She burst from the racetrack faster than her legs could follow. What was left of the powder on the back of her hand was cast to the ground. Mercy wiped at her nose and howled into the streets.

"Joooooohnnn!!!"

The Strip Downs had just seen its first set of races, the second city to partake in the racing event which Mercy was fervently spreading across the country. After the final race, it was time to get some light business appointments out of the way. Nothing that required her to be sober, though. The Las Vegas strip wasn't far from the track, Mercy now found herself on the moody outskirts where only the exhausted and financially ruined wandered. The air was warm and welcoming, and the smell was much more inviting than the odor of two dozen Nevadan horse enthusiasts. 

She gathered herself, replaced her box of unidentified white powder, then spiraled with her arms outstretched and cackled into the twilight sky.

"John!!" 

Did Keats come out before her? Or was he following her? He'll turn up. She had quite hastily decided that he was a good guy. If she was wrong, she'd have to deal with it when it became necessary. Mercy didn't waste time with unknown questions. It wasted too much life to worry.

"We've got to... we've got to find that Abby girl. Abby-Whitehill. I invited her out. We were supposed to meet..."

She pulled her hair from the wholly unappreciated high bun that was delicately prepared by her hairdresser, and shook out the black locks. The topic promptly fell from her head and she began looking for Keats once more.

John was barely keeping up with the woman who'd burst out of the track like a bat out of hell. Athletics were not his strongest suit, but he supposed that might have to change depending on the work that Mercy assigned him. Hopefully it wouldn't be too strenuous. Catching his breath, he recovered just as he saw Mercy spinning around with her arms outstretched.

He grinned, despite himself. There was nothing more poetic than a beautiful woman.

The warm Nevada air was cooling as the sun sank below the horizon, and Keats stuck his hands in the pockets of his green jacket as he sidled up next to Mercy_Fiorentino. 

Keats was about to say something when Mercy shook out her hair. He was too much of an aesthete to interrupt a performance like that. When she was finished, he cleared his throat.

"Sure, Mercy. Where are going? And what are we getting from her? You said she was good at this stuff?"

Keats followed alongside Mercy as they made their way through the twilight. 

Mercy_Fiorentino had invited her out to Vegas to talk business.  Betting on the ponies was a distraction, a costly one, but it served it's purpose.  After checking her hair and make-up, Abby made her way back into the crowd and began scanning it for her would-be partner in crime.  It wasn't hard to spot her.

Mercy was like chaos made manifest in physical form, a whirlwind of energy, violently shaken and fed a truck load of sugar then set free in a china shop.  People cleared out of her way and those who didn't seemed to regret it.  Abby followed in the wake of the storm as Mercy made her way to the door.  

Here things had thinned out.  The hustle and bustle of inside lulled into a darker and more contemplative tone.  The sky was growing darker and distantly the lights of Las Vegas' strip were just starting to look less chintzy and more like colored stars.  From here, at this time of day and without the opressive heat, Abby had to admit that the desert was actually kind of pretty.

Before Abby could call out to Mercy, a man joined her.  He didn't have the look of a goon who would protect a woman of her standing, but Abby learned long ago not to judge a book by its cover.  The most wirey of guys on the factory floor might turn out to be a real tough cookie in a pinch.  Instead she tried to see if she couldn't pick out an iron under that getup he was wearing.  

Like Mercy, the man was decidedly pretty.  He wasn't rough around the edges really, soft tussled hair seemed to have that 'I just rolled out of bed' look and Abby found herself wondering if maybe he wasn't her future-partner's main squeeze.  That certainly felt more likely than a bodyguard.  Satisfied with her initial assessment of the situation she picked up her pace to catch up to the two.  

"Mercy?"  Abby called out before reaching them.  "I'm sorry I didn't catch up with ya sooner, I had to cash out on my pony from the last race.  Thanks so much for inviting me out here.  It's been a real hoot!"

Deciding not to tempt fate, she spoke directly to mercy and was careful not to let her eyes linger for more than a moment on her companion, just in case.

