Before Bishop was likely to notice to the soft clack-clack-clack approaching form behind, Billie slipped her arm in his, casually keeping pace as if the two belonged together. Her gold satin tea-dress rustled in the cool breeze, a warm compliment to her caramel complexion; a matching sun hat slung low to shade her features. She pulled him close, holding just firmly enough to manipulate the situation without causing the athletic Irishman to panic. Though she clearly wasn’t an overt threat, her free arm crossed her chest, pressing… something… lightly against his side.

She smiled at him sweetly, too sweetly for someone who had a weapon trained on him. She could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. With a hearty chuckle, she revealed, not a gun or knife, but a silver cigarette case. With a flick of her wrist, the case opened and she pressed one to her lips before offering him his choice from the case. “So a chara,” she chirped, “You said we could talk. Does your offer still stand?”

Feeling the petite arm of Billie slip around his as he walked down Montcalm, he began to smile and was about to speak before she pressed something against his side. It stopped him from talking, as they continued down the road.

"No gun, no knife, tha fock is that?" he thought to himself. As they continued, she looked up and laughed at him before flicking her wrist, producing a silver cigarette case. He gladly obliged as she offered him one.

He nodded as he lit the cigarette, "Tá, lass. We can talk."

He offered his arm back to her, continuing to walk once she looped around it again.

"What be it ya lookin' fer? There plenty o' work ta be found between tha restaurants, bars, nightclubs, newspapers, package delivery, entertainment... What be it that brings ya to Detroit lass?"

He puffed on his cigarette as they toured Montcalm while they talked. He pointed out Gato's office on the corner of Park and Montcalm, Mavis' typing school just down Montcalm from Gato's, and Kate's office for the 'Logan Review' down on Park Ave.

Kate was standing on the small... well, it really wasn't a "balcony". Balcony made it sound like it was fancy. Kate was standing on the small fire escape outside her office window, looking out at the streets from the second floor. The printing equipment on the ground floor was starting to whir and grind into action again, and she needed to get away from the noise, although it was still dimly audible from where she was standing. She pushed her short blonde hair behind her ears and stretched her arms above her. She should have brought her coat, but it was too late now. 

Noticing movement, she seems Bishop walking with an attractive woman on his arm. For a moment, she wanted to call out to him- but decided to simply wait, for now. One did not simply interrupt two people walking arm in arm like that.

Billie savoured her cigarette leisurely as she accompanied Bishop down the street. She looked cool as a cucumber to anyone who noticed, but every time they passed a suit she pressed just a little closer to his side. She was quiet for a while; taking in the sights and sounds, listening to him describe the milieu, deciding how much she wanted to trust him and if this felt like the place to be. Somewhere along the way it seemed she made up her mind. With a gentle sigh, she laid her head over on his shoulder for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally speaking up.

“I’m a canary by trade; Harlem girl. All big city lights, lonely days and swinging nights.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. It seemed like a such a long time ago that life had been that simple. “But singing don’t always pay the bills. So, I learnt the art of grifting and the value of a good bleed real quick.  Was pretty keen on it, too. Made a bit of a name for myself amongst the brunos and dicks alike. Pulled a pretty penny ‘til I crossed the wrong bloke.”

She paused and took a long drag off her cigarette, burning it clear down to the butt and exhaling a twisting mass of smoke over their heads. Flicking the remains into the street she continued, “Amsterdam gave me two options:  let ‘em make a molly outta me, or slip into a newly fitted Chicago overcoat. But I just wasn’t about that life. So I gave my pretty apple a cool kiss off and made tracks for new horizons. Now I find myself rather balled up on new turf, and you just so happen to show up all smooth and kippy. So I figured I’ll see if we can reach some kind of accord, and if we can’t I’ll move on down the road.”  Billie paused a moment to light another cigarette, and again offered Bishop one as well.

