He watched from afar. Fine, not 'afar'- from across the room, though. There was a considerable distance between himself and the man he was watching. His dark eyes narrowed and he nervously jammed his Stetson further down on his head to cover his vibrant, stringy red hair. With a sigh to himself he slumped more in his seat at the back corner booth, carefully calculating and planning his next move. This had to be perfectly timed. This had to be executed with expert precision. And furthermore, it needed to be done quickly enough and without any chance of being seen. The last thing Ronald "Shy Ronnie" O'Connell needed was to become recognized, or even recognizable, especially at a time like this.

'Special projects' weren't exactly Shy Ronnie's forte. To be honest, no 'projects' really were. The man, given his moniker for his quiet demeanor and his inability to form coherent sentences without some stuttering and mumbling, was more of a 'take the money and run' kind of guy. Maybe even a 'sit on the street corner with a hat and beg for cash' kind of guy. Either way, he couldn't believe that he, of all people, could be found in that dingy, dirty speakeasy on a Wednesday evening, mingling with the midday drunks and 'business'men in order to complete the most important task of his life.

His life had been a bit of a blur since he had met her. Aurora. Godmother of the Las Vegas Crime Syndicate. With a shiver to his spine he recalled how they had met. It was only a week ago, but it seemed like years now (for whatever reason- he was a weird guy, after all). The alleyway outside of the Hotel Benson was dark enough to conceal him as he hid in the shadows; waiting for some unsuspecting folk to walk by with their guard down. And then she exited the double front doors, her blue eyes sweeping her surroundings but not seeing Ronnie. He was nervous, yet full of a bravado that seemingly only the Irish carry around with them. With a forceful "AHA!" he had leapt from his hiding place, tugging at the dark-haired woman's red purse with all his might.

He had failed, miserably of course, and thus spent the next several minutes being held at an eerily calm gunpoint by the Godmother, while he openly wept and pissed himself in between stuttered intervals of an apology.

Aurora saw something in him that night, though. Whether it was the salty tears mingled with snot that ran down his face, or the slight stench of garbage that filled the air with each passing, gentle breeze, the powerful woman knew that she could use a man like Ronnie in her employ. After he had exhausted himself, giving feeble sniffles and wiping at his eyes, he joined the Godmother at dinner where she filled him in on the details of a small project that he, Ronald O'Connell, could complete for the head of the Vegas Syndicate. He was, as she said with a small smile, the only man who could complete this task.

Ronnie had felt special, until he overheard her talking with some of the higher ups back at the headquarters and one of them stated "Good idea, no one will ever suspect the retarded guy."

Shaking his head to clear away the echoing laughter that still haunted him, he focused his efforts back on the mission at hand. He would show them all. Besides, he had no choice but to succeed. If he failed he knew what would happen to him. He'd be locked into a room with that huge ebony bloke that always followed the Godmother around. The one with the crazy looking eyes. A shudder crawled up and down his back as he thought of being alone with that Rourke fella. It was a fate he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Ronnie pretended to take another sip from the glass in front of him, using the tilting motion of his head to take another look around the room. Several men lined the bar, in the company of an odd woman leaning over the counter and fluttering her eyelashes at them slowly. A small band was playing soft jazz for three small tables up front, all dining and chatting gaily with one another. It was the crowd across the room that interested him the most, however. Four men, all huddled together, smiling and laughing as they took turns jabbing their fingers at a large sheet of paper spread between them. And there, at the center of the group, was the man Ronald had been sent to extract information from.

Johnny "The Juggernaut" Rotollini. That's what the press called him, at least. Inside The Northern Lights headquarters he was mostly referred to as "that fuckface that keeps taking our stuff". He was a free-floating bank robber by trade; currently in Las Vegas for a little bit of 'business'. Problem was, his 'business' was robbing banks that were currently being, erm, 'supervised' by the TNL family.

Stealing from the common folk, well that was one thing. Stealing from the mob? That's just plain stupid. Either way, The Juggernaut had it coming.

