Pad... Check.

Pen... Check.

Big imagination... Triple check.

It was time to push the envelope...

Dom rocked back in his chair and chewed on the butt of the pen he held. He couldn't help but stare at the paper. His uncle had been right all along. The last few issues of the press had all held coordinates. Of course he, himself, had been to preoccupied to notice it... But old Uncle Romano? He'd been a codebreaker alongside Herbert Yardley in the war and, following the end of it, he'd helped Yardley establish the "Black Chamber"; the United States first cryptanalytic organization.

Romano had been the one to catch the code then pointed it out to Dominique. With very little encouragement Dom had quickly found himself in the back room of the storehouse (his office) dead set on decoding the messages. With nothing more than the tools and knowledge his Uncle had shared, the young Coniglio set forth and conquered. Staring at what his imagination only assumed could be any number of things: Secret governement conspiracies, Criminal underground cover-ups, Foreign agency communications, Secret societies, the number of ideas were ENDLESS! Regardless, he knew he needed to explore them.

"Uncle Romano!" Dom yelled out from the back room and waited. Soon enough the lumbering sounds of an older gent were scuffling his way, and then standing in the door to the makeshift office.

"Whattayagot, kiddo?"

"You were right. There's definitely somethin' here... Coordinates. I've already matched them up on the map. Docks. Warehouses. Hotels. And this one is the newest issue. A dock again..."

Romano shuffled closer, favoring his right leg as usual. "Lemme see that..." Picking up the papers in front of Dominique, Nazzereno Romano looked over the findings with an approving smirk.

"Damn kiddo. Ya could almost work for ole Yardley with these skills... Almost." Chuckling, he sat the papers down on the sawhorse and wood-sheet desk and pulled up a chair. "So whatta ya wanna do about it, eh?"

"I dunno..."

"Well, if you're gonna run your own show, kiddo... You gotta make these calls. That's how it's done. You know that."

"Yeah, but Uncle Roma-"

"Nuh uh, kiddo. You wanted me ta bring ya in on this, teach ya how we do things round here. Well? This is step fuckin' one. Make a decision, and own that shit. Stand by it. Ya hear me? You wanna make your bones, boy? Get your button? You tell me. What tha fuck are you gonna do with this information?"

Uncle Romano sat there, unblinking, as Dominique almost squirmed in his seat. Excitement, fear, both together being the reason for his sudden spike of anxiety...

"Gonna check it out," he finally blurted out before huffing for air.

"Alright then kiddo," Romano chuckled and leaned back before standing. "Go an' check it out. You're tha boss. I'm just here to help ya unnahstand what it is you're doin'. Your name carries a lot'a weight thanks to yer pops an' his pops. Go use that. Throw it around a little, yeah? Somebody outta remember yas."

Dominique nodded and stood up. "Call the boys, Uncle Romano. It's time for a good, ole-fashioned shake down. Tell 'em I'll meet 'em at the docks."

Grabbing his father's old revolver, Dom stuck it in his pocket and headed for the door. Romano shook his head before making his way to phone the other tow associates who palled around with his "nephew".

A small slip of paper rested on the passenger seat of Dominique's M-Type convertible Midget, striped with a list of alphanumeric combinations, goods, and positions. Each one was carefully assigned to a small port or marina along the Hudson, with coordinates for subsequent locations throughout the city dotted along a cheap drugstore roadmap that accompanied the cryptic note.

North River: Cub2D, Somni 2D, Medi4E+3C-M, Iso32M, 2AF-fac, 3AM-fac, 2AM-ag, 2chwp, docs

Newburgh: Cub1D, Medi1E+2C-D, Iso12D, 3AF-hs, 1cwm, docs 

The first stop was a bust. The North River Piers were FAR too spread out and far too busy for untrained eyes to pick out anything of merit... even at the smaller docks. So, perched on a small lot overlooking the Hudson, Dom hunched over the hood of his car; pinning the map down with his elbows as his sharp eyes evaluated the shot-gun spread of dots that lined the waterway. The boys chattered restlessly behind him, plotting, strategizing, and arguing... each trying to outweigh the other as they struggled to settle into SOME form of pecking order. What seemed to be an endless stream of suggestions swirled like the biting winter air, rising and falling on the breeze, each vying for Dominique's attention and approval. 

"...check the hotels for regulars..." 

"...check the library for a reference..." 

"...follow the next spot up... make sone rounds..." 

"...filch some goods from the docks and forget this shite!" 

Slamming his hands on the hood, Dom tucked the map into his coat pocket and rounded on the group. "This is my gig! So yous knuckleheads shut it. We ain't waistin' any time dickin' around here... or anywhere else for that matter. There's no guessin' the order or importance of these inland locations. For all we know they could be decoys. The only location we can COUNT on is the next port. Whoever's runnin' this operation is GONNA be in the marina, TODAY. It's smaller, and far less guarded. So that's where we're going. Stakeout style. And anyone who wants to do anything else, can do it on their own. But don't come back if you do!" 

Turning, he climbed into the Midget without another word and sped away, leaving the men to hash out their loyalties without so much as a second thought. If they valued their position, they'd follow. If not, he knew where they slept. It was that simple. And, as he watched them scramble to climb into their own vehicles, he chuckled, realizing they all knew it, too. 

An hour's drive north along the river delivered Dominique to Newburgh, a sleepy waterfront city brimming with old victorian homes and winding colonial streets. The port was bustling as Dom drove by rows of blocks of factories, shipyards, drydocks, and berths. But, as he paused in an empty lot next to a looming warehouse, he scowled at the map. He was very clearly at the main port. And yet, the mapped was marked nearly four blocks to the north. That couldn't be right... could it? 

