a soft, sure tone and the voice echoed in the narrow alley as she approached him. Unarmed as he was, he leapt at the opportunity to resolve the confrontation without resorting to violence. Though he was confident about his skills against the common hoodlum, something about her grin unnerved him.

The split while it would hurt his overall score, it was better than nothing at all. Besides as she spoke of bigger fish, he could picture all the possibilities he could explore with her assistance. 

Her flippant remark about the map elicited a dry chuckle from his throat and he felt the tension ease up slightly. He offered her his palm to steady her while she put on her heels, taking the moment to give her a quick once over. His eyes took in the shapely form she hid underneath her form-fitting attire, subtly averting his gaze as she turned to face him once again.

"I guess that means we don't need to stop for lunch." He replied in response to her comment about the duck as he crushed the feather under the sole of his brown Oxfords before beginning to walk. "If you're looking for a big score, I've scouted out quite a few. One, in particular, could prove just right to see how well we can work together." Pausing to idly scratch his beard, Rufus continued. "A few blocks down, on the 3rd floor of an apartment complex lives the Mistress of a local Real Estate mogul named Robert Liddel. The woman has a deep love for impressionist painters and the caring lover that he is, Robert has recently gifted her a Degas."

Waiting for traffic to pass him by, he stood at an intersection before crossing over and beckoning for her to follow. "There should be minimal threat, the woman is not fond of guns but Mr Liddel himself carries a revolver on his person." He elaborated further as they moved along. Suddenly, he clutched her by the shoulder and stopped. His eyes turned to hers attempting to pierce past the facade she hid behind, wondering what mysteries hid in those icy depths and when he would get to watch them change colour again.

"There are conditions. I've done most of the reconnaissance and I am capable of fencing the art discreetly. The lockpicking and the theft itself I leave to you. Getting blood and puke off new suits is quite the chore and I would prefer to avoid it if I can. We split the take halfway or we part ways right here and you can try your luck yourself. Of course, the next time we cross paths I suspect we won't be so amicable to each other." The words were spoken calmly with a stoic expression on his face. It was clear there was no room for negotiation, there would only be two choices. Inwardly, he restrained his anticipation fully aware of just how profitable this arrangement could be if successful. Perhaps in time, he would even get to satiate his curiosity and peek beneath her veil.

But, for now, it was time for her to choose.

She couldn't help but smile; her instincts about this man had been correct. 

She was going to enjoy this.

"Do lead the way," she said, her smile almost feral, now. Blood? Puke? How could a girl say no? In mere minutes, they arrived at the location. When he gestured at the building as they passed it, she did a double-take.

"Oh. You meant right now?' He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. 

"Fuck it. Yes. Right now. It's broad daylight, he's likely at work, and I've got an itch to scratch. Do you happen to have the plans on you?" As a matter of fact, he did, and she stepped into the mouth of a nearby alley, scanning them. Once memorized, she pulled a pin from her hair.

"Hold my purse," she grinned, and shook her hair into place. With a stride of confidence that belonged to a queen, she was let into the building by a doorman, and then into the elevator by the operator. She didn't care who saw her, they'd never see her again.

Once deposited on the correct floor, she moved to the appropriate door and placed the hair pin into the lock. It snapped, and she pulled out another. It, too, snapped. The third was the charm, and the door silently mawed wide into a beautifully decorated apartment done in way too much white for a sane person. Her feet made no sound as they crossed the plush carpet and she headed down a hall, and into a bedroom. 

And there she was, displayed right there above the bed. What a waste, Chelsea thought. Who would ever see it, but them? Moving towards the head of the bed, she reached out and pulled it from its nail. 

"Who the hell are you?" A woman, wrapped in a towel, was standing in an adjacent bathroom doorway, hair wet and dripping down onto the carpet.

"Uh. Cleaning lady?" The woman screamed, and Chelsea cursed, bringing the framed Degas down over her knee, effectively breaking the frame that housed it. Rolling it sloppily into a newspaper shape as she retreated, she kicked off her cursed heels for teh second, and final, time that day and ran for the front door.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered under her breath as she bolted out the door and down the hall, and then into the stairwell. Not once, but twice she nearly took a header as she descended the flights at an unhealthy speed, never stopping once as she hit the ground floor and went sprinting through the lobby, a blur in grey tweed and shoeless, as she hit the door and kept running. 

