From Woodwood Ave down to Cass, West Montcalm in Foxtown was frequent for foot traffic and a developing commercial area in Downtown Detroit. The offices of la familiga Gato were on the corner of Park, opposite William Fox's newly opened movie palace, Fox Theater. From there it was night spots and restaurants, until you reached Clifford, where the market spilled over from Cass Ave.

Christian hadn't been in Detroit long, though already had the majority of the street kicking up to him. It was a mutual relationship, as most were. The previous management in Detroit had some rogue elements still kicking around, it took Gato and his operation to keep them out of the three districts that they were developing.

The Market required frequent patrols. Fresh fruit, cured meats, aromatic veg, it was a typical affair. Every afternoon Christian would pass through personally and make sure the stall owners knew he was keeping his feet firmly in the streets. There was an Italian restaurant called Capizzi's whose roots had firmly been planted when the owners grandparents first left the old country. Christian got on well with the owner, and had even got some of his associates working deliveries and washing pots in the kitchens in return for catering arrangements. 

The nightlife this end of town could get quite wild. The evenings would begin classy and sedated enough, however as the night went on and revelers moved through the city, certain places would need particular attention. Detroit had been easy enough to bring the imported Irish Whiskey, as typically associated with the Gato's, into and stock up certain locale, however it had not been as subtle an arrangement as the family would have liked. The local law had been quick to sniff out a corrupt profit, and now required frequent assurances that the situation in Foxtown was well managed. Christian provided doorman details to the bars on the street, to keep things under control.

The Detroit Fox Theater was going to really attract attention to the city. It was a celebration of film and performance, moving picture shows especially considered a place to be seen, since their development.  The extravagant building had required major funding, something that Christian was all too happy to provide to Mr. Fox. Now they just needed to ensure the place was kept in good standing, and safe.

Gato looked out over the street from his office on Park, and smiled. It had potential and opportunity, his favorite blend.

Benny was pretty excited to find out that ChristianGato had set up the new office near the market. He often found himself wandering around there spending money just so he could try everything. Food was a bit of a weakness for him. He figured he'd swing by and see if there was anything to do, since KateLogan had the bar under control for the moment. He stopped at one of his favorite stands, pastries, and picked up a dozen. After he paid he made his way to the front door. Balancing the box on one hand he pulled it open and slipped inside calling out, "Heyo, Gato, you got coffee? Because I brought breakfast." as the door slowly swung shut behind him. 

The woman with the kohl-lined eyes tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder, checking her reflection in a shop window to make sure that not too much of her hair was showing. The night was closing in around her, but the Fox Theater's thousands of electric bulbs were doing their best to make it bright as noon. The line to see the movie picture playing stretched nearly around the block. Since her arrival in America, Yasmine had not actually gone to see one of these. Sure, she'd seen movies back in Persia--even a few American movies--but this would be an entirely new experience. Couples and groups of friends chattered around her in English, the women flashing their calves almost as freely as they drank from flasks of what could only be alcohol. She eyed up the woman in front of her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Young and maybe only an inch or two taller than Yasmine herself.

Yes, she would do. Yasmine's hand slipped deftly into the purse in front of her, quickly finding the smooth leather of a wallet inside. It was only a moment's work to slip what she needed out of it and drop the wallet on the ground. She waited until the line moved before tapping the woman on the shoulder and pointing to the abandoned wallet. The woman quickly picked it up, checked to see if the money was there, and, reassured, went back to talking with her friends.

Yasmine glanced down at the driver's license in her hand. These Americans. So bothered with money that they never notice the important things that they were missing.

Kate stood in the line for the movie, occasionally glaring at the well dressed man behind her who kept trying to engage her in conversation. She was wearing a poncho over her shoulder that dropped down below her waist and obscured the shape of her body. It's intention was to hide the gun hanging at her side; Kate had no idea whether a place like this would try to prohibit anyone from carrying a weapon, but she had no intention of anyone finding out. She'd also hoped it would prevent random men from making small talk with her, but it was proving much more ineffective regarding that goal. The man's voice droned on and on.