Pulling a crumpled pamphlet from the glove compartment, he double-checked his calculations before tossing it back with a huff. It was right... which meant he wasn't. Signalling his little band of followers to 'roll out', he headed back to the main drag and followed the map even farther up the river. As the industrial buildings and oceanliner docks fell away, the buildings grew farther and farther apart. The roads opened onto swanky colonial homes with a clean old-world charm that were undoubtedly as costly as they were pretty. 

As they continued deeper into the quaint suburbs, Dom's faithful interpretations lead them straight to a small riverfront marina set safely apart from the main docks and ferry terminals of the city. And, to their mixed shock and excitement, a single cabin cruiser was quietly docked and discreetly unloading both passengers and cargo. 

Parking in an open lot a few blocks down the road, Dom beamed as he slowly lit a cigarette, savouring the view of his prey as he stalked toward his unsuspecting target.

As he neared the boat Dominique watched the people file into a small warehouse next to the even smaller dock. He puffed softly on his cigarette while watching, content that he'd blend in with the multiple other smokers on the premises. Waiting for a moment to make an entrance, he finally caught who he though to be the leader in his gaze. A woman stood at the dock directing cargo and personnel to different areas of the yard while simultaneously guiding the three women and child into the warehouse. He could just make out something about a meal and sleep before they would be taken elsewhere to meet their new arrangements.

The dock hands continued to help offload the rest of the cargo. Dominique looked at the building and before he even knew what he was going to do, he was already working on the locked door on the side of the building. Once the door was unlocked, Dominique turned to the three men that had followed him with hast. "Stay here, and do not come inside unless ya hear gunfire. Or if I scream something about a whore monkey, capisce?" The three men with him nodded and flattened them self against the wall to blend in with the shadows.

With all the chatter and noise inside from the workers and the ladies, no one seemed to notice the grifter slip into the room and join the fray. One thing he'd always been good at... Looking like he belonged.

It was easy to see that it was quite a small operation, and he'd need to be careful because that meant that most everyone would know each other at least to an extent. He'd easily inserted himself into the room without even the most keen of guards taking note, but inserting himself into the group would be difficult. He began to formulate a plan, but there was a small glitch... The door he'd come in. Dom took note of one guard talking to another, then the two slipped into the back room where he'd come through. Getting up, Dominique walked over and peaked his head around.

"Everything okay gent's?" he called softly and the men wheeled on him.

"Door's not locked..." one of the men answered before turning back to it. Before he could inspect it and see it had been bumped and damaged, Dominique needed to assuage their suspicion.

"Oh, yeah... I stepped out for a cigarette. Must have forgot to lock it..."

"Why didn't you just smoke inside?"

"Needed the cool breeze after offloading crates..." He stepped fully into the room and grinned. "Sorry fellas."

The man who'd been talking grunted and looked back to the door. "Coulda gone around the back... Boss want's it kept locked for a reason. Only the key holder can let them pass once we're ready to move."

Dominique nodded as he inched closer. "Aye, I remember, sorry."

The quiet fella turned and knelt at the door and reached out to try and lock it, taking note that the tumbler simply spun... "Now wait a minute 'ere boyo..." he started as he slowly stood and began to turn. Dom was lightning fast and before the next words came out of the man's mouth, one of the men was already headed for the ground. The butt of Dominique's revolver had struck home quickly and quietly, leveling the first guard. As his weight crumpled with a thud, the other man continued.

"I ain't ev'r seen yeh aroun'-" As he rounded off to look at Dominique he was met with the sound of a hammer pulling back and found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. His hands shot up into the air.

"Oy! Don'ae shoot, lad. I ain't ev'n 'ave a gun on meh, hi?" he said softly. Dom blinked and shook his head. "Shhh. Keep your voice low, we don't want to alert the others out there now do we?"

He cautioned before taking a step back. "I want to speak to whoever's in charge... Tell them I got the message, and I'm here to speak business. I'm going to lower my gun... I don't want -any- casualties... I apologize for your friend, but two on one isn't a fun game and I didn't want to get shot..."

Dominique, nodding to the man, then held up his gun, lowered the hammer, and slowly put it away. "No harm to you, mate. I just want to talk to your boss. Please don't alarm the others. No one needs to get hurt... Aside from your friend here who will have no more than an excruciating headache when he wakes. And, you as my witness, he has fair game to take a swing at me in return..."

The guard, slowly lowering his hands, nodded. "Alright. I'll get me boss, but they will nae be happy about t'is. Ya don'ae know who yer fuckin' wit' boyo."

"I'll take my chances... It could be good for everyone involved... At least that's what I'm hoping."

Dominique stepped to the side and allowed the guard to make his way out of the smaller room and pass through the grouping of people who didn't seem to notice anything strange going on. Staying behind, Dom decided to go ahead and make a small table and chairs out of different sized crates in the room; setting one bigger one up in the center, and then four smaller crates to sit on around it. Moving to the door, he slowly opened it part way...

"Boys, it's Dom... all clear?"

"Yeah boss," one of the men called back.

"Dammit, Joe... An' now you're dead. What if that was a ploy?" Dominique mouthed off quietly as he opened the door to be met with his three associates. Shaking his head as Joe apologized, Dom whacked him upside his head and whispered. "Shut it and get in here you lug. Just stand behind me like you're ready to kill someone, but no guns out. No one gets hurt unless shit goes sideways. Which it might... So be ready. I'm trying to sit in with their boss."

He waved his men in quick and positioned them behind him and then sat on one of the four crates, and lit another cigarette to wait for -whoever- was coming to meet him.

