"They'd be in the city, gotta make sure they're unprotected so We'd probably have to not do any trucks around here or in Blackbottom. So we'd probably have to hit Corktown.  I know a guy who's great with intel and knowin' what's what on the streets.  I'll have him look into routes, and make sure no other crews are sittin' on them. Then I'll let you know."

Vito having finished with his food already finishes off sipping the rest of his wine.

"You'd need a crew though most likely, somethin' small but effective"

"Well I'm sure we can get a small crew together".

I finish off my wine and steak, as the waiter clears the table I look back to Vito. "Tell you what when we get the details, we can talk about who we can bring along for the job."

Vito shrugs

"Alright, sounds good to me.  I'll have my guy look into it."

Vito then stands and staightens out his shirt

"Well I better go get ready to count up what we have for the night so far and make sure everything's still runnin' smooth. Ya know make sure the employees know I'm still payin' attention. I leave you to it."

It seemed, even with Mr. Darmody now dead, the Royal 313 continued to thrive... somehow. Diligent management, or even just a strong work ethic from the employees. Either way, they still flourished with guests.

Thomas O'Shannon pushed the doors open and, ignoring the host, walked straight into the restaurant. With his coat thrown over his shoulder he made his way to a back booth and took a seat.

A waiter made his way over and offered a drink menu. Thomas waved it off and looked to the man.

"Two shots o' tha Irish single, an' a pint o' yer finest stout." The waiter nodded and hurried off.

Sinking back into the booth, Thomas shut his eyes and leaned his head back. "Whar tha fock are yeh, James?"

The waiter returned a few moments later and sat the drinks on the table, "May I order something for you, sir?"

Thomas opens one eye and looks the man over. "Just bring some bread an' maybe some form o' stew."

The waiter nodded and rushed off again. Thomas took one of the shots and began enjoying his beer while he waited for the bread... and hopefully a guest or two.

Doleful music filtered through the decorative archway of the bar and floated over the tables, the soulful voice of Miss Billie massaging the sorrow in all those seated or flitting about the restaurant. There was no piano accompaniment tonight. just a cappella. After finishing the set with Parting Glass, Billie stepped down from the stage and moved to procure a frigid drink to soother her raw voice and heart alike. As she passed the decorative archway dividing the restaurant from the bar, Thomas would get his first real look at the owner of the til-now disembodied voice - a petite mulatto woman, in a deep chocolate coloured dress. Her hair was pinned in slick-black curls around a brown leather driving cap which she wore low to shade the blood-shot exhaustion in her eyes; a black rose pinned behind her left ear. 

As she peered around the restaurant for an available waiter, she looked too small to be a part of this world, too delicate. Like antique lace  or a tissue-paper lantern. Like she might shatter just by being seen. She was fine china in a bull pen, a sheep in wolves clothing, or so she appeared as she stood - lost - amidst the bustle of the restaurant, clutching a small silver penny whistle in one hand like a life preserver. 

Spying the waiter delivering Tommy's drinks, she approached the table timidly, tapping the waiter on the shoulder as not to startle him with her sudden presence. "Excuse me, sir. If you would be so kind, may I have a glass of water, please?" she managed to croon, her voice soft and airy. She smiled at Thomas sweetly, at first. But her smile fell as he began to speak; a hoarse, strangled noise escaping her lips, ill-camouflaged. Wishing to avoid any more confrontation, she turned hurriedly from the table amidst a cascade of stuttering apologies and expletives, tripping over one of the chairs and making an utter spectacle of herself in the process. 

"Wait..." he called out as Billie began to turn before she tripped over a chair. He jumped up and offered a steady hand to catch her just before she could fall. Helping stand her straight up, he dusted her shoulders and gave her a once over...twice.

"Yer voice, caertainly, do'nae fit yeh lass. Nae a bad thing, jus didn'ae expect ta see.... You." He smiled...

