While we were waiting for the others to arrive SilentAssassin was a little agitated, and I understood why.  We had never encountered anything like this.  John_Manna was the first to arrive, BigEasy, Stefan_Babic and TheDude arrived together.  Rose took their orders as we sat down to business.

It quickly became apparent how serious this matter.   I explained my and SilentAssassin’s history with Big Moe dating back to the 1930s with our kin, when he began his operation.  He has had some problems taken care of  but ran a successful operation for years.  
You all have been briefed on what happened.  We have identified the guy as TonyTheTailor.  We need to find out how he knows so much.
I would like to introduce you to Bones, who is the Head of Security at the Cafe in Detroit. He will show us the tape and how it all started. 

OK, like I told you, MsRain, I  was going over the surveillance camera footage, like I do every evening.  I just ran through them fast to see if anything looked suspicious. I stopped the tape when I saw this man out front fucking talking to himself.  I was like What the fuck?  He was walking around, smoking a cigarette, flicking ashes on the sidewalk.  I would tell you he wasn’t a fucking bum; he was well dressed, as to why he caught my attention.  He was in plain view but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, so I sent for my good friend Sherri.  Sherri is deaf and has the gift of reading lips extremely well.  She analyzed the tape, and this is what was said.

He first said

“Gotta hand it to you boys, though. You’ve taken the phrase ‘wake and bake’ to a whole new level.”

She missed a few words because he was moving around but said.

‘let’s move literal tons of coke under the smell of arabica.’ Classy.”

Then something about a

cartel gift shop and making  suits for your café staff

She said he clearly said

“Coffee’s good. But cocaine? That’s how you really keep folks wired.”

The shit blew my fucking mind as to why I called you right away.

TheDude leaned back in his chair, robe collar saggin’, a White Russian sweatin’ in his hand.

“Y’know, uh… I don’t usually, uh, meddle in caffeinated affairs, MsRain. But this Tony cat? He’s droppin’ lines about coke under coffee beans, cartel tailors, and, uh… suitin’ up café staff? That don’t smell like idle chatter. That smells like somebody jigglin’ the lock to a door we ain’t opened yet.

Now, I heard whispers — Brass Key whispers. And if Tony’s talkin’ like he’s already peeked inside? Then maybe he ain’t just a tailor. Maybe he’s got a key stitched in his pocket.

Point is, uh… before we go puttin’ him on ice or cuttin’ him out at the seams, maybe I should have a sit-down. See what slips. Guy might sew us a whole tapestry if you give him a needle and a little time.”

Hearing Bones explain the situation again made it more serious.  Who in the fuck is this guy, and how does he know so much about Big Moe’s operation?  And as TheDude says, what was his motive in coming to the Café? Why was he standing there talking to himself?  It just didn’t make any sense.  He didn’t cause a commotion.  

All I know is we have to find this guy.  There’s no way I will let anyone jeopardize Big Moe’s operation after all these years.   

 Put all your people and informants on this. I don’t care if they have to work around the clock. I will make sure it’s worth their while.  

I first met TheDude  at the Paramount Resort.  I didn’t trust people like him. People who saw too much, people who didn’t play dumb.  He could’ve been anything:  a test, a loose end from the life I’d 
 abandoned.  Every nerve in my body should have been screaming Don’t trust, but there was something that drew me to him, that our meeting had a purpose.  

A quick knock on the door, opened before I could say Come in, TheDude walked with his usual White Russian in hand and took a seat.

I just laughed to myself.  This Dude just does what the fuck he wants.

He bought some good and some bad news.  The good news was that he found out it was TonyTheTailor in front of the Café.  The bad news is that his a big-time Boss in Queens.

Wow, this shit gets even worse.  We have to find a way to get him and get him to talk.

We collected all the intel and pieced it all together. 

A florist in town remembered TonyTheTailor coming in every Wednesday, always buying white roses.

A clerk at a corner store mentioned the “distinguished gentleman” who picked up expensive wine every Wednesdays.

It wasn’t just a fling, it was a pattern. A ritual every Wednesday night, Tony shed his armor and travel to meet his mistress.

We finally caught a break.

Plan it out guys.

Next Wednesday we will grab TonyTheTailor on the road.

My sedan sat sideways across the lonely stretch of country road, its hood propped open.

I wore a red coat and blonde wig as I leaned against the fender, cigarette glowing between my fingers. I looked like I belonged there, elegant but frazzled, the kind of woman whose car always broke down at the worst possible time.
Every few minutes, I bent over the engine, peering in as though I knew what I was doing. The smoke curled upward, my movements deliberate, slow, like a dancer practicing for an audience yet to arrive.
Like clockwork, headlights appeared down the curve of the road.
I flicked my cigarette, watching the sleek Mercedes slow as it neared the obstruction.
My lips curved into the faintest smile.