A soft, downplayed commotion could be heard rolling through the warehouse outside. A low voice hissed orders, growing closer with each command. "The fuck ye mean? Johnson, Mr. Kuebler is gonna hear about this! So help me, one single hair o' this goes sideways an' ye'll naer work on tha Hudson again. Ye hear me?!"  The feminine voice was harsh but quiet, clearly not wanting to alert anyone else, just yet. Certainly not the civilians. "Get the lasses settled in. An don' let no one near 'em... 'specially tha' wee lil babe. I'll not have any harm comin' from whatever low life ye let in my backdoor. Get 'em fed, keep 'em warm, help 'em start feelin' at home. We'll see te movin' things along when I've finished with your bloody muss up. An' for god's sake send word up tha hill that we're behind schedule. Calm like. Not a word o' this business." 

A slender, fetchingly boyish blonde slipped tightly through the door; one hand shoved deep and obviously into her coat pocket. Pale, calculating blues assessed the situation with tactical accuracy as she locked the door behind her with a sharp click. Four on one... not the best odds. But, at least two of the goons were green as fresh spring clover. So that, at least, levelled the field a bit.  Only the mop-headed young buck sat, which meant he fancied himself the boss. He was clean, but scruffy. Worn Italian leather shoes... about half a size too big, by the looks. Nice suit... mixed textiles... older in style and mended (albeit expertly) in places. Money... but not bags of it, she'd bet... up and coming or dying family... maybe both. Had she REALLY caught the wrong side of this, finally... or was he just DAMNED lucky? 

The room was silent for a moment as she scrutinized them... even cutting off one of the lackeys with a harsh glare as she evaluated the situation. He looked too fresh. Couldn't possibly be too far sideways. And yet, there was an intelligent kind of glint in his eye that told her he'd be coming out of this with something to show for it or go down swinging. It'd be up to her to decide which, no doubt. 

Refusing to sit at his makeshift table, Fin moved to stand just behind the crate across from him; hand still in her pocket, hands folded in front of her. "Alright," she finally acquiesced, the word coming out crisp and surprisingly American. "You wanted to talk. So talk. You've got five minutes and then I'm walking the fuck out of this room... one way or another."

"Five minutes, well that's certainly not a lot of time. Let's not waste it then, shall we?"

Dominique plucked his cigarette from his mouth and placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward.

"I got your message in your publication. If I understand correctly you've got quite the-"

"Boss, you know that Mick bitch has a gun pointed at you right?"

Dominique's face turned a shade of light pink as he blinked, pursing his lips and setting his jaw.

"My apologies... Please hold your time clock for just a moment..."

Dom wheeled around on his crate and stood, his height a hair shorter than the man before him.

"One. What have I said about racial slurs?"

"W-we don't use th-"

"We don't use them! That's fuckin' right. An' number two..."

He reached up and grabbed the goon's ear and tugged him down to his size. "What's number two I'm about to tells ya, huh? Can ya guess?"

"W-we don't call ladies names? Especially when we're entertaining their presence?" the man seemed to flinch away as he guessed.

"That's right. Now if yous bozos think for a fuckin' second I don't know she's got a gun on me, you're fuckin' stupid. An' since my back is to 'er, she's got tha upper hand. Because your makin' me shut your fat fuckin' mouth. Now unless you got somethin' smart or thoughtful to add to this parlay, then I suggest ya keep your yap shut and let the adults talk..." He shook the man's ear lightly before turning around and straightening his collar. "Forgive me... I assume you may not have paused and I've wasted minute, so..."

Dom sighed.

"I don't wanna cause trouble, I don't wanna see anyone hurt. No need for it, it just costs us both money we don't wanna chance. Instead, I wanna help you move the stuff off the boats and through the town. Of course, a profit would be a fair trade, but I don't see why it wouldn't be nice to have another set of eyes helpin' ya out. Plus, you'd have bigger pull in the New York City area if ya worked with me."

Dominique smiled and shrugged. "I mean. If someone like me can figure out your code, you know others will notice it eventually and either shut you down, or take you over... Better to get ahead of that, right? I don't wanna take over, I just wanna help and make a buck. So whattaya say?"

Fin sighed patiently. It wasn't the first time she'd suffered the plebian racism that was America. This asshat at least had the kindness to nip it in the bud publicly... if only for show. Her lips tightened into a sour frown as she fought back the soft chuckle that threatened to spread into a smirk. His pale blush was rather fetching... and the show of a tiny Italian tugging that beefy corn-fed mut down to his height was refreshingly comical. 

Breathing deeply, Fin pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Why did men always make things complicated? But... he was right... to an extent. There were only so many people who could break her code, she knew that. So he had to know someone. And that someone might actually come in handy. Secondly, if she took him up on that offer then she could effectively remove the Newburgh families' interference in her operation... which would give her far more freedom and control in placing her girls in more beneficial situations. 

With the painstaking speed of a retarded snail, Fin slowly pulled the pistol from her pocket, laying it atop the "table"; her gaze never leaving Dominique's as she sank into her "seat" before pulling her hand away. 

"No offense, Lad," she said, the previous crisp, forced clarity falling away as she settled into 'business', "But I don' think yer eyes're quite keen enough ta pick tha' out on yer own. Least no' at first. So... here's what I say. First, if... IF... I acquiesce ta yer request, I work WIT ye... nae for ye. This operation stays mine. So you, yer boyos thar, an whoever else ye work fer WILL treat me as such. Otherwise, I'll cut an run to a more hospitable locale. I got no qualms runnin'. How I cem in tha first place. Ye ken?" 

