"Fine. We got a warehouse on the dock. About a mile away from yours, next to the O'doul fishery. Happy now?"

Tommy thought about what Carlos said. Yeah that was believable. 

"I believe you. Sully. Aim for my head and pull the trigger."

He braced himself staring right at the barrel. He trusted Sully, and hoped to god that all those bullets were actually blanks. He let a bit of nervousness ride his face to help sell this to Carlos.

"Well I've only known you for a day, so I guess its really not my loss partnar." Without another though Sully raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

*click*

"Oooohhhh you lucky fawker!" Sully let out an excited chuckle. 

A grin spread across Tommy's face, as he breathed an audible sigh of relief. 

"You see Carlos, thats not so bad. I'm fair. Next question. Where the fuck is all your money hidden?"

The cuban was a bit shaken, he probably assumed that he was dealing with a psychopath. 

"There aint much money, we haven't sold much."

A single bead of sweat rolled down the fat mans forehead and Tommy shook his head. He was full of shit, as Tommy had his guys buy quite a bit of this fucks cocaine, as part of his scouting process. 

"Wrong answer. Try again."

He straightened the gun up, pointing it directly in the center of the mans forehead.

"Shit man. There aint much money. I swear, it got shipped to the boss already."

Tommy pulled the trigger, lying cuban piece of shit. Unlucky for both of them that just so happened to be where the bullet was. It struck the cuban directly in the center of the forehead.

"FUCK. What were the odds of that! Fuck him. We don't need his money anyways. Sully, come give me a hand, wes got us a mess to clean up."

He shook his head, pocketing the empty revolver, fucking bad luck, they would have to do a sweep of this place before they left. The money was probably stashed here somewhere.

Sully laughed and holstered his gun. "Well shite mate, ya've got just about the warst luck I'v ever seen." 

He scratched his check and looked about the room at the carnage. "Well, where do ya want ta start?"

Tommy sighed.

"Take a look around, these scumbags got something worth takin."

He began to dig through the fat Cuban's pockets, he pocketed a money clip and a pocket knife. Satisfied with that haul he began to make his way toward a nearby closet. 

Sullivan began to search around the flat, looking inside cupboards and drawers in the kitchen area.

"Let's hope the neighbors didn't mind the noise boy'o. I'd hate to have to deal with any witnesses."

Sully moved toward a large cabinet. It was the kind that had doors on the top 3/4 and smaller doors for separate shelves on the bottom 1/4 of the cabinet. He opened the smaller doors and immediatly recoiled. 

"Christ! Mary, mother o' Jesus!" He spit on the ground to his right, and reached into the cabinet, pulling out what he found. It was a bundle of shrunken heads, their long hair tied into one mass at the top. 

"Shite mate! This fawker is in that rastafarian voodoo shit! I don't want any curses mate!" Sully tossed the bundle of heads toward Tommy and immediately started to say hail mary's while making a cross on his body. 

Tommy dug through the closet finding a case with a Thompson Submachine gun in it. Holy hell. A fuckin Tommy gun, it literally had his name on it. There was a full drum magazine with it, snapping it into place Tommy turned around with a menacing look on his face, when Sully began yelling about voodoo or something, before he comprehended what Sully was saying a bundle of shrunken heads was being thrown at him. He had a loaded Tommy gun in his hand, and so he reacted, and shot the hell out of the shrunken heads while they were in the air. Tattered chunks hit the ground, a few of the heads were unscathed but it was hard to miss this close with a gun like that.

"Consider that curse broken. I think yous got robbed Sully, I find a cool gun, and you find some scary shit like that."

Sully cursed as Tommy unloaded the smg into the heads. For a brief moment he thought he was certainly the target of the curse and the heads were coming for him. When the noise died down Sully stood there clutching his heart. 

"Fawkin' hell, mate... Warn me next time you're going to decide to unload the bats 'o hell in a room this small. I about jumped out'a me skin!"

He turned back around and attempted to open the top doors on the cabinet. They rattled, but otherwise did not open. Locked things normally held fun stuff, so Sully pulled out his lockpicking tools and started to work away at the lock. After a few short seconds the door popped open and he swung it open, revealing a large stack of money. There must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars stacked high. Sitting in front of it was a pair of 38 super colt 1911's. They are ornately engraved, with white wood handles. Sully picked them both up and looked them over, admiring the handiwork. 

"Jackpot!" He yelled. "And, if ya' don't mind boy'o, I'll be keeping these." He found a double shoulder holster lying in cabinet as well and swung it on, holstering both pistols.

Tommy laughed, the poor Irishmen bout shat his pants, and he couldn't blame him. The tommygun had one hell of a roar, finding that definitely made his day. Sully continued to dig around, coming across a beautiful stash of money and guns.

"Keep em, bonus for a job well done. Grab a couple stacks of this cash too."