"Please, sit. Share a swally wit' me. This be me first time to America."

He held out his hand politely to the booth across from him as he retook his seat. Thomas readjusted his gun harness under his jacket and leaned back.

"So lass, whar'd yeh learn Partin' Glass? Na'er hear'd it sung so pretty... or sad." He pushed the extra shot of single malt Irish Whiskey in her direction still awaiting her to sit and join him.

Billie was visibly shaken, her whole body trembled as she helped her to her feet. What was it with polite Irishmen? It was really getting to her. Though, she maintained enough sense to shoot him a particularly incredulous look about his 'expectations'. She tarried by the table for a moment as he slid back into his seat, pretending perhaps that she really didn't want the company despite the screaming ache in her chest. She watched and made note as he readjusted his harness. It was a familiar gesture. And while it should have set her on edge, it didn't. It was odd that it didn't. Maybe she was simply too emotionally exhausted to care. Maybe all her 'scared' had been spent the last few days. Or maybe it was the familiar lilt of his accent, warmth of his smile, sparkle of his Irish eyes. Whatever the reason she actually felt something close to safe here. Be it misplace nostalgia or complete stupidity, she didn't care. She desperately needed to feel it - now. 

With a soft sigh and a gentle mocha smile, she took the shot of whiskey and slid into the chair across from him. "I've been singing so long that I don't remember where I learned most of my songs. Some are from my mother. She had a voice like a nightingale. Taught me most of what I know. Others I picked up on the road, frommm..." her voice craked as the words lilted higher, as she choked on the thought, "...from friends, and the like." She laid her arm over the table, rubbing the penny whistle like a child's security blanket. before heaving a heavy sigh. 

"So what about you, lil..." her voice trembled again, "What about you, little shillelagh?" 

Thomas listened as she spoke. Smiles rode across his face as he learned of his new acquaintance. That was, until he noticed the cracking in her voice. He frowned as he noticed her distress. He held two fingers to the waiter and pointed to his shot glass. Another round of single malt for the two.

Another frown, though a different one, etched across his face as she called him her "little shillelagh."

Thomas let it slide and he laughed a bit, "Ta be honest lass, I come lookin' fer someone. Me name's Thomas O'Shannon. I work wit' an organization out o' Ireland in search o' a fella named McGough. Me ears tell me he used tha name Bishop."

He shrugged and thanked the waiter as the next two shots arrived, taking his and pushing the second towards Billie. "Sláinte, lass."

He tilted his head back and downed it, slamming the empty shot glass on the table.

Billie's lips twitched at the series of frowns, the slightest hint of a smile tickling the corners of her mouth despite the melancholy in her voice. Any glimmer of enjoyment, though, disappeared at the mention of Bishop's name. She starred for a moment, frozen, before taking the shot and slamming it back like her life depended on it. When, in fact, it might. Turning the glass over, she allowed the last few drops of alcohol to fall to the floor before setting it back onto the table right side up. "Sl.. sláinte." 

Setting her jaw, she pursed her lips, and donned her most hard-ass persona, audibly gulping down the lingering feelings of recent events. "I'm afraid you're a bit too late, lad. Bisho..." his name caught in her throat, turning into a whimpered moan before she was able to regain her composure "Bishop is dead. As are many in our city. We... we put him to rest mere days ago. I sang over his casket." 

Billie signaled for another drink, before continuing. "So, if you were here about some sort of unfinished business, I'm afraid it's already been finished for you, little shillelagh."

Thomas slouched back into his seat and remained quiet for a bit. After a few silent moments from him, Thomas let out a soft sigh before reaching for the pint that was still in front of him. He tilted his glass back and poured the black liquid down his throat, setting the now empty glass back on the table.

"How?"  He looked over Billie's features. "I sense yeh knew 'im. How did he go? Me ears los' track o' him over tha las' few weeks so I come lookin'. Yeh known 'im as Bishop... Ta me he been named James. We served tagedda in tha army. He abandoned an' fled when some shite group o' rebels killed our own broder."