Leaning slowly across the table, Fin fished the crumpled cardboard cigarette pack out of Dom's shirt pocket, lighting one before handing them back. "Secondly," she gestured at him with the stolen stogie, "I wanna meet yer code-talker. This language is old an' ain't all of it English. So's I know ye go' someone what showed ye. I meet 'em in person or no deal." Pausing, she took a long drag and exhaled it directly into the face of the asshole that called her a Mick. "Thirdly," she smiled wickedly, "Me an' yer lad there gonna go a round to settle our differences. Just he an I. An' I'm takin' a fifty-percent cut o' yer other lads' bets." 

Fin paused as the men around them snickered, a sly grin creeping across her face. "Lastly," she cut them off and everyone fell silent, "If we make a go o' this... I want ye ta understand... I'm an equal partner. If you ge' in my business, I ge' in yours. No questions asked. Non-negotiable. I'm gonna know tha people I'm workin' wit... an' tha' means tha people above ye, too. Yeah?" 

Taking another long drag, she burned the rest of the cigarette down in one impressive breath before putting it out on the table. "Those are my terms. An' I reserve the righ' ta revise or expand them in tha future as I see fit. So, then... yer turn. What do ye say?" Reclining in her seat, Fin laced her fingers behind her head as she waited patiently; an impish smile teasing him from across the table as she crossed one ankle over her knee. The ball was in his court now.

Dominique smirked softly as she spoke, but he waited until she was finished to even begin.

"First, I may look young, but I've always paid attention where I should. Your hand was in your pocket, and the shape of that jacket doesn't often come in the shape of a pistol barrel. Let alone the fact that, for all the training you've certainly had, your weight distribution is off with your hand in your pocket. Sorry, I watched you move around on the docks. It was obvious you were holding -something- in there, and it's safe enough to guess pistol over knife, since your knife is on your back side."

No smile, no anything... He simply continued with a sparkle in his eye.

"As for the 'code talker'... That's actually me. Though, if you meant the code and not the gun, you'd be correct in assuming I didn't catch the patterning at first. That was my 'Uncle'. Though I broke it. I'm sure my 'Uncle' would gladly have a sit with you though."

Turning and looking at his boy who was grinning from ear to ear...

"Third, you wipe that grin from your fuckin' face, because she's gonna whip your ass. I give you three good shots, maybe four, before you're on the ground in pain. You ain't got a snail's chance at beating her. You're what, street trained? If you couldn't tell by looking at her that she's a fucking soldier, you're in for shaming. And the 'go' is absolutely allowed. All bets go on the table, and if I'm right and you win?" he turned back to Fin with a grin. "Then you get the fifty percent. If I'm wrong and you loose? Thirty-five percent for upset odds." He shrugged, but continued, she could agree or disagree momentarily.

"And I said work with, not for, to begin with. I'm not looking for a lackey. I'm looking for partners. That's just good business. Scratch my back, I scratch yours, equal footing."

"As far as meeting everyone? This is it, aside from my Uncle... At least for now. Though I'm getting cozy with Oppai Incorporated and the man behind the den of sex, drugs, and rumors... Estarossa Pincheel. Head of Oppai incorporated and local mob boss." He nodded. "Just on the outside right now, but I know my worth and I also know bringing you along that you'd be quickly noticed as well. You and me? We can be good for each other."

He leaned back and looked her over. "So... Do we strike an accord? Or are we still negotiating?"

Fin chuckled, "Fair's fair." She agreed, nodding to the pistol. "I did, in fact, mean tha code an' no' tha gun. But... 's good ta know all tha same." Reaching for her pistol, she slowly unloaded both the clip and the chamber before setting it off to one side. "I'd appreciate it iffin yer lads did tha same," she suggested gently. "Thirty-five fer a loss is acceptable. As are yer terms... with one condition. Dinner. You, me, no lackeys... we'll call it compensation fer yer lil disruption tonigh'... and/or celebration o' our new partnership... whichaer floats yer boat." 

Winking, she slipped out of her wool duster, tossing it over the seat with her pistol and rolling up her sleeves. Cracking her knuckles, she smirk-glared at the man behind Dom, "Le's have it, Boyo. You, me, outside. Yer about ta 'ave yer arse handed to ye by a 'Mick Bitch'." She chuckled as the other men laughed, beginning to toss cash down on the table as she moved through the busted back door and into the open lot. 

A light sprinkling of snow dusted her blonde hair, sticking to her eyelashes as she watched the group file out into the yard. "Alrigh'," she eagerly beckoned the brute forward from the protection of his friends, "C'mon. I'll give ye one fer free." Fin slapped her cheek teasingly as she taunted him. "Let's have it." For a long moment the man hesitated, looking at Dominique in confusion and disbelief... his eyes seeming to both plead and ask 'you're not really gonna make me go through with this'. But... there seemed to be no comfort or reassurance in his bosses cold gaze.

"Compensation and celebration. Why not both?"

Dom nodded and turned to his men. "Strip 'em."

He slid his own revolver from it's holster and popped the cylinder, dumping the rounds onto the crate and leaving it open before setting the M1917 down as well. His three men followed suit and left their guns stripped and sitting on the table. As they all moved outside, Dominique's gaze left his back-talking lackey out in the cold... Figuratively and literally.

"Ya might wanna take that free shot, Bradford."

"I ain't hittin' a lady..."

"So you'll talk shit, but won't back it up. Good to know. I hope yous like snow, cause ya gonna be eatin' it real soon, I hope ya unnahstand that."

Dominique leaned back against the wall and nodded.

"Fight, or don't. Your choice boy, but I can tell ya, she's gonna take ya even if ya give it your all."

Bradford's face twisted at his boss' words and he turned, finally taking the first swing...