"Abby! John, this is the girl! For the thing!"

Mercy had no idea what 'the thing' was at the present moment.

"It's great to see you made it! Where were we supposed to meet?"

Not a moment passed, before-

"Quiet! Do you smell that?"

Three of her fingers were now partially on John's mouth as the woman suddenly and unexpectedly stopped him speaking. There was indeed an aroma in the air, Mercy's appetite could root out even the most bland dishes when she was hungry. As they began to approach the Strip, the allure of street vendors began to collect a large stake in Mercy's attention and agenda.

Keats finally got his mouth back when Mercy diverted to the nearest kerb side vendor.

"Quiet! Do you smell that?"

Keats inhaled sharply with surprise as Mercy placed her fingers on John's mouth. He blinked as trace elements of whatever had been on her hand flew up his nose. He blinked. Not exactly his mother's smelling salts. When Mercy stalked off to pursue some food and he had the use of his mouth again, Keats bowed his head to Abby-Whitehill. 

"'evening. Miss Whitehill, I presume? My name is John Keats; I'm an associate of Miss Fiorentino. Mercy spoke highly of you and suggested that she wanted to partner with you in... something. That can be discussed later, of course. How did you enjoy the race earlier? Well, I hope, if you were cashing out."

Keats slowly moved in Mercy's wake, inviting Abby to follow along as his boss pursued a street vendor with tiger-like intensity. 

"Lost big on that first race.  And I bet on an aptly named one in the second... Soontu Beglue."  She shook her head.  "He got third so at least I have cash enough for dinner and some drinks later."  She smiled at Keats.  "An associate?  So ya work for her then.  That must keep ya very busy."

Abby walked quickly to keep up with Keats and Mercy.  "What about you?  Are ya into horses too?  For my money a car is a more entertaining race to watch any day of the week but I'm happy to support Mercy.  We business gals need ta stick together after all."

It wasn't long before something greasy wrapped in pita was dripping onto the sidewalk via Mercy's chin. Around them, spent night crawlers shuffled aimlessly between casinos that refused them entry and the sodden gutters. Mercy remained apparently oblivious of her surroundings. Without missing a beat, she dove right into the middle of a conversation she hadn't yet started. Words followed shortly after a mouthful had been ground down and swallowed. Abby-Whitehill was the main target of her oration. 

"...The Detroit racecourse needs to be a showstopper, Abby. I've got stakeholders across the country investing in these tracks, adds their name to the event and increases the significance of it. It's a win-win. We're from Detroit though, I want it to be the crown jewel in our collection."

Once more, a switch had flipped and Mercy effortlessly transitioned to a much more coherent tone. She coordinated another mouthful for consumption, shoved it into a cheek and continued.

"So, what do you think? Something you could acquire for us? We've got New York to think about after that, then we'll meet in Philly. There's a pier there-" She gestured to Keats. "- I told you about the pier, right? We'll meet at the pier and decide how to tart it up into a race course. Stables will be a struggle, but, eh, we'll figure it out."

She took another bite and eyed the pair up, one after the other, waiting for a response. 

Keats, in his vague capacity as an associate and personal assistant, absentmindedly withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped a line of grease from Mercy's chin before it could fall down to stain her dress. With a smile, he returned the handkerchief to his pocket; Mercy either didn't notice or didn't acknowledge it.

He shifted his mind to business. Mercy moved so fast that most of the time Keats found himself inferring what she wanted. So far, at least, he'd been able to keep up. His mind was racing as he tried to put the puzzle pieces together. Mercy was a businesswoman; Keats knew she owned at least one racetrack and stable, and it seemed like she was in the market for more. And Abby would be helping with that, apparently? At least now he had a vague idea what he was doing out there: setting up racecourses. 

Keats watched with a pleasant smile as Mercy's demeanor changed again; the manic girl was gone, and the businesswoman was back.