He left it at that for now, simply shaking his head at the thought of James (Bishop) being gone.

Billie sighed deeply and slouched back, rolling the whistle between the fingers of her clasped hands. "Honestly, I don't know much much. Nobody does. We had a... a war... of sorts," she pursed her lips at the the words, face drawn as if biting into something sour as she shook her head, "If ya can even call it that." Again she shook her head, glancing up at the man across from her. The look on her face was clear. This was not war. There was no honour or great cause in it. Just little men with little... guns... and fragile egos. It was nothing like what the two brothers had been through. And yet, she found that she felt stronger loyalty to this group of wannabes than ever in her life. If it meant sending a lesson to whomever killed her brethren, she'd go to war with whole of the damned cold world. 

The waiter arrived with another round of drinks, and Billie knocked it back before he could leave the table. "Make life easier on us both. Just bring the whole damned bottle, would ya?" She turned back Thomas, and leaned across the table, looking quite tomboyish as her facade faded. The more she drank, the more her roots would weasel their way out. "Alls I know is some fuckin egg head from Chicago took it upon himself to blow down half the bescumbered crews this side a the dust bowl. I don't have names. And I'm not authorized to use 'em, even if I did." 

Billie looked like she was ready to snap the little flute in her hands in half as she waited for the waiter to return. Breathing in a calming sigh she placed it next to her glass on the table, and reached - instead - into the bosom of her dress. She smirked apologetically at Thomas. This wasn't lady like at all, but entirely necessary under the circumstances. Within moments, she withdrew from... somewhere... an ornately engraved, silver cigarette case. Flipping it open, she lit one for herself, watching him through the small orange glow of the match. Once it died down and she was able to exhale that first large plume of smoke, she slid the case across the table. Call it common hospitality or force of habit, but she made the offer all the same. 

"Story on the street is both sides got fed some faulty information. My understanding is that the Godfathers were working things out proper, but some down-line little prick didn't get the memo. They took out our Don the day he was made Godfather of Detroit." Billie poked the table for emphasis, ashes falling from her smoke like men before machine-gun fire. "And they took alotta good men out with him... Bishop included." She leaned back in her chair, legs crossed but arm slung over the back in a slouch. "Apparently, since this was all a big misunderstanding," she said with more than a little salt to her tone, "there's a fragile peace been brokered between the cities - 'cease and desist all acts of violence' so that we could bury our dead and the like." She paused for a moment, considering the necessity of such an agreement, "Can't blame 'em for that, I guess. S'better than it all goin down in flames... I guess."

Dragging smoke deeply into her lungs, she exhaled another plume of smoke toward the ceiling. It poured skyward, like smoke from a steam engine, before colliding with the ceiling and dispersing in a soft poof. She sighed, contemplating the similarities between that smoke and our human existence. Something about irresistible force and immovable objects.  

She was silent for a long few moments, lost in thought and still processing the shock. But after a while she slowly drifted back to reality, back to Thomas. "Truth be told," she said softly, slipping back into her usual mannerisms, "I doubt I knew him like you did. In fact, I barely knew him at all. But he was the only person I did know in this god-forsaken city, at all. So... I guess it doesn't matter how close the friend is when you lose the only one you've got." She sighed heavily, smiling in a forlorn attempt to pull herself from melancholy self-pity. Readjusting 'her' driving hat, she ran her thumb tenderly along the underside of the brim a few times before continuing, "It's made me wonder what I'm mourning more, the loss of him or the loss of what should have been. I'd just started building a new life, and it's like it all fell away when he did. It... makes it hard, you know. Because I feel like, maybe I'm doing him a disservice... measuring the value of his life by the value he gave mine..." She shook her head briefly, seeming to shake loose a kind of fog as she took another hit from her cigarette. "He was a damned fine man. Damned fine. I don't care what else he's done. He made me feel safe for the first time in my adult life. It didn't matter where you came from, or what you were running from. Bishop would find a place for you in the crew, or he'd MAKE one. Every widow, whore, and orphan could always turn to him, and he'd give them a life in place of all their misfortune."