"OH C'MON! You're gonna hit a girl first?" one of the other lackey's cried out, obviously trying to piss Bradford off more, which only made Dom snicker softly, and seemed to light a fire under Bradford's ass...

"Now... It's a match," Dominique whispered softly to himself as he crossed his arms over his chest and watched...

Fin recoiled as Bradford's blow landed solidly along her jaw. She blinked a few times as she stumbled back. It was a hard blow, splitting her lip and making her ears ring. But now she had his measure. "Silly boy," she spat, turning the snow at her feet a stark crimson. Smiling, she licked her lip... a dangerous glint glittering in her icy blue eyes. Leaning around the man, she grinned wickedly at Dom... who quickly rethought his position. So far, they'd seen her cool and calculated. Now she was just as fiery as her opponent, which gave her a biting edge he'd not accounted for. Bradford, unsettled by his own actions, recoiled from the small woman... fidgeting nervously as he shyly kept his distance like a child who knows they're in trouble. 

Faster than any of them had expected, Fin lurched forward... sprightly and agile. With a quick jab to the man's solar plexus, Fin lunged past him. A kick to the back of his knees brought him down to her height. And with a wicked cackle, she clapped both ears... causing the man to flinch and yell... which only made her laugh more. Using his shoulders as leverage, she planted a foot solidly in the middle of his back and veritably climbed him like a spider monkey; landing in front of him with an unexpected litheness and delivered one last blow to the face... which echoed with loud cracking as both his nose and her fist snapped loudly. 

Backpedalling, she danced away from him as she shook her fist. That fucking hurt.  Holding her wrist, she yelled in anger and frustration... half at him and half at the miscalculated pain in her hand, "Who's tha fucken bitch now, ye bloody fuckwit? Gaaaah! Useless... honkin... numptee!" Groaning softly, she laughed out loud, tucking the injured hand into her pants pocket. "ARgh... I think we broke my fuckin' hand," she laughed through the pain... sounding a bit mad. "C'mon then... I'll take tha rest o' ye one-handed. Have at it. We ain't done yet, Bradford, ye cooow!"

Dominique smirked, the hit sending Fin wheeling backward... But he knew that was the end of it for Bradford as the spitfire jolted forward. It was a second, merely a second, and Bradford was on his knees groaning in pain from the woman's onslaught and holding his head. Then it happened, they all heard it. The resounding *SNAP* that came from breaking bones... She'd easily snapped Bradford's nose, but more than that, she'd broken her hand... Or at least fractured it. Her yelling made Dominique chuckled slightly, especially as she called Bradford a cow...

A cow? Was that an insult? Bradford was kind of beefy, so maybe? Since he wasn't fat like a big he was beefed up like a cow? Maybe he just hadn't understood the reference, but regardless, her delivery of the insult was funny enough that it brought Dominique to tears. Forevermore, would he call Bradford a cow. Forevermore...

Bradford, on the other hand, was none to happy about his nose or the beating he was taking. Pushing himself up, he yelled out in rage and charged the smaller woman. Reaching out to grab her by the hand, the injured one, he effectively got a grip and spun, sending her reeling face first into a box of crates. Not giving her much of a chance, he charged in right behind her, looking to use his weight to spear her into the crates after she bounced off of them.

A miscalculation...

She spun out of the way wryly and he ran himself headfirst into the crates. The wooden boxes shifted under his force and came tumbling down, one landing on his head and bouncing down his back. Groaning even more, Bradford again pushed himself up. At least he was showing the true reason why Dom kept him around. Had nothing to do with smarts... He was simply a wrecking ball. Could take a hit, and dish them out as well. And if all else failed? He was a good distraction.

Finleigh had taken her time in recollecting herself after Bradford's charge, but soon as he'd stood, she'd moved in to swing at him. She caught a few good licks to the side of his face before he spun on her and landed a solid blow to her stomach, lifting her off the ground with the swing. It still wasn't the end as they backed off of each other, Finleigh feeling a bit more of the hurt, and probably some major bruising at the least... Bradford bleeding from his ears and nose, not to mention the gash across the top of his bald head and the amalgamation of bruising he, too, would be victim to. Neither of them would feel great tomorrow, that was certain.

However, the worst part for Bradford had to be the chiding yells and jeers he was receiving from his crew mates. All but Dominique who leaned quietly against the wall and watched.

"Are you done, little girl?" Bradford coughed out, obviously pained and winded... But he wouldn't be the one to give up. He was going to do his damnedest to make Dominique eat his words. He was -NOT- going to lose to this girl. Dominique would see. He'd prove himself... Bradford took a deep breath then straightened himself out, taking one step back with his right foot and squaring off, both hands raised, as his eyes studied Fin. The rage was still there, but now it was under control... Perhaps Bradford wasn't as bad off as anyone had thought? Perhaps he'd reached his point of 'No More Fucks'. Or perhaps, he was finally happy to see her as an equal instead of as a frail woman... Which meant the fight was on.

"There ye are..." Finn muttered quietly, a wicked grin stretching her busted lips as she eyed Bradford's change in stance. "Now yer thinkin'," she called across to him, "Now yer dangerous. Now yer useful." 

"Them pompous braying fuckwits o'er there think they know shite. But nae one of 'em is thinkin' like you are righ' now. Iffin ye gonna do this work, ye need ta be right here. ALWAYS. Ye ken? Don'cha ever let me catch ye's lookin' at a job any other way than hows yer lookin' at me righ' now, boyo. It'll save yer life... an' all a ours." 

Bracing back, Fin hunkered down and readied herself for the next onslaught. "Now get smart. Use that manky head o' yers fer somethin' other than smashin' crates an' suckin' cunnies," she goaded him. "Let's finish this," she growled, slapping her chest hard, "Have at et. Dinnae hold back." 