"And I said Williams, you are... you are crazy! How could you even think that and HE said-"

Kate sighed and pulled the black hat down so the brim nearly covered her grey eyes. Her hair, cut above the shoulder, blew in the breeze as she noticed a woman a couple places in front of her. The woman was foreign-looking, somewhere Eastern that Kate had possibly only heard about from the books of her mother. She was returning some other lady's wallet. Kate snickered quietly to herself. Some people would never learn.

Yasmine continued to watch the people around her in line. Once she became bored of the group in front of her, she glanced bind her, where another woman was waiting with a faintly annoyed look on her face. A glance up at the man looming behind her, his shoulders stooped in his eagerness to talk to the unwilling woman, told Yasmine everything she needed to know. As she studied the woman more closely, her mouth turned upward in a small smile. The woman looked like she had walked straight in from a cowboy and Indian picture. She had blonde hair that looked like it had been bleached more by the sun than by a bottle, and blue-grey eyes that met Yasmine's with a sarcastic eyebrow quirk. On impulse, Yasmine reached behind her and pulled the woman forward by the elbow, settling her beside her in line.

"Hello there, beautiful lady. Would you like to join me for this film? I would appreciate the company."

Kate wasn't used to being grabbed. Well, maybe that was the wrong way of phrasing it. She was used to being grabbed, pawed at, and all manner of things on her long journey riding and hitching from Texas to Vegas to Detroit. She just wasn't used to allowing herself to be pulled. In fact, as soon as she felt the hand on her left elbow, her right hand had flown to the gun at her side and was in the process of drawing it when she made eye contact with the foreign lady she'd noticed before. 

Those eyes were an arresting hazel color- warm brown with shining flecks of green- but her hand was halted less by the color, and more by the intensity beneath them. Leaving the gun in her holster under the poncho, Kate regained her physical balance- just in time to be knocked off kilter again by what she was hearing.

"I.... uh... I... yes? Did you just call me beautiful?"

"Of course." She released the woman's elbow and smiled to her before tossing a haughty glance over her shoulder. The man who had been failing to chat Kate up was now looking at her, his mouth working soundlessly in shock or anger--or both. She turned her attention back to the blonde. "I work with fashion. I see beautiful women all day. You think that I do not know a beautiful woman when I see her?" She chuckled and winked before continuing. "My name is Yasmine, by the way. May I ask what you are called?"

Kate's mouth was hanging open for just a moment, but she managed to fasten it shut after a little while. She'd rarely met a woman so direct. Kate was usually the one stirring the pot, and she hadn't had her own feathers ruffled like this in quite a while. It was... kind of nice, actually, once you got the hang of it. 

"Uh- thanks. Fashion, huh? Like making dresses? That sort of thing?

And for the record, I coulda handled that guy on my own. I just didn't want to draw attention to myself or cause a scene before I could get inside here. You ever seen one of these things before?

And my name's Kate. Nice to meet you, Yasmine."

Kate sticks her right hand out to shake, careful not to shift her poncho and reveal the holster underneath.

Yasmine chuckled at the questions that tumbled from Kate's mouth. Judging by the faint blush that had tinged the woman's cheeks, she'd gotten under the woman's skin a little. Yasmine shook her hand firmly, letting her grasp linger for a little longer than necessary. She considered which question to answer first. Finally, she gestured vaguely, the golden bangles on her arm clanking together. "I do not deal in dresses precisely--I deal mostly in accessories. Furs and jewelry. But sometimes I will need to find the appropriate trim or jewels to sew into a dress. And yes, I have seen a movie before." She rolled her eyes a little, but her lips still smiled. "I grew up in Tehran, not some tiny village where they have not heard of toilets."

Cracking her neck, Kate took a breath. She'd been surrounded by men for so long, it was strange to just talk to a woman like this one on one. Especially like this. It'd been a year since she- well, that memory would only serve to district her at the moment, although it did send a burst of heat to her cheeks and her- focus. Surprising. Kate found herself going through a version of the process that prepared her for a fight. She listened to the sounds around her, watchful and aware, eventually quieting her mind. Smiling, and fully in control, she tucked her thumbs into her belt beneath her poncho. She tilted her head towards the theater as the line moved forward.

"First time for me.

And it sounds like you deal in some pretty fancy stuff.