"Run!" She gasped at her cohort as she flew past him. He didn't need telling twice, and the two kept going until they'd rounded a corner and dipped under the awning of a bakery. A woman came out, stared at Chelsea's wild hair, and then her bare feet, then sniffed at her before walking off in the opposite direction they'd just come from. 

"Not...my best...work. But I got the damn thing," she said, handing the canvas over. "I'm Chelsea, by the way. Nice to meet you."

Rufus sat by the doorstep, resting against the wall of the apartment complex. His hat hung off his knee as he scratched his scalp while keeping a wary eye out. By his estimation, if things went well it would not take her long before she exited with the painting. While he waited patiently his thoughts drifted to the events of the recent past. 

Memories flashed of him waiting in boulder city with a pair of horses. He had waited patiently for the better part of the day and the night but the woman never showed. He had wondered if he had somehow blown his chances by being his usual blunt threatening self during the search or if she had simply lost interest. With a regretful sigh, he had returned the horses and caught a cab for the airport. The date being his last little business in Vegas before he left the city for good, he saw no reason not to prepone his flight now that he had been stood up. Unbeknownst to him as the plane took to the skies, the streets beneath him were running red with blood.

A part of him wondered if he would witness a repeat of the same here again. Would this stranger he had run into, return or would she attempt to give him the slip? He could not be sure, but something about her had intrigued him. Somehow he suspected, he had not seen the last of her.

Anxious shouts coming from the door broke his reverie. Cocking his head to a side, Rufus listened intently in an attempt to figure out what had occurred. A single word, shouted over and over became audible. Thief. Almost at the same moment, he saw a grey blur burst out of the door and sprint off along the sidewalk.

Hissing to himself, Rufus clutched his hat in his hand and leapt to his feet, taking off after her lest he be left behind to contend with whoever or whatever was pursuing her. She rounded the corner and he followed, catching up to her as she slowed down by a bakery. Resting his hands on his knees he whispered while heaving for air. "You...need...better...footwear." 

A woman exited the establishment and crinkled up her nose at the stranger's dishevelled appearance. He half expected to see her on the wrong end of a fist, but was glad to see that his new comrade could show a modicum of restraint. Still, as he accepted the rolled up painting he became acutely aware of just how vulnerable they were in the open like that. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a couple of policemen meandering about. Realizing it wouldn't be long before they were notified of the theft and became actively involved in the pursuit, he stuck close to the wall, trying to blend in with the shadows on the exterior.

"Likewise Chelsea." He replied with a subtle smile as he turned his gaze back to her and placed the hat back on his head, tipping it slightly in polite greeting as he tried not to get lost in her eyes again. "Most just call me Red Fox, on account of the beard." A half-truth would do for now. He couldn't very well risk revealing his true identity, not until he began trusting her, which considering how suspicious he had become in recent years, might be a while.

Cacophonous sounds of commotion echoed out from the place they had just left behind and he wondered if the cops had gotten involved. "Fuck!" He cursed and reached out for her hand. Clasping it by the wrist, he tugged at it with some urgency as he began walking in the opposite direction. "We need to get off the streets until some of the heat dies down. Come on! I know just the place."

They moved out of the bakery doorway together, Chelsea retrieving her purse from him and pulling off a decent version of nonchalant as she walked beside him in bare feet. She re-angled her hand so that they were holding each other's, and it looked less like she was being led. 

As they passed by a restaurant supply store, Chelsea deftly lifted a bottle of whatever her hand landed on as a man pushed a hand truck, loaded with boxes, by them. Examining the label, she made a small, pleasant 'hmm' sound, then turned to show the label to Fox.

"1930 Perrier-Jouet Brut. You a drinker, Mr. Fox? I believe I'm a bit parched," she grinned as they walked. She had a vague awareness of where they were in this part of the city, but not the specific block they were on now, nor any knowledge of the particular alley she was being led into. With a flourish, Fox pulled the retracted fire escape down to the ground, then swept his arm out in a 'ladies, first' gesture. 

Chelsea climbed to the roof, once or twice wondering what sort of view the man climbing up behind her was getting. After they reached the top, Chelsea took in a deep breath.

"What a view!" She exhaled. The city was laid out below them in all its splendor; even in broad daylight, it was remarkable. Reaching into her purse, she extracted a corkscrew. When she looked up again, Fox was staring at her oddly.

"The corkscrew? Heh. It makes for a lovely tool. Or weapon," she smirked, her sentence punctuated with the POP of a cork.