As Bradford growled and charged in, Fin nodded and shot Dominque a telling Mona Lisa smile. One way or the other, the fight would be over presently.

Dom couldn't help but smirk as Fin called the other men out. Even they realized it as they grew quiet and looked at their boss.

"Don't look at me, what was it, ya pompous, braying fuckwits? Yeah... I like that. Bradford might be a dolt, but now he's seeing things right. Here's a good lesson boys. Never underestimate your opponent. Girl, boy, woman, man, big, small... Don't matter. If they can out think ya, they can kill yas good an' easy."

Turning his eyes back to the fight, he watched as Bradford charged and Finleigh shot him a wicked, telling smile.

"CAREFUL BRADFORD!" he called, knowing she'd goaded him into thinking he was actually using his head. She wasn't wrong, but she was absolutely manipulating his level of smarts... He was using his head now, but it wasn't as well as she was.

Bradford rushed forward, but just as he got to Fin, he spun around her and grabbed a rope that had been loosed from the crates. Sliding to the ground and rolling, he pulled it taught beneath her feet and tried to take her to the ground by sweeping the rope across her legs.

"YOU'RE GOIN' DOWN GIRL!" Bradford called... Just in time to see his move pretty much fail. The look on his face? Incredulous. Dom's? Excited and impressed. By both of them.

Fin actually chuckled aloud as the rope stretched taut, taking her front foot from beneath her. Coming to one knee, she grinned as she balanced herself; her hands quickly finding the rope in the snow. Having no time to recoup his balance, Bradford tumbled forward as she yanked on the thick rope. In one fluid motion, she jerked and stood; using the forward momentum to drive her knee straight into Bradford's colliding face. The stacked meathead grunted as the force knocked him upright again. And, giving no quarter, Fin finished the 'lesson' with a sharp, rounding elbow to the temple. 

Snow 'poofed' from the ground in a cloud of downy powder as Bradford collapsed flat on his back. Fin, playfully polishing his bald head as she passed, grinned triumphantly as she retreated toward the door. Her wide smile and unflinching gaze camouflaging the extent of her pain. Lightly jabbing each of the hecklers in turn, she made her way slowly to Dom. Her smile never fading. Offering her uninjured hand, she finally introduced herself, "Finleigh Finnegan. Me mates jes' call me Fin." Her smile grew a little as she opened the door for him, "An' I'll be takin' tha' fifty-percent now." She winked over her shoulder as she moved back to the table, counting out the money evenly. 

After allowing Dom to double-check her math, Fin split her half once more, folding it carefully and handing it back to Dom. "Fer yer man's medical expenses. He'll be needin' seein' to, no doubt." It wasn't a suggestion. And Fin shook her head stubbornly as she tucked it into his shirt pocket, "I ain't askin'. I take care o' me own. An' so far as I'm concerned, this lil arrangement makes hem one o' me own." 

Fishing a cigarette from her coat pocket, she offered one to Dom in repayment for the one she'd stolen earlier in their negotiations before lighting one for herself. "I go' three lass' gettin' new homes toingh'. Deliveries usually go pretty smoothly. My associates stateside... like tha families here... tell me which staffin' positions they have open. An' I find refugees tha' match those skillsets... people tha' need ta safely disappear, ye ken? Most'a my clients come from tha isles... runnin' from tha war. But there're occasionally others tha' needs crossin' fer other reasons. I get 'em here... line up work, new identities, all tha necessary documents, brief an' train 'em on tha ride over as necessary. The whole nine. So their shiney new life is ready fer livin' tha minute their feet touch New York soil. Once we hit port, it's jest a ma'er o' movin' 'em to their destinations without bein' unduly noticed."

Fin paused, took a long drag and pointed to the unconscious man on the floor, "Tha's where the families' men usually come in handy. They send 'em around ta keep an eye on me as much as ta help. So... now you see where we have a lil hangup. Cuz I can't very well cut 'em out o' tha job tonigh' without arousin' suspicion. An' I can't risk 'em comin' aroun' an' recognizin' you bunch on tha next run. An' I certainly can't have 'em just up an' go missin' on me watch. So... Mr. 'I'm gonna work wit' tha mob'... how exactly do ye plan on makin' this lil situation work aroun'? Cuz iffin those arsewipes up on tha pre'y lil hills ye passed ta ge' here decide tha' I've gone an' done 'em sideways by cuttin' 'em out... well, le's just say it won't end pretty from a legal point o' view, ya ken?"  

Fin leaned back in her chair, legs crossed and took another long drag from her cigarette, exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. "So... go' any convenient solutions in that pretty lil head o' yers, Italiano?"

Dominique chuckled as she stuffed the cash in his shirt pocket. Deciding to give in and allow her the victory, despite the fact that there was enough cash back home to cover the expenses, he nodded and left the money in his pocket. Wouldn't be a good businessman if he didn't allow for more money to come in now would he?

Taking the cigarette offered, he skipped a match across the crate of the makeshift desk and puffed until it was lit. With a shake, the match died and Dominique exhaled as he removed the smoke from between his lips.

"Just so happens, I might have an idea. And the name's Dominique Giovanni Coniglio, but everyone just calls me Dom... Or Mr. Rabbit."

He chuckled before taking a drag off the cigarette and beginning, the smoke finding it's way out between words.

"So you have a pre-standing deal with the family here. I won't cut in for this one. No reason to cause unnecessary heat from any family on our back, yeah? So pay them for their deal... But after tonight?"

He grinned.

"We can move your operation's landing point to Brooklyn proper. Middle'a New York, doll. We've got docks a-plenty under our watchful gaze."