TonyTheTailor.  A powerful man, polished reputation, too sure of himself. But tonight, stripped of all his security, he was just another name on the list.

The Mercedes stopped a few feet away.Tony rolled down his window, frowning.
“You need help?”
I gave him a practiced look, grateful but embarrassed.
“Oh, thank God. It just died on me out of nowhere. You wouldn’t know anything about engines, would you?”
My voice carried just the right amount of desperation, just enough warmth to disarm suspicion.

Tony sighed, glanced at the empty road behind him, and then reached for his seat belt. That tiny hesitation, that instinct to be the gentleman, was all it took.
I stepped closer, resting one hand lightly on the edge of his door as if steadying myself. My other hand, hidden from his view, gave the smallest signal toward the shadows.
The van rolled in behind him, headlights snapping on like the eyes of a predator.
Before Tony could turn, I leaned in, I whispered, soft, almost affectionate:

“Don’t fight.

The door yanked open. Masked faces and black-gloved hands pulled him out into the night. I stepped back, flicking away my stale cigarette that had probably been in my purse for weeks. My eyes are cold now. There I was, no longer the stranded decor, but part of the trap.

The hood of the sedan slammed shut. The road was clear again, as if nothing had ever happened.

I remember the way he stumbled out of the van, like a man who’d spent his whole life giving orders but had never once been pushed. He didn’t like the dirt under his shoes, the smell of the night air when he couldn’t see where he was. I knew the hood was eating him alive. You could feel his panic in the way he moved, all stiff and jerky, like he was trying to guess his surroundings from sound alone.
We walked him up the steps, down the hallway, then down again. By the time we hit the basement stairs, I could hear his breath snag. The air changes down there, heavier, colder.

When the hood came off, TonyTheTailor blinked hard against the harsh light. The room was stripped bare with concrete walls, no windows, and a single chair bolted to the floor. His wrists were tied, the rope biting into his skin.
I sat across from him, not the damsel in distress anymore; I had shed that persona. We were getting nowhere, and I was tired of the bullshit.  My cigarette rested in an ashtray, burning slowly.

I regarded him as though he were an exhibit in a museum.

Mr. Tailor, I said smoothly, my voice low and unhurried. You looked so eager to play the hero out there. Shame it ended like this.
He spat toward the floor, glaring. You have no idea who you’re messing with. If I don’t walk out of here
I raised a finger, just one, and he stopped. Not because I shouted, but because my silence felt heavier than any threat.
If you don’t walk out of here, I said, leaning forward, it will be because you couldn’t answer one simple question: how do you know so much about Big Moe’s operation?

I tapped my ashes delicately into the tray, my eyes never leaving his.
Tony tried to sneer, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I smiled, not kindly, but with the quiet satisfaction of a cat watching a trapped mouse. I reached into my briefcase and showed him the videotape of him outside, highlighting the words coming out of his mouth.
I’ll make this easy, I continued. 

Because I already know you’re not smart enough to pull this together yourself. Someone fed you. And I want their name.
Tony looked at the tape, then back at me. His jaw tightened.

I rose from my chair and walked around behind him. The click of my heels echoed off the concrete. My hand brushed lightly across the back of his neck, not violent, not tender, but enough to remind him of how vulnerable he was.
You’ve got two roads, Mr. Tailor.  One where you walk out of here alive, one where you never see daylight again. Which one depends entirely on how honest you’re feeling tonight?
I leaned down, whispering the last words into his ear, so close he could feel my breath:

Now tell me.  Who’s been whispering in your ear?

MsRain was starting to lose her patience with TonyTheTailor.  This motherfucker was trying to play her. It was never the same time, never the same trucks, and never the same faces.  Big Moe had too many people on his payroll to let this motherfucker scope out his operation and live.

“You think we were sloppy?” I let the words hang in the basement, the smoke from my cigarette curling in lazy shapes. I caressed the butcher knife on the table and gave @TonyThtTailor a long look, then smiled.

 “No, sweetheart. That’s just what you want to believe, that you caught us tripping over our own shadows. Makes you feel clever. But the truth?” I leaned in, my nails clicking a few times against the back of his chair. “The truth is, I built the crew that brought you here. And I don’t do sloppy, and neither does Big Moe.”

I let him stew in that before continuing.