Rufus couldn't help but chuckle as Chelsea retrieved what appeared to be a bottle of champagne. Even while under pursuit, she certainly had her priorities straight. Ducking into a particular alley, he remarked. "Definitely Madam Chelsea, though the fancy stuff was a luxury I was deprived off for the better part of my adulthood." Pausing to retract the fire escape and to gesture for her to lead on, he continued while surreptitiously stealing glances at her hindquarters. "I suppose you'll just have to teach me how to appreciate it sometime."

Ensuring, the rolled up painting wasn't getting crumpled, he followed her carefully as they made their way to the rooftop where he had set up one of his 'Foxholes' that offered an unobstructed view of the city. There were enough food supplies, blankets, ammunition, medicines, radio and other particulars that someone on the run might need to survive on for a week. Grabbing a blanket he tossed it in her direction so they would have somewhere to sit and catch their breath. 

Dropping to one knee by the blankets he unfurled the painting and straightened it out, using a lantern, a radio and other assorted objects as paperweights wherever necessary. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her retrieve a corkscrew out of her purse and he smiled as he shook his head in amazement. "Any chance you've got a spare set of clothes in that purse of yours as well? The ones I'm wearing are still quite damp." Rufus joked as he slowly got to his feet and tossed his hat next to the painting.

Turning on his heels, he calmly walked over to the woman with an eyebrow raised in amusement as she popped open the cork. With a mischievous grin on his face, he sat down on the blanket beside her and looked out over towards the city below them. Resting his arms on his knees he briefly leaned towards her ear and whispered conspiratorially. "Are we celebrating a successful score or do you just want to get me drunk?" 

"Neither would hurt my feelings " she replied with a smirk. Without glasses handy, they would have to resort to sharing the bottle. Chelsea drank deeply, the bubbles tickling down her throat. She was even thirstier than she'd thought, and her stomach was very empty. Passing the bottle to Fox, she went to work trying to twist her hair back up again, in some semblance of order. 

"Where is the imported cheese delivery truck when you need it," she laughed, then turned her attention back to the spread of city skyline before them.

"Am I to assume I passed your test? I'm not opposed to discussing more work together, although I'm taking quite the risk here that you'll not run off with my share of today's take," she said, taking the bottle back when he passed it to her. There was just the tiniest of champagne bubbles, sitting on the edge of his beard. She reached out and grazed it with her finger, causing it to pop.

"How long might it be before we see the money? Is your fence already prepared to pay for the merchandise? It's a Degas, after all, and, stolen or no, it will fetch quite a lot. It's simply about finding the right buyer," she said, her eyes going distant as she recollected the millions she'd made in the gallery she'd once run with her husband. One good piece, and you could be set for life. Too bad Fio had cleared their accounts when he'd left her for the other woman. 

The smirk appeared natural on her face, almost as if it suited her personality amidst casual company. As she handed him the bottle, he grabbed it delicately and stared at it with some apprehension before trying a small gulp. Though the taste was very different from the inexpensive liquors he was accustomed to, the surprise was nothing if not pleasant. Emboldened, he took another sip, larger this time. Feeling the cool liquid washing against his throat soothingly, he sighed and placed the bottle between them as she tidied up her hair.

"You most certainly did Madam Chelsea, albeit by the skin of your teeth. If we are to continue working together in the future, I hope you can inform me ahead of time if you wish to opt for the blunt route over the discrete one so I can make necessary arrangements for a suitable exfiltration." Rufus responded in clearly evident mock annoyance. Truthfully he couldn't care less about how she handled herself as long as she delivered results.

"As for risks," Pausing to eye her finger curiously as it grazed a bubble in his beard, Rufus smiled at the touch and continued. "Your risk matches my own. There was nothing stopping you from escaping with the Degas and there never will be in the future. I suppose all I can ask you do is trust me the same way I trusted you."

Clasping the bottle again, he brought it up to his face and held it there. "As long as you don't succumb to your paranoia," Taking a quick sip, he replaced the bottle between them and stretched his legs out front as he continued. "By tomorrow night you should have quite the substantial sum to console you." 

His eyes caught sight of a patch of rust that had rubbed off against the grey fabric of her trousers. In a seemingly casual manner, he brushed it off with his hand while they both stared off into the middle-distance. Letting his hand rest on her knee, he cocked his head towards her and asked inquisitively. "You don't seem like a safe investment type. So tell me, what are you gonna burn it all on?"