The waiter FINALLY returned with the bottle of single malt Irish, and Billie poured two tall glasses. "The world is a better place for having had him in it, and colder one now that he's gone. I'm sorry we both lost him, and doubly so that you had to find out this way." She slid one glass toward Tommy, raising hers in the air in preparation for a toast. "Here's to you and yours, and to mine and  ours. And if mine and ours should ever cross you and yours, I hope that you and yours do as much to mine and ours as mine and ours have done to you and yours." 

Billie knocked the drink back and slammed the glass down on the table with mean smirk. The words weren't quite right, but Thomas would undoubtedly get her drift. "Sláinte."

Thomas sat back and listened to her regale the story of the last day or so... Seemed he'd just BARELY missed Bishop alive. His eyes fell to the tin whistle in her hand, her thumb pressing hard against the tiny flute before she relinquished the grip that was sure to damage it soon enough. As she reached into her bosom, his eyes followed her hand. Training would have it no other way. He crossed his arms over his chest, right hand on the back side, slid subtly behind his coat to grip the handle of his tucked revolver.

As Billie produced a silver cigarette case, he remained with his arms crossed so she wouldn't necessarily get the wrong idea. Once her cigarette was lit and she slid the case his way, he untucked his hands and reached for the case.

"T'ank yeh lass..." He flipped it open and lit one for himself, copying her actions of moment before, blowing a plume of smoke overhead. He pushed the small case back toward her and listened to her continue the story. Her story made him smile often, she spoke highly of Bishop and it made him miss the man more. When she said he'd MAKE a place in the crew for you if there wasn't one, he nodded emphatically. "Aye, aye, he done tha same fer me." He simply continued to nod as she mentioned every widow, whore, and orphan could go to the man.

"That sounds jus' like Mr. McGough."

He greeted the full glass of single malt with a smile. Billie spoke one hell of a 'toast'. He looked her in the eye and nodded, accepting her meaning. He watched as she knocked back her glass and slammed it on the table with a cheers.

He clapped his hands and laughed, "Yer one hell o' a woman."

He raised his full glass of whiskey in the air, "To Bishop McGough, or as I knew him, James..." he looked her in the eye, "...O'Shannon."

Slamming the drink back and downing all of the tall glass of whiskey in a few gulps, he threw the glass on the floor and shattered it.

"Na'er again will tha glass that honours yer deat' be drunk. Codladh samh, deartháir." He took the bottle and poured about a shots worth out over the broken glass on the floor and then took the bottle itself to his lips and drank a shot. Afterward, he sat the bottle on the table and stood, looking at Billie. "Sláinte..."

He offered a hand to Billie, "I wish to see me broder, Ms...?"

Billie accepted his hand graciously, and used the firm grip to steady her slightly-intoxicated self. Keeping a firm grip on his hand she leaned in without warning and - raising herself as far on to her tiptoes as she could manage - wrapped an arm around him. She held him tightly for a moment, laying her head over on his shoulder. She didn't really care about the guns or how much he stiffened. She just didn't care.

Clearing her throat she stepped back, "Just... uh... blame that on the sauce, yeah?" Turning for the door she tugged him along behind her, pausing at the hosts podium. Turning to face him she blushed, "My name's Billie, by the way... Billie Faegan." With that she pushed through the heavy wooden door, the central glass pane still covered with cardboard after the recent attacks. As they  moved onto the street, Billie pointed down to the waters edge. "Miss Kate arrange for a place in  the park on Belle Island. It's upriver a ways. It's a bit of a walk, but I can get you there." 