Tehran... that would be... where exactly?"

She wanted to guess... Arabia. That was kind of the vibe she was getting here. But she also had a sneaking suspicion that she was thinking of the only stories she knew about that vaguely Eastern part of the world. The village without a toilet thing... well, she'd have to just let that one go. She'd seen indoor plumbing growing up, but her small ranch had never added it. Well, her mother might've, if she'd lived. But her father wasn't one for luxuries. Probably not a good topic of conversation. 

"It is in Iran. Persia, you might call it." She shook her head slowly, wonder in her eyes. "What do you mean that you have never seen a movie? I thought Americans were so..."She swallowed, her looking for the word. "So...gaga over the films that they saw at least one a week!"

Not that it was really only an American phenomenon. Plenty of her friends in Tehran had also gone to see films with a similar frequency. Yasmine herself had been a fan of sneaking off to see them in the middle of the day with her childhood friend Soraya. She couldn't remember any of the plots of those movies, but gee did they have fun in the dark movie theater. Yasmine coughed and crossed her arms. It wouldn't do to think of Soraya any more. And it probably wasn't a great idea to think of what she could get up to in this movie theater with the pretty blonde.

Kate smirked. Persia brought up some vague sense of recognition. Some invading empire? Mostly, her mind was still stuck in Arabian fairy tales of genies and deserts. Probably a subject to avoid.

"Well, in my experience it's pretty tough to generalize 'Americans' into one type, although it may seem easier to do from the outside. For every fat cat living the good life in the city, there's ten people scraping out their living in the country, which is where I'm from. Texas, specifically, if you've heard of it.

How long have you been here in the States?

As they approached the front of the line, Kate slid her money to the person selling the tickets. She'd been so focus on seeing a movie that she had no idea what was actually playing.

"Ah, yes, Texas." Yasmine grinned and waved her hand toward her companion's ensemble. "I should have known. It is the place with the desert and the Alamo. You look like you come from there. Is this an actual cowboy garment, then?" She plucked at the poncho, raising the material up to get a better view at it. As she did so, however, something gleamed silver at Kate's waist, catching her eye. She glanced down and, seeing the pistol, quickly dropped the poncho.

It was too late, though. The ticket salesman was already stammering for Kate to leave the premises, shoving her money back toward her. Kate flashed a somewhat sheepish, but mostly annoyed, look toward the kiosk before pocketing her money and stalking off. Yasmine followed her, trying to keep up with the taller woman's long strides.

"I am sorry about that. I never...I did not know that you had that on your person. I shouldn't have picked up your...um, paunch." When Kate finally turned to look at her, Yasmine sighed and crossed her arms. "But look, if you're good with that gun, then I have a job that I will need help with. Would it be possible to talk about this more at a café or a bar? Your choice. I'll pay."

Kate looked her over, her mouth twisted to one side, before nodding and leading the way.

Bishop strode along West Montcalm, pulling a napkin out of his pocket. Muttering quietly to himself, "North a Woodwood..." He came to a stop and looked at a building. Looking behind him he shrugged and turned to move north a second block, crossing over the street.

"Wonder if this be tha place?" He chuckled and leaned against the wall, lighting up a cigarette to watch the hustle and bustle of the world of Detroit. Just the night prior he'd been slipped a napkin that led him here, he'd spoken with Mr. Gato who had invited him here. Seemed Detroit was at least a place to find some work; not to mention the quick turnaround on some rock from Vegas.

As he leaned against the wall, smoking his cigarette, he watched the commotion across the street. People filing into the theater, others roaming the sidewalk with idle banter, the occasional car puttering by.

He stood there, and waited. Mostly unsure where to exactly go. Gato said SOMEONE would find him... So wait he would continue to do.

"Mr. Beacon, wake up. Mr. Beacon, you told us to wake you up when saw the guy!" 

Being woken by the high pitched yelling from a 12 year old kid, Mavis finally opened his eyes. 

"How the hell did I even end up here this morning?" he whispers to himself, realizing he was at his Typing and Type Writer Repair shop office. 

Mavis always thought that typing was going to be essential in the future, and wanted to make sure there was a place for all the kids in the neighborhood to learn the craft. 
Mavis also used his typing courses as a method of recruiting the local kids by tasking them with minor assignments through his typing lessons.