Dominique's wheels spun and his eyes darted about as he thought quickly.

"And, if it'll make ya feel better, you an' I's? We can go have a little sit with Kueblar an' make sure 'e sees things our way."

Dom's gaze shifted to the one standing bodyguard left that Kueblar had sent; Johnson. "Which brings me to you and your sleeping friend, Johnson."

Johnson looked up and blinked. "Well, wha' is it t'en?"

Dominique smiled as he puffed the cigarette again.

"I'm going to need you to help smooth it over... Since, ya know, yous boys are the reason I made it in in the first place. If we don't keep Kueblar happy, he's gonna start with yous guys before comin' at a bigger family."

Dominique winked and exhaled overhead as Johnson's head sank.

"So, you wanna stay alive, ya gotta work with us here. Make this happen, an' I guarantee a place at my... our," he gestured to Finleigh and himself, "table. Either as an ally, or an associate. That's your choice. You's is gonna be our inside man, eh?"

Johnson thought about it for a hard minute before nodding. "Kueblar is a joke anyway. He over-extends his reach. Why else would we only have two goons from our family guarding this operation... He doesn't know how to run his assets properly. It'll do him good to open his eyes."

Dom looked at Finleigh and smirked. "Think you can arrange a sit down?" He spoke to Johnson as he looked at Fin, before his gaze turned back to the man.

"Aye lad, I'll do ya that."

"Your presence will be explicitly requested, Johnson... I hope you know this. You and your friend if he can be made to see light of this."

He looked back at Fin before Johnson could say anything.

"Does this sound agreeable, Finleigh Finnegan? Since this is mostly your operation and I'm merely brokering a better arrangement?"

Fin grinned, "It's Fin. An' I dare say it sounds a mite cleaner than anythin' I might'a had in mind." She shot Johnson a twisted little grin that made the older man squirm on the spot. Turning her attention back to Dominique, "But'cha need ta know that Kuebler is a highfalutin' lil cunt. One o' them yacht-sucklin', old money, regata types that's go' more cash than sense an' even more pride... an nae a lick o' it earned. He ain't like yer underboss types. S'way more prissy, an' always lookin' for a reason to have his 'honor' wounded. Love's ta make a show o' remindin' tha town who owns it. If yer gonna peg him down a notch, ye better do it hard enough tha' he stays down. Otherwise, there's no doubt in my mind... he'll go right ta tha buzzers playin' tha civic duty card wit' enough moentary lubrication ta come ou' wit' tha keys ta tha city an' civilian commendations. I've seen it before."

Fin rolled her eyes and pinched her nose, obviously NOT one for blueblood bullshit. Shaking her head, she continue, "BUT, iffin ye can break him, tha other would-be river socialites'll follow suit easy-like." Sighing, she took a long drag from her ciggy, "Truth be told, I'll be glad ta be out from under 'em. 'Least yer kind're honest about their under-dealings. No airs and all that shite." She offered him a weak smirk, the swelling beginning to weaken her facade, "So... you an' yer lads clear out an' we'll meet up tomorrow? Or ye wanna see this through tonigh' an' start fresh in the A.M.? Makes no mind ta me."

Dom picked up his gun from the make-shift table and loaded the bullets back into the cylinder before sliding it into place. Looking over the pretty piece of work, he smiled, "Oh I'm certain I can knock'em down hard enough ta stay." With the comment, he shot Johnson a look. Lingering for a second, he returned to placing his gun in it's holster under his shoulder.

"I'll help ya see it through seein' as I slowed yous guys down. My boys'll take Bradford and get'em settled for tha night." Turning to them, he nodded and tossed the rolled money their way. "Get outta here. I'll see ya fellas back at tha shop." The other two men nodded and went for Bradford and left.

"Now, where do we start?" Dom said as he spun back around. "Just point me in a direction an' tell me what needs doin'."

Fin nodded and stood. "Johnson, get tha car ready. Any funny business, an' so help me, you'll be swimmin' cold 'fore mornin'. Ye ken?"  Fin glared at the man for a moment, who said nothing but nodded somberly before stepping out the back after Dom's men. Nodding to her new partner, Fin unlocked the door; an uncanny calm washing over her bruised and battered features as the door squeaked open.

As the noise echoed loudly over the cement floors, three sets of terrified eyes jerked up from beside the makeshift fireplace that lit the far wall. Fin, ever controlled and confident, shooshed them reassuringly. "Just me, lasses. Everythin's in order. No need fer tha' wide-eyed nonsense." Motioning Dom over she, smiled... genuinely smiled... as she comforted them. "Take yer time an finish up yer meal. I ken it's nae much, but once ye get settled yer nae likely ta get much more 'til mornin'. So get while tha gettin's good. I've sent Mr. Johnson to warm tha car. We'll be rollin' out soon enough." 

Tugging Dom over closer to the fire, her eyes warmed as she introduced him. "This here is my associate, Mr. Coniglio. You lasses can call him Dom. He's gonna be helpin' get yer things loaded an' gettin' ye's all settled in. Dom, these are our girl's fer the week." She slowly pointed each one out, making sure to give a little background so that he could truly understand the work that she did. The girls, while polite, were sheepish... almost like beaten animals... as they nodded quietly in turn. "This lil Lass," she said, pointing to the youngest who nursed an infant, "Is Aine. An' tha wee babe is Ciara. We took her from a hospital in County Down after her da tried ta beat tha babe out o' her." Fin gently pet the girl's hair as she spoke, hugging her cheek close to her hip. "Guess he never thought ta beat his squad-mates what forced themselves on her in tha first place." 