The man was like smoke, though. Constantly slipping through the fingers of the Godmother's finest men and women, evading capture wherever he went. And his hits, oh were they unpredictable. There was never a discernible pattern to what location he would choose, or when, or why. (Well, obviously why. He wanted money. Way to cock that part of the story up, narrator.)

That, ladies and gentlemen, is where Ronnie came in. Godmother Aurora needed the information of the next planned robbery, so that they could prevent it and, if at all possible, thwart the man's reign of terror once and for all. With the help of a well-compensated (out of the Godmother's own pocket, of course) police chief, the Juggernaut was going to be taken off the map completely.

But first, they needed the location and time.

After a well-placed tip from one of her associates, Aurora sent Ronnie out to investigate. If they had gone in, guns drawn, surely the Juggernaut would've escaped in the nick of time, once more. No, they needed to be sneaky, and sending the lanky red-headed man seemed just the route to go. Don't question the fucking Godmother, people. This is what she wanted, okay? Doesn't matter if it makes sense to you or not, so bug off.

Moving on... Good ol' Shy Ronnie observed and continued to pretend to drink his whiskey, formulating the best course of action to garner the information. Should he walk up and pretend he was some lost foreigner, feinting the need for directions? Or should he strut up, pretending he's looking for work and sell himself as a valuable asset to Rotollini's team? The latter seemed like a better plan, so standing up and taking a moment to fix his shabby coat, Ronald took a deep breath and prayed for confidence. With a gulp, the man grabbed his glass of whiskey and began to fearlessly walk across the room towards the group of bank robbers.

In wide-eyed horror, Ronnie witnessed the men all begin to stand from the table and shake hands with the Juggernaut, laughing in delight at something the outlaw had said. And, he spied with a lurch of his stomach, one of the group was beginning to pull the sheet of paper towards him and roll it up as if it were a map of some sort. They were already getting ready to leave!

It was all ruined. Ronald had lost his chance to get the information his Godmother needed. A near blind-panic seized his body as a vision of an enraged Brian Rourke bearing down on him danced before his eyes. No.

No.

He had to fix this, he had to. But... how?

In a sort of white-hot rage he stumbled forward, faster and faster, stepping on the backs of his own shoes and flailing to keep himself upright as he crossed the room. He needed the information. He needed it. And somehow, in his rush to close the space between himself and the Juggernaut's gang, the way to redeem himself was found.

One of the men swung his overcoat behind his back and his arm, while still outstretched, managed to nail Ronnie directly in the face. Immediately Ronald's hands flew to his face, his glass of whiskey flying through the air and landing upon the table.

Landing upon the sheet of paper. Tipping over onto the sheet of paper. His hands still pressed to his nose, Ronnie's dark eyes widened in surprise as he saw what was on the paper: blue prints of Savings First Bank's vault. And there, scrawled in the corner...

Fuck and yes. The information.

Feeling inspired, Ronnie quickly grabbed a cloth napkin from one of the discarded dinner plates and began to sop up the liquid, all the while muttering and stuttering his apologies as he did so.

"S-so s-sorry, d-didn't mean to..."

Yes- YES! In the corner! There it was! Savings First Bank- one o'clock on Saturday afternoon! While the tellers were changing shifts, they were going to strike!

The satisfaction he was experiencing was short lived when he was suddenly, roughly, jerked away from the blueprints by a pair of strong hands. And there, turning him around and shaking him like a rag-doll was the Juggernaut himself.

His breath smelled of a mixture of tobacco and drink, causing Ronnie's eyes to sting as the man pressed his face in close to his. The look in Rotollini's eyes was anything but friendly, nor was the spray of leftover food that hit Ronnie's face as the man began to scream at him.

"Ah, what the fuck you thinkin' kid?! Whaddaya doing, eh?! Mind telling me who the fuck you think you are?"