"Where is he? Is he just outside?"
 

"Yes, Mr. Beacon. He's right across the street."

"Good job, Jacob. Now go back to the classroom and hand out the next typing lessons for you and the rest of the class. This one is for fun, so don't take the writing so seriously and concentrate on using proper form when typing it."

Mavis quickly gathered himself and headed towards the front entrance, already able to see Bishop through the glass doors, and made his way towards the man.


"Mr. McGough, is that right? Mavis, Mavis Beacon." Mavis said, as he noded his head and extended his hand out towards the man.

I apologize if I kept you waiting for too long. I wanted you to get a chance to see the neighborhood, and all the potential it has. All because of Don Gato.

If you can see yourself possibly living around these parts, we can head back into my office and have a talk in private. 

As Bishop and Mavis made their way towards the office, Mavis heard Bishop read the name written on the building, followed by repeating the word "Typing?"

"Ahh, Bishop, I use this place for the local boys to hang out. I know, most people think typing is for women, but I am certain that in these kids futures, typing will give them opportunities. Plus, these kids do a great job keeping an eye on whats going on and reporting back to me in their daily typing journals" 

Mavis took the long route through the building to his office, allowing Bishop to see the classroom filled with at least 25 "students" typing on type writers.

"Bishop, lets step into my office and have a little chat in private about something you might find to your liking."

Unlocking and opening his office door, Mavis waits for Bishop to walk in. 

As the door closes behind him, you can hear Mavis say 
 

"Scotch?"

 

Bishop eyed the man taking brisk strides to cross the street. "This must be one of the guys," he thought quietly to himself. Dropping his cigarette, he pushed himself off the wall holding him up. As introductions came Bishop took the man's hand, "'Ey, nice ta meet ya Mr. Beacon. Bishop McGough be me, right."

Once formalities were over he followed Mavis across the street and listened. "What in Christ's name be wit' 'Typin'?" he pondered aloud as they passed through the glass doors into the building. Once again, he listened as Mavis described his views on the future. With a shrug he muttered, "Makes nary sense ta me, it do, but that don' mean ya be bloody mad. Ya might jest be on ta som'tin'. A'les they make fer good watchers, ya?" He laughed and followed Mavis around the building, getting the grand tour. "Look at tha wee lads goin' at it!" His voice was chipper and excited as he peered into the "classroom". Their fingers danced along the typewriter's keys and the dings of the spools could be heard all throughout. BING, slide, clack.... BING, slide, clack.

They continued on and into Mavis' office. Hearing the drink offer, Bishop nodded, "Lit'l hair o' tha dog would wake me up jest right. Tha flight here been a long one this marnin'."

Mavis poured the drink and set it in front of Bishop, who took a drink of it and leaned back in his chair. "So... There be a reason ya have me here. Le's have it, then."

The talk was quiet, but agreeable. Mavis made some nice points, and certainly got Bishop's attention and co-operation. The door to the office opened, and Bishop gave a wave over his shoulder to Mavis, "Slán, Mr. Beacon. I'll be seein' ya tamarra marnin'."

Shutting the office door behind him he made his way down the hall, pausing to listen to the furious clacking of keys again at the classroom before shaking his head and moving along. A cool gust of air blasted his face making him squint as the glass doors to the front of the office were pushed open and he stepped out into the street again. He looked both ways and jogged easily across the street to make his way down Montcalm street.

He'd nod at other suits along the way, unsure who was who, or what was what at the moment. Regardless, he'd poke his head into a few of the restaurants and businesses along the way to make sure everything was peachy. He hoped he'd run into -something-, he'd been jonesing for a brawl for a while now.

Bishop rounded a corner and saw a few young lads in an alley exchanging money. He remained calm and kept his head down like he wasn't paying much attention. The kids brushed him off until it was too late. He gripped the oldest looking one who'd taken the money by the neck of his shirt and drug him, roughly, over to the wall of the alley.

"'Ey there slicko. What ya think ya doin' here?" he questioned, holding the youth to the wall with a heavy hand on his chest.

The kids eyes were big, worry sitting in quickly, "I'm...I'm not doin' nothin'!"