"We'll set something up nice in Detroit. A special course. I'm sure Miss Whitehill will be able to manage things, and I'll be there to assist her." His eyes flashed pleasantly to Abby. "When we're done in Detroit, should we head to New York and try to set things up there as well, or do you have someone else on that job? We'll meet you in Philly either way for the pier, of course."

Keats paused, recognizing briefly that he had no knowledge of racecourses and no money. The former he could bullshit his way through, but the latter presented an issue.

"Are there any resources at our disposal that I should be aware of, Mer- Miss Fiorentino?"

“Can’t say I’ve ever done anything like this before. I mean, I’m flattered you’d ask - But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was surprised you thought of me first. Big name like you, ya probably could’ve gotten anyone to do this.”

Abby bites her lower lip and thinks a moment. “Well, we are the motor city, kind of known for horsepower. And it is your hometown so it does need to be something special… And I do to know some people.”

”OK two things when does it need to be done by and what do you say we have a drink to seal the deal? I really could go for something to wet my whistle right now.”

Mercy nodded along with Keats until he said 'Miss Florentino', at which point she cut off whatever else he was going to say and pointed directly at him with the carcass of her sandwich. It hovered briefly under his nose, over which he could see her playful scowl.

"Mercy."

The word was muffled by meat and bread, but it was effective. As she finished the current mouthful, Mercy nodded, then shook, then nodded along with Abby-Whitehill. Neither of these motions were necessarily in sync with the statements she either agreed or disagreed with.

"Guys, way too much detail. We're racing in Detroit in about 4 days, until then, let's just get some drinks?"

She tossed the remainder of the sandwich over her shoulder. It hit the curb and scattered into its component parts. Mercy maneuvered herself between Keats and Abby and linked arms. She looked between the two of them with a mischievous smirk.

"Now, who knows a good club? John, I think we can make you some of those resources you're short of."  

The statement was ominously suggestive, alike to the wink she delivered to Abby as they strode out into the road.

Abby was hesitant, trying to make heads or tails of Mercy’s nods/shakes and words.  But after seeing Mercy’s playful smirk she decided everything thing was aces.  Abby found herself excited at the prospect of whatever Mercy had planned for the rest of the evening and her future.  Having her name associated with such a successful program as this racing circuit, well that wouldn’t hurt her chances of becoming made. Made man was where it was at, or so they told her. Being made meant you took shit from nobody.  Abby liked the thought of that.  She might not of won both of the races like she had hoped she would, but maybe she was going to make a killing in Vegas after all.

Mercy then, and not Miss Fiorentino. Keats made a mental note- he'd wondered if the aversion to formality would extend to business meetings, and now he had his answer. With another woman, he would have seen it as a sign of familiarity or fondness, but Mercy remained an enigma. No, chaos was the word. In his heads, Keats had already started to refer to her as "Hurricane Mercy". Occasionally, the eye of the storm appeared and they had a sober business discussion, but usually he just focused on keeping his feet. 

When Mercy suggested "making some resources", Keats just smiled and followed the women. Mercy led, and Keats made eye contact with Abby; he offered her a shrug and a smile to show that she wasn't the only one a little lost. Still, as Mercy linked her arm to his it was hard not to feel confident. They'd figure it out. What did it matter that he didn't know anything about racing? Or have any money? 

"I heard a couple locals talking about a place near Summerlin. Violet Nights was the name; it's supposed to have a band, a dancefloor, and a bunch of tourists throwing money around. Plenty of booths and tables. A nice place to chat, have a few drinks. The way they talked about it, the place sounded a little wild..." 

Keats smirked.

"... but then again, that seems like a good fit."

"Well, the spirits at Madam Laroe's did say I'd be going on a wild ride in the near future... perhaps this is what they meant?"  She smiled back at Keats when he gave his boyish shrug.  Abby decided that this must be how Mercy normally rolled - sharp turns on a dime and racing towards the next spot of fun.  Most gangsters were cautious, thoughtful, and low key worrying about attracting the attention of cops and the like.  Not Mercy.  Mercy didn't seem afraid of anything at all and Abby admired her for that.