He went back to the closet and grabbed the Tommyguns case, scooping stacks of cash into it. It wasnt going to close, but hey, it was better then nothing. 

"Jackpot. Now we need to go hit that warehouse of theirs, scoop up the coke. By any chance, do yous got a light?"

Sully grabbed a few stacks of cash and slid them into his pockets. He then pulled out a small box of wooden matches, the good kind. Leaving home without these was like leaving home without his pipe, foolishness. He held the matches up to Tommy. 

"Will this wark far you?"

Tommy took the matches from Sully and grinned, slinging the Tommygun, while he looked around.

"Grab whatever you want to keep. Its time for us to go."

Spotting what he was looking for he lit a few matches and set some curtains on fire, then he made his way to the big couch, pushing it farther away from the stairs. It took him a few tries, but he managed to set that on fire as well.'

"This will cover the evidence. Lets go!"

Tommy hustled his way down the stairs and out the back door.

Sully grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter near him and took a long gulp. He then tossed it on the ground in front of the now burning couch, igniting the liquid in a large flash of fire.

"Aye, lets cover it good then"

He jogged off to the stairs and ran down them, out the back door and into the courtyard out back.

The two of them made it back around front and to the car, this was a messy run but if they somehow traced it back to him, he had recovered enough money to pay the cops off anyway. Once the two men were safely in the car, he told his driver where the Cuban's warehouse was, that was a nice bonus.

"Not too bad Sully. Yous alright? Yous handled yourself real good."

Tommy opened the tommygun case, removing two more stacks of cash, tossing one to Sully and one to his driver, after all this mess was over he was getting drunk, might as well get them drunk too.

"Now lets hit that warehouse."

Sullivan checked the clips in his newly found pistols. Both were full and the took the same ammo as his revolver, so he was more than ready for a firefight. He slid the guns back into their holsters and cracked his neck. 

"Alright, now that we're best mates and all lets go fawk some shit up."

It didn't take very long for his driver to bring him to the building that he figured to be their warehouse. 

"Alright sully. I gots no clue whats on the other side of them walls over there. Yous be careful, but lets have fun."

Tommy got out of the car and made his way across the street, climbing through a tear in the fence. Convenient, though his large frame barely fit.

Sully drew both of his new pistols and followed Tommy. He fir through the gap in the fence with relative ease.

"Oh, I can have some fun. What's the plan here mate?" He had taken a bit of his tobacco and shoved it under his lip on thier ride over, and now had to spit out some of the brown juice he chewed out of it.

"Plan? I aint got one of those. I figured me and yous could just open the door and start wackin people."

He chuckled, in truth he intended on getting a good look at what they were dealing with before formulating a plan.

"lets see what we are workin with."

He pointed to a window, for sully too look into it.

Sully carefully peered into the window of the warehouse. This was definitely the place where Carlos had his drugs off loaded via boat. Sully began to wonder how deep this ring went, but was distracted by a large shipment of metal barrels being brought in off a truck. The Cubans had been smuggling cocaine AND alcohol into the city. The fact that they had both stored in this one building showed how ignorant they were.

"Ay' mate, come have a look at this shite. They've got barrels and barrels of alcohol in there. What say we make a fireworks show to start?" Sully had a stupid excited grin on his face.

Byrd managed to find a note and a few plans about this operation after breaking into the dead Irishman's office. Were these the ones who had the man killed? Byrd didn't know, and quite frankly he didn't care. He did, however, feel some strange compulsion to finish the Irishman's work.

The note talked about the alcohol barrels and the plans had the whole building mapped out, barrels and all. Apparently the Irishman and some guy named Tommy were going to send this place to the moon. Byrd had heard of this Tommy fellow, and knew of his residing kin. So, he had remotely contacted the Tommy's cousin, leaving him a note that discussed the possibility of finishing the large ones legacy. Byrd couldn't do this alone, and he hated the idea of working with an unknown. At least this new fellow, Pete, would be bound by blood to finish this task. 

Byrd sat atop a nearby water tower that overlooked the warehouse. He lay there with is rifle butted against his shoulder, scanning the warehouse and its surrounding areas for activity. His backup should be arriving soon.

Pete was humming to himself in the basement of his upholstery shop, he was currently putting leather on a love seat that used to have a gaudy flower pattern. It was quiet work, but he liked it, he heard the bell of the front door of his shop open, placing a needle to pin the leather into the spot he was working at, he made his way up the stairs. Oddly, nobody was there, but there was a letter on the counter.  

Peter,

Your cousin was a busy man, he left a job unfinished. If you'd like to see it finished, meet me outside the Honey Hole. You know the place. 

Byrd

Pete didn't quite know what to make of the letter, but he went downstairs and grabbed his things. He was heading to Detroit, and he was sure this road would be a bloody one. He caught the next flight out.