The girl whimpered softly, but Fin continued to cress her hair as she lowered herself to the young woman's eye level, gently raising her chin to meet her gaze, "There now. No shame in it, child. Just a door fer a new life. Nothin' more. Nothin' less. We've all been there." Dom wasn't sure what 'there' necessarily meant... but he thought it best not to press the issue as Fin stood and continued. "After tonight, their names are Anne and Karen. First and second generation Irish-Americans from Manhattan. Little Anne is fresh outta Livingston's and taking her first high-staff job righ' here in New Burgh. Isn't that righ'?" 

The young one smiled as she nodded, almost as if reassuring herself, before Fin moved on. "Blondie over there is Orlaith. Just lost her husband to the Tans. Poor sod was deep cover. Which puts my darlin' here in deep shite now that he's made. We barely beat tha clash tha' hit tha fan. She's picked tha name Dorothy. An' she'll be workin' for Kuebler as an accountant... of sorts. And finally, tha' firey lil thing across the way is Bronagh. An' she's decided... much like myself... tha' she's done fightin' men's wars over made up shite. So she'll be movin' through one o' tha smaller houses here for training and experience before stepping it up to hotel staff as 'Barbara'." 

Fin gave Dom a few minutes to digest the information before gesturing to three tiny suitcases across the warehouse... all the women had brought to start their new lives packed into a single, tiny, leather box."We got two stops for Anne an' Barbara before we hit Kubler's fer Dorothy. Them's their belongings," Find explained flatly, "The first next thing is ta get those loaded, an' double check that tha girls have all their paperwork in order while yer at it. They've got birth certificates, socials, driver's licenses, passports an' immigration records where applicable. All o' that. Each folder should be tucked in tha front o' their respective cases. Just double-check that s'all there an' then load 'em up and we'll get gone soon as the car's warm."

He pointed to each girl respectively...

"Anne an' Karen, Dorothy, and Barbara. Pleasure to meet ya, ladies. I'm certain we can have you full and ready to bunker down at your new homes in no time." He smiled, removing his hat and bowing his head.

"Please, sit and enjoy the warmth and the food. I'll gather your things and make sure everything is in order and loaded."

Turning to Fin, Dominique nodded and then replaced his hat atop his head and moved to the luggage. First order of business? Make sure all of the paperwork was there. Dom tugged the folder from the first suitcase and flipped it open. Documents for Anne and Karen seemed in order. A new birth certificate for the wee babe, and applicable licensure for Anne as well. With a nod, he shut the folder and went to slide it back into the front pocket of the suitcase before pausing. Opening it back up, he took a look at a few of the words on the documents. Slowly, he combed through all of the ladies papers. Chuckling at himself, he shook his head and closed it up. It was all there, all good, and all in order. Sliding the folder back into it's front pocket of the suitcase, he moved down the other two. Just as their previous folder, each subsequent one was in perfect order as well.

Taking two handles in one hand, and the third in his other, Dom hoisted the luggage up and headed outside to load the vehicle. Dorothy's luggage went in, laying on it's side, first. She was the last to be dropped off so that made her place easy. However, unsure of the other two cases, he stood them up and placed them next to one another, on top of Dorothy's case. Anne and Karen were on the left, and Barbara was on the right. Closing the trunk and looking at Johnson, he got the all ready nod. Moving quickly back inside, Dominique called out to Finleigh.

"Loaded up and ready, Fin. Vehicle's warm, too."

Fin nodded, waiting patiently for Aine to swaddle the babe before escorting all four ladies quietly out the back. One by one they dipped into the back of a classicly sleek Cadillac limo. With a silent nod, Fin motioned for Dominique to take the front seat as she slipped into the back with the women. And in a snap, they were off. 

It was late enough that streets were dead, but as they pulled through the ritzier streets in town, Dom noticed that even at midday the limo would be unlikely to draw attention given the luxurious foreign vehicles parked in many of the garages and driveways throughout the suburbs. The first two stops were smaller homes (comparatively). And the 'deliveries' worked surprisingly fast and smoothe. Fin accompanied the women inside, while Johnson and Dominique kept the car running. Each brief meeting only lasting a few minutes. In short order, Fin would reappear, warn the homeowner that she'd be checking in in a few days, and then saunter off to the car like she owned the place... all of which appeared to the newcomer like a choreographed dance of familiar steps that was almost comfortable in its repetition. 

In less than an hour, the car was down to a total of four passengers and aimed at the largest home in town. Set away from the other neighbourhoods, the colossal colonial monstrosity sat atop a manufactured hill, overlooking the river and the town below... tucked neatly behind a low wrought-iron gate. It was so far removed that it would take nearly 15 minutes to reach from the center of town. ANd Fin decided to capitalize on that time by strategizing through the uncomfortable silence. 

Clearing her throat to break the deafening awkward silence, Fin leaned over her seat into the driver's cab. "So," she mused quietly. "Whatcha thinkin' in thar pretty Italian head? Ye wanna go in tonigh' or just drop an' go?" she asked with a teasing poke. 

Pointing up the hill, she indicated a small gatehouse situated near the main entry to the grounds, "Old fucker'll have somebody waitin' for us. But I'm still expected ta wriggle through all tha proper channels. They'll have ta call up. An' Moneybags himself'll meet us at tha door. Like's ta feel like he really has a hand in all o' it, he does. Strokes his ego... which I'm sure is abou' all what gets stroked on him anymore." Fin chuckled lightly at her own joke. "So we can play it either way ye like. I'll just need ta know upfront, 'fore I go ringin' 'em up." 

Johnson slowed the vehicle as they neared the bottom of the hill, giving Dom time to formulate his plan and response as they crested the point of no return. It was time.