The trio moved quickly down the street past watering holes and diners, the low end stuff that locals went to - or those who couldn't afford to dine on the strip at least.  When they came to Violet Nights she could hear the band inside long before they got past the doorman to see it.  The crowd was really jumping and true to the gossip that Keats had heard, there was a dance floor.  If Abby was any judge of character she figured the place had more than a few mobsters and molls present and more than handful of wanna-bes.  No one would give them trouble here, no matter what hijinx Mercy invented.

Leaning towards Mercy, Abby spoke, "I think this is just the sort of place where a gal could have a good time... table or booth?"

The trio made a uncharacteristically quiet entrance, a little bit of a fumble and a giggle, but they were in. The man on the door didn't take much persuasion to find them a corner booth. They slipped in to the sounds of camaraderie and jazz. Smoke trailed from every other seat, twisting and gathering above their heads. At this point it didn't matter how much noise they made. They were seated and watered, promptly, by an indifferent server. Taking in the room, the shrill cries and exaggerated hair suggested that this evening was ladies night. 

Mercy sipped from her short tumbler glass, then ham-fisted her way into a bowl of nuts. There was a genuine feeling of contentment about her. Any facade, whether chaotic or calculating, was dropped. The woman was herself. Loud and goofy. Appreciative of the company she held. Ultimately, happy. Rarely would she reflect, however she felt that something was sparked that night.

The band finished their set and there was a rousing cheer. Mercy took her chance.

"Ladiiiiiiiieesssss!"

The voice carried, the hall turned.

Before either Abby-Whitehill or John could fathom the reason for the exclamation, she had Keats on his feet. She placed both hands on his jacket collar and threw it back over his shoulders.

She spoke only to him. "Time to make some of the money you need..."

By this time the room was facing them. Those already anticipating the coming event began to howl with excitement.

"One night only ladies! You can take home this fine male specimen! He's the rough to your smooth, the brooding to your broody. John Keats!!"

It looked like John was about to protest, Mercy would not leave room for it.

"Do I hear five hundred dollars??"

Several hands flapped in their direction.

Keats felt more comfortable as they entered the club; he was back in his element, at least, although he would have preferred to have upgraded his wardrobe first. Still, it was easy to forget about his debts when in the company of Mercy_Fiorentino and Abby-Whitehill. He'd known plenty of pretty girls, but none since starting his new life in Detroit. 

Mercy seemed to relax, and Keats found himself watching her. She aroused curiosity, the way she oscillated between personalities and careened through the world. Keats preferred to make less of an impact, even when getting into trouble. It was nice to see her relax.

Abby seemed to be enjoying herself as well, glancing around the room with barely contained excitement. He needed to learn more about her, if they were going to be working so closely together. 

Keats started to smile when Mercy grabbed his hand, but his expression quickly shifted to one of confusion.

As Mercy began the auction, Keats hissed at her through a smile.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind..."

Still, caught in the spotlight, Keats was unwilling to fold. Instead, he removed his green jacket and tossed it back towards Abby.

He cleared his throat and flashed a grin.

"While my public humiliation would be free, I'd have much more fun if someone indulges my friend here- and you'd have more fun as well. And as a manner of personal taste, I'd say I was worth much more than that."

He smiled at the crowd, but internally he was somewhat disappointed. He'd wanted to spend time with Mercy and Abby, and now it seemed like he was sidelined... perhaps that was Mercy's intention? A chance to talk to Abby without him present? For now, he'd play along; as he stayed at the crowd, he still had a couple potential moves left to make.

Abby laughed as she watched several spunky young women begin digging in their pockets, purses and braziers calling out dollar values.  Mercy was like the ringleader of a massive circus. 

"That's $625 from the pretty lady in blue!  Thank you!"

Abby didn't think too much about it at first but the longer she held that green coat the more she considered the words of Madam LaRoe. 

"$650!"

What if she hadn't meant an actual ride in a car or on a horse...

"$675!"

What if she meant good time?