 “Truth be told,” she mumbled over the stick in her mouth, as she struggled to strike a match in the breeze, “I only stopped in Detroit to save up some cash. I was gonna move on to the West Coast until you caught up to me the other day…. Still might… unless things play out pretty.” She winked coyly, giving a happy little chuckle as her match finally lit. Puffing gently, she lit her cigarette with a satisfied moan before taking notice of the building they’d paused in front of. “So that’s my story. I’m in for legitimate employment if it’s to be had and/or illegitimate entertainment if it’s properly profitable, and I’m more than willing to negotiate terms and tribute, so long as my fanny idn’t left bare.” Waving politely at Kate, she nodded up to the fire-balcony, elbowing Bishop as she did. “So whadaya think, my little shillelagh?” she mused, referring both to their conversation and to the pretty blonde on the balcony.

Bishop listened as Billie told her story, smiling along at some points; grifting, good bleeds, harlem entertainer (hubba hubba). His face twisted as she mentioned crossing "the wrong bloke."

"Tha's naer good, lass..." he piped in, before she continued her story. Amsterdam, a damned Chicago suit, that might not bode well. He tuned back in just in time to hear her mention reaching an accord, or moving on down the road. Reaching for the cigarette she offered, he nodded, "T'anks lass, an' we may still reach agreement yet."

As Billie continued speaking, still trying to light her cigarette, he cupped his hand around the booklet. With the airflow blocked, her match sprung to life. He took the matchbook from her and lit his own cigarette, cursing as he struggled with the chilled breeze as well, before slipping it back into her coat pocket. As she finished up, he grinned, eyeing Kate as Billie elbowed him.

"Royal 313. You, could easily find employment there. They have a piano bar in one room, an' lo's o' tables in tha restaurant area. I can introduce ya ta tha owner. Am sure he could find use fer ya, legitimate, an' ot'erwise. As fer tha lass?" He pointed up to Kate, "Tha's Kate Logan, she owns tha Logan Review; a detailed, underground Detroit paper. She be of interest. Ya should talk ta her."

Bishop waved at Kate, and motioned for her to come down. He yelled up to the second floor, "Think ya should meet this one, Miss Logan."

Kate nodded at Bishop before vanishing from the fire escape. A couple minutes later she emerged from the building with her hands in her pockets. The wind was tossing her short blonde hair about as she smiled at Bishop and the unknown woman.

"Good morning, Bishop. How's business?"

After turning her attention to the woman, Kate scrutinized her. Interesting.

"Kate Logan- a pleasure. And why is it that Bishop says I should meet you, Miss?

Billie shot Bishop a lingering sidelong glance. Her eyes briefly traced the memories of fear and worry imprinted in the faint lines of his fair features, silently filing them away somewhere in the back of her brain alongside his name – which up to this moment she’d not been given. Her cool exterior had melted away the moment Kate stepped outside to greet them. Where before she was collected, coy and coquettish, now she appeared flushed, flustered, and fidgety. Her previously confident gaze fell instead to the cracks in the pavement, her very stature seeming to shrink – as if that were possible for someone so petite to begin with. Shifting uncomfortably, she habitually pivoted away from Miss Logan, putting more space between them while maintaining her now vice-like grip on Bishop’s arm. “B… Billie, ma’am. Billie Faegan. Um. Pleased t… pleased to make your acquaintance,” the woman stuttered, tipping her chapeau in a distinctly tomboyish manner, before turning her face away.

Taking a long drag from her cigarette, Billie made a vain attempt to calm her nerves. Rolling her eyes, she exhaled the cloud of smoke with an exasperated sigh. Straightening her posture with a shake of her coal-black curls she deliberately raised her gaze to meet Kate’s piercing blue eyes with a carefully composed, sage stare. As she cleared her throat it seemed something clicked into place, a carefully practiced stage demeanor falling into place over her underlying agitation. “Forgive me, miss,” she chirped in a markedly more chipper tone.  “White women make me nervous, if I may be so bold as to say,” her voluminous curls bounced with bawdy laughter she tossed the remainder of her cigarette into the street. “Wilhemina Ruth Faegan is my Christian name, not that I’m much of one. I tend to go by Billie in the streets, Mina in the sheets, and Baby Ruth out in Harlem where I was an entertainer.”

