With a few words from Tom Shelby, Scratchy conversing back with brief stuttered words, walks away whistling and using hand motions to call up two people that were patrolling the building - taking some of the workers with him;

"No one t-take any pieces-" Scratchy pauses for a second - taking an inhale of his cigarette, "We do this w-without any violence, t-that clear?" Scratchy, ending the conversation between the two as they both nod, looking with a brutish snarl as they hand over their guns to Scratchy - placing them in a locked box, throwing it under his desk, after this - Scratchy places one of the workers as the drivers, as the train station is close and with his current position within the building - Scratchy thought he'd treat himself.

With the sunny skies of Chicago, the three stagger on the train, sitting on first class with wine and a large meal - the two that are following feel like their being more treated than put on work, yet they still have this over baring sense of not knowing what's ahead.

Touching down in New York. After a few hours of finding their way into the main space of New York - Scratchy finds himself walking into a bar that was mentioned by Tom;

"Lucky Lawrence." Scratchy found himself walking into a smoke ridden, strong armed club of thuggish looking figures. chairs clutching the walls go on for the left side of the room - as a spacious made out of pattern of table and chairs coat the middle, leading up to bar, the smoke seems to act as a screen - barely anything can be visible, the ray of light from the open door causes the whole pub to turn towards the three. Taking his little posse with him to the bartender of the place - the first thing he's greeted with is his gob flying towards a bucket;

"I work for Tom, you know anyone who'd like to buy some of our fish?" Scratchy says in a very subtle tone, as the bartender - slowly nods towards a person with a pint and already three cigarettes in an ashtray. The three slowly talk towards the figure - Scratchy nods for one to stand to the right and the other to left of him, crossing their arms - they act as a barrier. With the noise of the place of laughter and mild verbal fights - they both begin to speak;

"I heard you're l-looking for fish - w-we've got a stockpile you might be interested in," Scratchy pauses - taking out a cigarette for himself, to join the atmosphere - "-expensive, but maybe just what you're boss is looking for," Scratchy pauses again, lighting his cigarette, offering one to the figure whom is sitting opposite him, what seems to be a slight glare, "-our companies under different names have spoke in the past, you can trust us - even if your little gang of operations seem to be one untrust worthy.." Scratchy finishes his little rant - getting back to business - waiting for a reply.

A bottle is thrown towards Scratchy from his right - it seems that a rowdy figure has drank to many and missed his placement of throwing - in reaction, his two workers find this as an act of aggression - before anything can be said to stop them, a full out brawl is made with people smashing more bottles, even the bartender breaking chairs to make weapons. A rush of people fighting- Scratchy throws down his Cigarette as the figure he was talking to gives a loud whistle that scratchy caught amongst the fighting. Crouch running towards him, a large brute finds himself in between the two, looking drunk and ready for a fight, he begins to charge towards Scratchy.

Grappling Scratchy by the chest - rugby tackling him to the ground - the irish man shouts and spits in Scratchy's face - too weak to fight, the two workers with him, fighting their own battles, manage to throw Scratchy a glass bottle, with a decent catch - Scratchy swings the wine bottle at the large brutes forehead - yet he doesn't react, his skull is that think, or his brains just able to take that much punishment, only tissue bleeding can be seen; As a large fist is raised by now an angered thug, it is the last thing scratchy see's.

Scratchy, indecisive of who this person who just starting firing his gun in the middle of a public street and starts to call him friend - thinks he's crazy and runs the opposite direction, with his two bodyguards following him;

"Why was that guy, boss?" one of the workers ask

"I DON'T KNOW, JUST RUN, WE MAY BE NEXT" Scratchy, shouts hastily - making a clear get away.