"Surely he's worth another "$25 ladies..."

"$670!"

What if it was a figure of speech?

"$700 do I hear $700?"  

Abby opened her purse and pulled out the folded stack of cash she'd won on her third place pony Soontu Beglue and quickly counted it.

"$986..."  she grabbed her change and counted it fast slamming it all on the table in front of Mercy.  "And 72 cents." 

Turning to Keats she gave him a smile and blush that was almost half as bright.

"One thousand dollars!!"

The cry came from across the room and forced all other challengers to sit. Mercy laughed at the unfolding events and cleared her throat. One foot kicked up backwards and she slipped off her shoe, bringing it above her head like a gavel. There was an eccentric scream of glee from a large concentration of women toward the staged area as a spotlight fell upon them.

"We have one thousand dollars, ladies! Going once!"

She grinned chaotically at John, who was clearly uncomfortable. With her right hand held high, her left arm folded behind her into the small of her back. Her hand, and a roll of hundreds, waved unseen to the room in Abby's face.

"Goooooing twice!!"

The flock of thirsty molls stamped their feet and cried shrilly at the delay. The band started a playful drum roll. The spotlight moved back onto Keats.

Abby didn't hesitate to grab snatch the money out of Mercy_Fiorentino 's hand, thumbing it discreetly she called out, "TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!"  The excitment of winning was at the forefront of her mind so much she almost forgot who/what she was trying to win. 

The crowd applauded and gasped.  Everyone was really starting to get into the back and forth and now with big numbers being thrown out, everyone was engaged.  She watched the women across the way looking at her with fury.  They quickly huddled together to figure out if they had enough to compete any further or not.  Obviously they felt the prize MUST be worth the price if Abby was so willing to throw money at a man she was already sitting with.

The shoe came down, a tumbler glass broke and the surface of the table gained a new indentation to remain for decades to come. Mercy had a wild excitement in her eyes and she roared across the hall.

"SOLD! FOR TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!!"

Among the shouts of applause there were cries of dismay. Mercy noted the faces of thunder in the corner by the band, but it did not reflect on her manner. She tossed the shoe into the crowd, vaguely aiming toward the far corner, but it didn't make the distance and landed in an ice bucket on table 4. With two fingers she fished the shard of glass out of her drink and downed the contents, dropped it back on the table and turned to envelop Abby in a gleeful embrace.

Over her shoulder, she could see Keats, still with his jacked pulled back halfway down his arms, and winked playfully at him. Taking his hand, she placed it into Abby's and made an exaggerated 'smushing together' motion with her hands.

"Drinks!" She announced, and left the pair.

Keats was hardly a physical specimen: he wasn't particularly large, and his hands seemed more accustomed to holding a book than making a fist. Still, he tried to get over his discomfort as he humored his boss with a small smile. Usually, in his line of work, the spotlight meant that he'd made a mistake. 

There were plenty of women present in the club, and Keats again felt a twinge of disappointment at spending the evening away from the two women he'd walked in with. But business was business.

Or was it? Abby certainly seemed intent to earn his company back. After she was victorious and the shoe was tossed, the trio was reunited at the table- but only briefly. Mercy, after a wink, had vanished. 

"Thanks for the bid, Abby. Now I can pay big some of the interest I owe, even if our resources for our upcoming trip only switched hands.  I know you paid for your time, but excuse me for just a moment..."

Keats left the table, heading over to table four, where he fished the shoe of Mercy_Fiorentino out of the ice bucket. He shook it off and brought it back to the table he was sharing with Abby.

"Alright then... I assume she's still wearing the other one... but maybe it's around here. I'll have to remember to look later."

He settled into the table, green coat still off and strewn next to him. He took a deep breath, recalibrating himself and flashing a grin when the process was successful. 

"So when Mercy yelled 'drinks!' do you think that was her commanding us to drink, and then her vanishing was just random? Or do you think she went to go and get us drinks? It's hard to tell with her sometimes. Now, what do you want to get your money's worth tonight, eh?"