She started walking again, headed down toward the river's edge before a thought of propriety struck her, "Unless of course you'd like pay your respects in private. It's just down East Jefferson, to East Grand Boulevard, and across George Washington Bridge. You really can't miss it." She lingered in the street for a moment, waiting to see how things would play out; terrified he would leave since Bishop was gone.

Thomas did stiffen a bit as she hugged him, but he softened quickly. He wrapped his arms around the girl as well.

Once she slipped out of his embrace, he laughed. "Will do lass. T'was all tha swally. Nae feel's. I understand." He grabbed his coat from the booth and slipped it over his arms. As she turned for the door, she grabbed his hand and drug him along with her. "My name's Billie, by the way... Billie Faegan." He smiled, finally knowing the welcoming lass' name.

Continuing to drag him through the door, she divulged information about where he was buried. He chuckled as she prattled on and on, and stopped looking at him. "Unless of course you'd like pay your respects in private..." she rattled off.

He shook his head and offered his arm, "Nae, lass. Am sure I would enjoy the company. May be all that keeps me from breakin' down."

Waving as a car passed by, a driver pulled over and he walked to the door, negotiating with the driver a bit before looking at Billie, "This nice young lad be drivin' us there, Ms. Faegan. Yer gonna have ta point tha boyo in tha right direction once we be on tha isle, t'ough."

Thomas popped open passenger the door of the Model A Ford and pushed the seat forward, offering for Billie to climb in the back first. He followed and closed the door before pulling the front seat back into place. He pitched an arm around Billie's shoulders and rested it there, looking at the young driver of the vehicle. "To Belle Isle, lad. Le's go."

The car lurched forward and they took off.

((Click car model for visual representation.))

Vito entered the restaurant later than he would usually for a normal shift.  But then again this wasn't just a regular shift for him. This was his first time entering the Royal as the on duty owner of the place. "acting owner" He had to remind himself as he was currently waiting for any offspring of the former owner to come forth and claim ownership, but for now he had been asked to keep the place going as the owner by the owner's family, and he had no intention of letting his friend or their family down.

He almost made his way to the manager's office as a force of habit but caught himself before he made it all the way there. He stopped and then made his way to the owner's office.  He had already had a meeting with the rest of the employees yesterday to explain how he would be taking over the ownership part of the business and that he would uphold the ideals for the restaurant that the deceased owner also had.

The only changes he made was a both that was closed off by a red rope as it was a both made into a memorial for the deceased owner and he made redecorated a wall of the bar into a memorial with the names of all of the fallen in Detroit so that people can come pay their respects whenever they stopped by, both civilians and non civilians alike. 

He decided to go and see how business was doing after dropping his coat and hat in his office and was pleased to see he had a pretty decent crowd, especially with it being so early in the day and all that's been going on recently.  To see people carrying on and coming out and enjoying the day did his heart good. He then moved to stop by the bar memorial to pay his respects to those that had fallen in this city. After that he made his way to the memorial of Darmody with a drink in his hand. He raised it and said  "Here's to you Jimmy, may your soul find eternal peace and happiness in the next life. But whenever you're not havin' too much fun in paradise keep watch over this place with me will ya?"

With that Vito drinks to his friend's memorial before heading back to his office.  He was finally ready to put the past beside him as he felt he had finally finished getting over it. Besides that with his friend watching over the place from the other life he didn't want to get caught slacking. He had work to do and he would do everything in his power to keep this place up and running

Thomas entered the 313 and moved to the back of the restaurant. It had become his favorite, for the time being. Two reasons: The food wasn't that bad, and he knew business was okay there.

The waiter brought over a tall stout and a shot of single malt without prompt. "Good morning Mr. O'Shannon. How are you today?"

"Ahhh, me t'ree favorite t'ings in tha marnin. Stout, whiskey, an' tha man that brings it to me." He handed the waiter a few dollars. "Bring me yer soup o' tha day. An' some bread if yeh will." The waiter nodded his head, took the folded bills and headed for the kitchen. Thomas yawned, then took his shot before he chased it with a sip of his beer.