He'd planned well. The Fox had fully-stocked hidey-holes everywhere, and tonight, they made good use of one. Chelsea nibbled at some rations in the light of the lantern, eyes rarely leaving the lit cityscape below. Whoever they'd ripped off, he was influential enough to keep the police around and searching for some time. 

When Rufus asked her about her intentions with her cut, she smiled, making some remark about putting it in a nice savings account and letting it draw a modest interest. In all honesty, though, she wasn't sure what she'd do with it. Whatever needed doing, she supposed. Money wasn't a motivator, but the thrill that accompanied their professions of choice, was.

She loved it.

His hand hadn't left her knee, even after she'd wrapped herself with an army blanket. A true gentleman though, insomuch as said hand didn't crawl up her thigh or trace obscenities onto her leg. It was somehow reassuring, and safe, and she found herself looking less at the skyline and more at his silhouetted features against the backdrop of it as he spoke. He had a pleasant accent that complimented his timbre, and that, combined with all the champagne she'd drunk, had her nodding off into a warm, fuzzy place. 

When she awoke, it was bright, and cold. Still curled within the blanket, she found herself curled into the fox, as well. She smiled at his sleeping features, then reached up and tugged at his epic beard. 

"My teeth. Feel like they're wearing sweaters. Think we're safe to move?" She asked with a rasp. Home, coffee, a shower. And then, they could meet with the fence. 

Chelsea had no earthly idea just how badly that meet could go.

After 15 years of sleeping on rough beds in Supermax, Rufus could not fall asleep on comfortable hotel mattresses covered in silk sheets. It was part of the reason why he had built up all these Foxholes. They started off as places he could escape to when the awkwardness of his reentry into society got to him but they grew into something more. 

This night, however, in the comforting presence of the stranger beside him was the first time in a long while that he felt at peace. He knew she was running from something by the sadness in her eyes and the proverbial scars she hid. So was he. Words seemed unnecessary. They were strangers taking brief shelter from the storm of their lives in each other's embrace before the drifted away to better shores with fond memories and dark regrets. 

The first rays of dawn pricked at his face as did the cold breeze greeting him. Reluctant to step out of this warm, safe bubble just yet, he subconsciously scooted closer to Chelsea, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, his nose blowing hot air against her skin, his beard tickling her neck. When she tugged at his beard, he opened an eye lazily and the first thing he saw was her dazzling smile. 

Stifling a yawn he retreated reluctantly and sat up. "We should be. Do you want to head straight over to the fence or get some breakfast first?" He inquired as he began gathering the blankets and folding them up.

"I imagine we should go ahead and get this done?" She said as she sat up a bit reluctantly. Looking down at her feet, she grinned.

"I may also need some footwear," she added, standing slowly and stretching. Fox was already tidying up around them, so she ran her hands through her hair, taming her blonde waves as best she could. Straightening her suit, she peeked over the edge of the roof at the street below, and at the shops it held. 

"I see a shoe store. How about I grab a pair of heels while you make your call?"

With that agreed upon, they descended the fire escape and parted ways. Within twenty minutes, each were finished, and Rufus had an 'appointment'. They hailed a cab, and were off to the fence's front.

It should have gone smoothly, but luck was no longer on their side. The minute they were dropped off at the storefront and stepped into the pawn shop inside, Chelsea's skin crawled in warning. She saw no danger as she looked around, but it was there. It just hadn't yet made itself known. The fence, an oversized lump of man shoved into a cheap, too-small suit, looked up when Rufus began introductions. 

"Chelsea-"

"-Uccello." The brute finished, the venom in his voice making the name sound like a curse. Perhaps it was, because he'd been ripped off by Fiorenzo a few months back, when he'd sold him a bunch of forgeries, claiming them to be from Chelsea's gallery. His hand went into his jacket, and Chelsea was suddenly gone, her Other taking over.

Lightning fast, she took a running leap and scaled the man like a tree. Only a glint of metal made it from inside his lapel before she had a hand on it and twisted. As the bone broke, the sound of the snap was lost inside the booming echo of the shot that had fired simultaneously. His scream of pain was on the tail end of that, and Chelsea leaned in, teeth sinking into his throat, cutting off the last sound he'd ever make.