 “So don’t you dare tell me we were sloppy, Mr. Tailor. If you’re here, strapped in my chair, with a hood still warm from your breath, it’s because I wanted you here. Not because you caught me slipping. Not because you were smarter. You’re not.”

I bent down and went right in his face, took a long drag from the cigarette, and exhaled.

“You know things, yes. But it’s not because we were careless. You know them because someone wanted you to. That’s the part I need to peel out of you. Who fed you crumbs and why? And I promise you this,  by the time I’m finished, you’ll be begging to give me the answer.”

TonyTheTailor  wet his lips. “The reason I know about Big Moe ’s shipments, the warehouses, the route  is because of TheBigJoker.” I didn’t know who I was dealing with. You show up with hoods and guns, no names, no introductions, you could’ve been anyone.

At that name, SilentAssassin straightened slightly in the shadows. TheDude stopped pacing and Stefan_Babic moved closer to Tony, his eyes focused on MsRain, Everyone in the room knew the name.  TheBigJoker was a well respected man, one of Big Moe's best friends, who could make a deal or make a body vanish with equal efficiency.

The air in the basement tightened, the sound of the hanging light’s faint buzz was the only movement between them.

​TheBigJoker....hearing that name sent more of a shock through SA then if he had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. Joker's real name was Salvatore Lucchese and it was he who showed and taught SilentAssassin so much due to them being cousins. They had many successful criminal and legit business empires over the years until the fateful day he simply vanished.

SA refocused on the man in the chair who just proclaimed TheBigJoker told Tony about the entire operation. Joker was way too smart and articulate to make such a risk such as that. Now Tony was protecting our operation?? why would he run his mouth openly like that? His eyes turned icy blue and before Ms.Rain could react he snatched the blade and pressed it to Tony’s neck "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE YOU SLIMY PIECE OF SHIT?? You have a chance to walk out of here and you mention him? not only was he my friend and mentor but Joker was my family. you want to talk about unraveling seams the only seam that's being cut is this artery on your neck!!" SA starts pressing to cut into Tony’s neck...

TheDude didn’t rush. He never rushed. He just drifted in close like a lazy tide, robe belt loose, slippers whisperin’ on concrete. The brass kissed Tony’s throat… and the Dude’s palm slid over SilentAssassin’s wrist, gentle, but with a weight that said ... enough.

“Easy, pal,” he murmured, eyes soft but steady. “You cut that seam, the whole suit comes apart, maybe ours.”

SilentAssassin’s knuckles flexed. The blade pressed a whisper deeper. TheDude didn’t flinch. He tilted his White Russian, let the ice clink like a bell for last orders.

“Listen, SilentAssassin… you hear the name the tailor dropped? Joker. Salvatore. Family. That ain’t a name you baptize a lie with, too heavy, see? If Joker stitched this mook anywhere near our fabric, the play ain’t to bleed him on the cutting table. The play is to pull the right thread… and see what unravels.”

He nudged the knife off Tony’s skin with two fingers, slow as lowering a record needle.

“Give me one frame,” he said, low. “We run the three-stitch test. No poetry, no tough talk, facts. Three cuts clean through the cloth.”

He held up a lazy finger.

“Stitch One: Wednesdays. White roses, nice wine. Where from, which block, how much change the clerk kept skimmin’. He hits the notes, that’s a song Joker taught him.”

Second finger.

“Stitch Two: Detroit café tape. Not the noise, the order. What he said first, where he stood when he said it, what he did with the cigarette. If he was watchin’ our house to guard it, he knows the choreography, not just the chorus.”

Third finger.

“Stitch Three: Joker’s tells. Not secrets...tells. The thing he did when a deal went sideways. A word. A habit. A bottle he sent when he needed a fire put out. You and me know it. If the tailor does, he stays in the chair breathin’. If he don’t" TheDude’s eyes slid to the cleaver on the table, then back to SilentAssassin. “...then you line up your shot and I don’t lean on your wrist a second time.”

He eased SilentAssassin’s hand down until steel kissed wood. The room exhaled with him.

“We honor the Joker by not makin’ a sloppy mess of his name. We verify. Then we vivisect, if we gotta.”

TheDude turned to TonyTheTailor, that lopsided half-smile never quite reaching his eyes.

“Alright, maestro of the needle. Three stitches. Miss two, you’re gettin’ measured for a pine overcoat. Hit ‘em… and maybe you walk out with all ten fingers and a new respect for decaf.”

He glanced back at SilentAssassin, voice a shade warmer.

“Brother… let me roll this frame. If it’s a split, the next throw is yours.”

He set his glass down, the clink neat as a period.

“The Dude abides. Now, stitch one. Start singin’.”