Reaching for a pen in his pocket, he pulled out some paper and began scribbling a few numbers down. It looked like simple math to anyone who had a wandering eye.

"Okay... So if we take this an' plug it here, an' then bring these tools here... Wait, nil. That nae gonna werk. These need ta go here, but tha... Fock me." He grumbled as he stared at the numbers. "I need more product..." He rubbed his forehead then took another sip of his beer. "I swar, that missin' shipment focked me." He folded up the papers and put them in his jacket, taking yet another sip of beer and leaning back against the seat, waiting for his food.

Vito walked into the restaurant.  It had been a long day for him.  He took a day away from all the work he usually did on the streets and figured he'd get in and go over some of the numbers to make sure things had continued to run smooth after the turnover. As he walks in his eyes catch sight of one of his waiters, Tony, bringing a plate with bread and some soup to a patron in the back of the restaurant area. He vaguely recognized the man.  But he could have sworn he seen him before. Figuring he should introduce himself to somebody in the business he approached the table that Tony was serving.

 "Hey Tony, I'm feelin' pizza tonight, tell em' deep dish with the spicy Italians on it. Also bring the whole bottle of whatever my friend here is drinkin'. Thank you Tony."

Tony places the food in front of Thomas and then takes down Vito's order. and walks off to put it in. Vito then turns his attention to the mans who's table he just sat down at.

"I've heard of you, seen you around the HQ actually. I don't think we've ever actually met. I'm Vito, Vito Scaletta, but feel free to just call me Vito, I just came over here to see how you're doin'?"

Vito said as he greeted and introduced himself to the man.

It was late, and it was raining. Jennie pushed opened the door to the place and smiled at the hostess. Pulling her wet coat off she handed it over along with a few coins so it could be hung up in the coat room. "I'm just going to the bar." she told the woman, gesturing in the direction of the beautiful bar, with her hand. She headed that way once the hostess had walked away with her coat. She took a seat at the bar and swiveled in her seat waiting for the bartender to come over and serve her. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lit one. Letting it rest on the glass ashtray she pulled out a thick notebook and a pen and flipped to a page before starting to scribble plans and notes in there like a crazy person. Helping her boss run her life was quickly becoming a full time job. So here she was, working and trying to have a few moments to herself at the same time. She picked the cigarette back up and took another drag before getting back to the notebook and trying to find a way to make KateLogan 's life as easy as possible. 

Thomas looked up as Vito approached and ran his introduction. Reaching over the table, he took Vito's hand and shook it.

"Be a pleasure, Mr. Vito Scaletta. Me name's Thomas O'Shannon. Think yeh knew me broder, James. Called himself Bishop McGough o'er here."

He released Vito's hand and sat back, taking a sip of his stout. "Yeh run a nice place here, lad. Sorry about how yeh come in ta ownin' it." Thomas sighed, "We all los' someone, or many someones, special to us that day." He shook his head, "Anyway. I be fine, t'ank yeh. An' yerself, Mr. Scaletta?"

Vito shrugged and sat back himself.

"Ahh I'm alright, can't complain really at all. And yeah it wasn't the best way to inherit this place. I didn't even want to be in the restaurant business.  Didn't know shit about it. But Darmody asked and when I wasn't out runnin' jobs on the streets and stuff I didn't have anythin' else better to do, so I figured, why not?  Then Jimmy goes down and now I gotta run the place. Eh waddya gonna do?

Vito gives another shrug and then laughs a bit

"If it weren't so by a tragic circumstance, I'd probably think Darmody is off somewhere laughin' at the turn of events. Didn't even get the full understandin' of management and then whoosh. Rushed straight into learnin' about ownership. But speakin' of ownership, I heard you opened up a place of your own recently?"