She'd silenced him, and as his hand reached feebly for his spurting jugular and he began to sink to the floor, she turned, her eyes a glittering solid black, her mouth coated with arterial blood. 

When she came back to herself, her blue eyes shifted downwards, only to find a bleeding Rufus on the floor.

Rufus prided himself on being able to get out of most scrapes without letting things devolve to violence. Whether it was his silver tongue or the compromising information he routinely gathered to threaten potential adversaries with, he always had a plan to get him out of any confrontation unharmed. As he walked into his meeting with the fence, he was certain that this would be no different. Fate, however, had other ideas.

The woman beside him and the crimes of her past were an unpredictable element thrown in the mix that he could not properly account for. Though he felt the tensions rise as the fence recognized Chelsea, he never saw the gun until it was too late. The flash of the muzzle briefly caught his attention but it was quickly overcome by a burning sensation in his gut. Disoriented by the force and the echo of the shot, Rufus retreated unsteadily.

The woman had leapt up from beside him with inhumane agility and although her quickness had surprised Rufus, the wound demanded his priority. Memories of shankings in riots at the prison resurfaced as he desperately clutched the bleeding hole in his blazer. His attempts at staunching the blood loss were proving only mildly successful and the dizziness forced him down to one knee.

That was when he saw her, or rather it, lips drenched in the blood of the dying fence, eyes black as the darkest night in solitary, palm resting on the torn and stained Degas. Taking solace in the fact that he had not imagined the eyes in the past, he struggled against his desire to recoil in horror. 

Soon enough, she returned to his side, blue-eyed and concerned. "You look like shit." He attempted a chuckle but it quickly turned into a fit of coughs. Supporting himself with her hand he wobbled to his feet. Taking a moment to take off his blazer, he held it tight against his gut and leaned his free arm over Chelsea's shoulder. 

Shouts were echoing deeper within the building and the sound of police sirens was nearing by the minute. They were for all intents and purposes, fucked. The Foxhole could not help not with this much heat. No, they would have to seek asylum somewhere and soon. As they moved towards the door he urged her to pause and picked up what appeared to be a set of Car keys. 

"Bricktown.." Came out a strained whisper, barely audible. "Billy... Bricktown....Mastro.." Lucidity was rapidly escaping him as he began slipping into unconsciousness. With tremendous strength of will, he spoke aloud as they exited through the door towards the parking lot. "Get me to Billy_Mastrosimone . If I die because of your anger management issues Chelsea, I swear I'll haunt you forever." He smiled helplessly through teeth gritted in pain, knowing full well that she did not owe him anything and that she could very well leave him to die right where they stood.

Mastrosimone. 

The name brought forth not Billy, but one of Chelsea's newest friends, Aurora. Her mind skipped back to the raucous evening she'd had out with the girls not too long ago, and then her mind shifted again and everything clicked into place. Despite being a Seattle man, Rufus clearly had connections with Detroit, and the power players there. One of them, at least.

Unfortunately, she'd never been to Bricktown, or the HQ there, but she knew enough to get them headed in the right direction. When a cab driver tried to pass them by after getting a hard look at the bleeding Fox, Chelsea reached out her free arm, the one not supporting her cohort, and banged on the top of the taxi with a curled fist. In a knee-jerk reaction, the driver slammed on the brakes, and she popped the rear door open, pushing Volpe into the back seat while he protested. 

"Lady, look, I don't-" What he saw in the rearview mirror wiped all the words out of his mouth. After she'd slammed the door shut behind herself, she turned to press the blazer against Fox's wound. He seemed no longer able to do it on his own.

"Bricktown. HQ."

"Fuck, I don't-"

"The faster you drive and get us there, the faster we're out of your vehicle," she ground out. The man looked like he was mouthing silent curses to himself, but his foot hit the gas, and they were off. Within half an hour, they were there, and Chelsea was out of the cab before it had even come to a complete stop and was banging on the door of Xanxus' place. One of a hundred bodyguards answered, sizing up a blood-spattered Chelsea before flicking his eyes over her shoulder to the cab, and the pale man slumped in the backseat of it.

"Mastrosimone. I need Billy. A friend is calling in a favor," she hedged. Whether this was true or not, she didn't know. She had to try something before she was dismissed, and Rufus bled out in the back of the car. She turned back to it then, hoping the goon would move his ass and fetch who she'd asked for. Just as she was trying to pull Fox out of the back, another set of hands came around from beside her and began to assist.