The words flowed all too easily as she shot Kate a fetching smile, clearly well versed in the art of putting on charm. “I was given ample reason to chase myself outta town, and now I’m in the market for work, ya see?” she paused briefly giving Kate a meaningful, knowing kind of look.  “I was gonna head out to the West Coast, put as much dust between me and the Bad Apple as I could, but your little Fenian here assured me that there’s work and insurance enough to be had right in Detroit. He was just recommending the… Royal 313…?” She trailed off a bit, her voice lilting and lifting as she looked to Bishop for assurance that she was quoting him correctly, “… I suppose he must want a second opinion. Well that, or her just likes to see your pretty face.” Billie teasingly elbowed Bishop again, lightly, the sun lighting her warm tawny features for the first time as she tossed her head back with a musical laugh.

Kate casually examined Billie, her practiced poker face- honed from long days at the table- barely registering surprise at the other woman's comments.

"I'm entirely sure that I don't understand how you feel- but you asked for my forgiveness, so I'll grant it unreservedly. Not really something I had much experience with in the ass end of Texas where I grew up."

Kate smirked as Billie turned on the charm and wasn't surprised a bit when she found out she was an entertainer. 

"What kind of entertainer, if you don't mind me asking? 

The word "fenian" flew in one ear and out the other. Kate was decently well read, compared to most (and particularly most from her part of the world), but she left the world blow past her without worrying too much. Perhaps she'd look it up later. She did the same with the comment on her pretty face. Always nice to be thought of as pretty, but if she was trying to figure out the lay of the land Kate wouldn't make it that easy for her.

"The 313 is a pretty great spot. I believe your friend here and I have unfinished business there. Perhaps that drinking contest we spoke of, Bishop ?"

Bishop perked a brow at the major shift in Billie's demeanor as Kate strolled up. Her grip tightened on his arm and he reached over to pat her hand reassuringly. She was safe here... for now.

He allowed the ladies to have an exchanging of words without much interruption, though the Fenian comment made him frown slightly, and laugh. He wasn't THAT old now. He nodded as she mentioned the Royal 313.

"That be it, ya. Tha Royal 313."

He chuckled as Billie finished with mentioning seeing Kate's pretty face. If walls could talk right? Bishop caught a subconscious glance from Kate, and smirked to himself before nodding to Kate's proposal.

"Aye, lass. It's true." He looked at Billie. "Miss Logan thinks she can out-drink an Irishman. An' I be damned if ya don' t'ink I'm gonna test tha' theory." He took a look between the both of them before offering his free arm to Kate, "Shall we then, lass?" The question was directed at Kate, but he certainly hoped Billie would help egg her on.

A young man is walking down the street. He is talking to the shop owners and introducing himself... He is the new member of the Gato family... after he talked to a few shop owners he enters in Park's and stay at his post until new orders.

Bishop spied his young, new associate keeping watch over the corner of Park and Montcalm.

"Greetin's boyo. Nice weat'er out taday, hi?" he chuckled as he walked up behind Andrei_Morello and lit a cigarette.

Looking about the bustling city street before them, he sighed. "Beautiful city, beautiful day. Fockin' cold though." He shivered a bit and shook his head, "Detroit treatin' ya nice, laddie?"

The young boy replay to Mr. Bishop :"Hello sir! A nice weather indeed...A bit cold but it's acceptable.I'm doing my job as you told me."

The morning air was brisk and the sun shone brightly in Detroit. For all the chaos that had been the day before, things seemed calm and serene. Citizens of the downtown area of Detroit began to slowly and carefully populate the streets. There was a significant decrease in the amount of suits that frequented the area, and Christian Gato's HQ was sealed up tight. Police tape crossed over the doors and there was no movement from inside.

Some people seemed sluggish throughout the day, and others skipped along as if nothing had happened. Business was business and people needed to make a living.