"Oooohhh, a tough guy, so it is? Ya sure tha's ya story? Where's ya parents, kid? Maybe I tell yer da yer here sellin' bang fer a buck?" McGough pressed him harder to the wall, diving his hand into the pocket of the kid's coat where he'd watched the money go. "Les' see here... One, two, t'ree, t'ree hunerd dollas an' ya expect me ta think ya doin' nothin'? This ain' nothin' kid." He chuckled and counted out two hundred again and stuffed it in his own pocket before putting the last hundred back into the kids pocket.

"Hey! You can't just take that from me! That's stealin'!" the kid whined loudly.

As quick as he'd spoken, Bishop's hand covered his mouth, "Hush yer trap kid, 'les ya want knuckle supper. Be glad yer gettin' anythin'. If it's money yer really lookin' fer, then I might suggest doin' somethin' a wee bit differnt. Maybe go an' talk ta tha man at tha' typin schooly round tha weh an' get yaself some skills. Now, give me head some peace an' be gone wit' ya." He dropped his arm from the kid, the others had skedaddled quickly once he'd grabbed him.

As the last kid buggered off, Bishop yelled at him, "Don' lemme catch ya here again wit'out good reason, kiddo. I won' be as nice a second time!" He shook his head and turned back to Montcalm, pulling a cigarette and match pack out. Lighting up, he'd stick the matches back in his pocket and turn back to walk the way he'd come and check on things again. The small encounter satiated his current jonesing, even if it wasn't a bloody brawl. "Hope tha kid goes an' sees Mr. Beacon. He might na be complete shite fer brains..." He laughed and took a puff off of his cigarette while shuffling through the crowd of people.

Ben had some spare time to kill and decided the best thing to do was take a walk down West Montcalm Street. He shoved his hand through his hair as he made his way down the street. He spotted the market and figured it might be a good idea to head that way to get a bite to eat. His stomach rumbled as he got closer, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day. He stopped at one of the stalls selling sandwiches and bumped into someone, "Oh excuse me." he said before pulling some money out and paying for the food he wanted. He took a bite of the sandwich as he carried on wandering around the stalls and stands. 

Bishop wandered up to a hotdog stand and got himself a bite to eat. As he ate, he watched the ongoing business around him spying a momentary interaction between two gentlemen. A quick bump, and a pardon. He chuckled to himself as the one who'd bumped the other man then pulled cash out to pay for a sandwich. "That was almost to easy, to clean." He stuffed the last bite of hotdog in his mouth and moved on down the road, keeping an eye on the man to see if he'd actually seen a clean pick or if he'd just imagined it.

Bobby hadn't been in Detroit for long, and it had been quite some time since he was here last, at least a month. On his way to the hotel from the airport Bobby was cruising along on his bike that he had dropped off at the airport prior to his arrival by one of the prospects when he smelled some smoked meats. As soon as he caught the whiff he started to look around to see where it originated from as he was starved from the trip over, Los Angeles is quite a long trip away. As he drove into the business district he started to slow down and look around for wherever the smell was coming from, he wasn't sure if it was hiding down a back alley or what but he eventually spotted quite a few people congregating in a fairly large area and as he got closer he seen the booths. He pulled over at the nearest parking spot and got down off his bike and walked over to the stalls and started searching for the smoked meats that he had smelled from a quarter mile away, whenever he was hungry and smelled something he liked he turned into a hound dog and wouldn't stop searching until he had it in his hands. Shortly thereafter he found the stall he was looking for, there were sausages hanging in the open air and all sorts of other marinated cooked and dried meats. He walked up to the stall, looked at the menu for a few moments and then switched focus to what all was hanging and on display to make a final decision.

"Can I get a pound of that jerky there, and let me get a roll of that sausage hanging and do you guys have any chilled or frozen breakfast sausage? The old lady can make a helluva biscuits and gravy with some good sausage and she would be quite surprised if I came home with groceries even if it's one or two things, if I didn't eat it all on the drive home it's a feat!"

After Bobby makes his selection he hands a few bills over to the stall owner tells him to keep the change and walks back to his bike. He bundles the bag on the back of his bike, got on and took off to the hotel.