Ronald froze, his breath catching in his chest. 'Oh no, please God,' he thought, 'Don't let me piss myself'. He couldn't very well tell Rotollini who he was, or who he was working for. Hell, he couldn't even say he knew what he had seen scrawled upon the paper. For the first time in his life Ronnie needed to summon all his courage, and be brave enough (for long enough) to act completely, one hundred percent stupid.

Obviously his thinking made him take too long to answer. The Juggernaut gave him another violent shake and Ronnie let out a yelp of pain.

"Do you have any idea who I am, kid?! Eh?!" Rotollini egged him on, his upper lip curling into a murderous snarl.

"Y-yes," Ronnie said without taking a moment to think. Oh fuck.

"Oh yeah?! How do you know who I am? Speak up, you piece of shit!" came the piercing bark that was the Juggernaut's voice once more.

Opening his mouth to speak, Ronnie's heart dropped in dread as he heard himself stuttering and mumbling, trying to form any coherent sentence. For the love of all that he held dear, he needed to say something- anything- or he was good as dead. And he was sure that once the Juggernaut was done with him, the things Brian Rourke would do to his remains would be twice as horrible. 'Come on, Ronnie,' he thought desperately to himself yet again. 'SPEAK UP!'

"B-b... b-b..." he began.

"Yeah?" asked John Rotollini, pausing long enough to stare at Ronald in the face.

"B...b-big fan," Ronnie said, taking a sharp breath and wincing in preparation for a punch to the face.

A wave of confusion hit him when he heard sudden laughter, quickly multiplied as the Juggernaut's goons joined him. Opening his eyes he watched as the four men laughed, Rotollini's face no longer angry but now back to it's former, gleeful look. With a shake of his head the older man dropped Ronnie and waved his hand.

"You slay me. Get the fuck outta here, kid. 'Big fan', you're nuts!"

Blinking several times while he collected his thoughts, Ronnie quickly nodded his head eagerly and turned on his heel, running towards the front of the building. No one needed to tell him to get out of there more than once. Bypassing the other tables, he travelled through the trap door and up the stairs. He approached the door and tried to wedge it open with his shoulder, bouncing off of it as the door knob caught. Fumbling, he managed to open the door after a few tries and burst, breathing heavily, out of the store disguised as a yarn shop, and into the cool evening air of the darkening Las Vegas streets.

Wildly looking around, the red-haired man grabbed onto his fedora as he began to run in the direction of the nearest payphone. His body quivered in excitement as he grabbed the receiver, fishing around in his pockets for spare change and depositing it into the coin slot. (God, that sentence could've been SO taken as heavy innuendo.) With shaking fingers he dialed to reach Aurora's private, personal office phone line.

Brian Rourke answered.

"Oh, uh, helloBrianthisisRonnieisAurorathereI'dliketospeaktoherplease," he began to mumble as he heard a large sigh on the other end of the line. A soft sound and mumbled voices could be heard for a moment (including the phrase "It's that fucking weird guy") before Aurora herself answered with an impatient "Hello?".

"A-a-Aurora, R-r-Ronnie here," he started, taking deep breaths in between words to calm himself down. "I w-was at the s-s... the s-sp... the place and R-r-rot... Juggernaut was there a-and..."

"Ronnie, I really don't have time for this bullshit. Get the information and get back here, understand?" said Aurora with a groan, before a loud CLICK and dial tone echoed in Ronnie's ears.

His face began to wither and fall into a frown as he hung up the phone, almost as if he had just witnessed a puppy get hit by a car as it crossed the street. She didn't want the information? No, no, that couldn't have been it. It was probably just a faulty phone line. Yeah! That was it exactly! He'd go to see the Godmother directly- right now in fact!

Exiting the phone booth, that charming (and heavily lopsided) grin of his reappeared. And as he set off down the street, Ronald O'Connell couldn't help but feel he had completed a job well done. Patting himself on the back and giving a loud:

"AHA!"

...In celebration, Shy Ronnie began the forty minute walk back to the Northern Lights headquarters. He'd finished his mission for the Godmother- and this was just the first stop on the ladder of his career. Maybe someday he'd even be important enough to get money for a taxi ride back.