As lunch drew near people began to flood the streets. Things were returning to normal quickly. Business as usual.

A 1930 Cadillac Series 452 V-16 Armored Imperial Sedan drove it's way through the bustling crowd, parking at the corner of Montcalm and Park Ave. A young man stepped out of the car and walked around the front of the vehicle to the back door, opening it and stepping back.

"This is the place, Mr. O'Shannon. Corner of Montcalm and Park Avenue," the young man stated as he'd opened the door.

A light-skinned male with blue eyes and longer, dark hair stepped out of the car; his workman's slacks, long sleeved button-down, loose vest, and twill greatcoat indicative of a recent immigration to the states....

"T'ankyeh, lad." The man dusted himself off before pulling out a wad of cash and placing it in the driver's hand. "I ask yeh ta wait fer me ta handle me business, then drive me to tha bar... I hear there be one near."

"Yes, Mr. O'Shannon, it would be my pleasure." The young, American driver shut the door behind his client and moved to the driver's side door before climbing in.

O'Shannon stood on the corner attempting to speak with anyone he could, though no one took a moment to give him the time of day. Becoming increasingly irate, he strode to the middle of the street on the busy corner.

From beneath the well-worn coat, he pulled a slimline Thompson Sub-machine Gun, emblazoned on the stock with the distinctive image of a raised fist, in relief, bordered by the words "Tiocfaidh ár lá" - our day will come.

Raising the gun into the air, notching it in the crook of his elbow, he pulled on the trigger. *TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT* The sound of automatic gunfire once again filled the air, sending many people quickly to the ground for cover.

Still holding the gun up, so everyone knew it was him, the man yelled loudly...

"MY NAME BE THOMAS O'SHANNON, AN' I BE LOOKIN' FER SOMEONE IN PARTICULAR. IF THAR BE ANY ONE HERE THAT KNOWS WHAR I MIGHT FIND ONE YEH KNOW AS BISHOP MCGOUGH, COME FORWARD NOW. OT'ERWISE, SPREAD WORD. THA I.R.A. BE LOOKIN' FER HIM. HE CAN FIND ME HOLED UP IN THA ROYAL 313 AROUND THA BLOCK."

After his speech he squeezed the trigger one more time as if to accent his irritation. *TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT*

Without even as much as a smile, he lowered his gun and placed it back underneath his coat and walked to the awaiting car. Opening the door and stepping in, he looked at the driver who was now stark white with wide eyes. "T'ankyeh fer waitin' lad. Take me to tha Royal 313. Me ears tell me they have single malt Irish whiskey there, an' me throat be dry."

The boy stuttered as he choked out a yes sir and started the car, driving down the street and towards the Royal 313.

Kate strolled down West Montcalm, remembering the first time her legs had stretched over these sidewalks. She'd been younger, then, and she hadn't met many of the people who would become so important to her. For a moment, Kate could almost visualize her younger self strutting toward her. A ghostlike image appeared of a young woman, barely in her twenties, with her hat tilted confidently back on her head. It'd been ten years- but it felt like a lifetime...

Smiling, and too busy for further reveries, Kate turned and headed home.

It was cold... Beyond cold. The light rain had turned to sleet, and finally to a light snowfall. Thomas looked up towards the sky, wrapping his greatcoat tighter around himself. "Fock meee, it's cold."

He made his way up to the corner of Montcalm and Park, stepping inside Christian Gato's old HQ. The crime scene tape had finally been removed, investigations closed and shut as it often was on mob war. He looked around the crumbling walls of the courtyard before shivering and heading for the front door.

The hinges were corroded and as he pushed on the door it fell into the building. "Jaysus, t'is place be a wreck. Maybe a good place fer someone ta restore t'ough. Most o' tha fortifications still be intact... some." He made his way through the main foyer and in to one of the rooms. It appeared to be an office of sorts. Probably one of the capos or something. He began digging through the partially destroyed desk in the middle.