It all started with a telegram. One long belated, but nonetheless it arrived to the Headquarters of Renford Property's Incorporated three days ago, titled for one Merci. The message was short, simple and straight to the point. 

Merci,

I have not properly thanked you for the gift, therefore I extend an invitation for dinner to discuss business and establish a proper relationship between our two organizations. 

Arrive in Philadelphia International Airport February 6th. An adequate apartment has already been booked for you to rest prior to meeting the next day.

Enjoy the flight.

- SS

The shorthand 'SS' could only stand for two entities that are equally intertwined. Shady_Sam and his aptly named Shady Syndicate. He was previously contacted by the woman with a pension of money to congratulate him on his newfound crew and status, as well as an invitation to conduct business should both parties find it profitable. It appears that Sam is intending on following up the offer, but for what reasons remain veiled in mystery. 

5:43pm, Shady Syndicate HQ

"God fucking damnit."

Sam swore similar to a sailor, slurring his speech and snapping out sounds that would strike shivers down his grandmother's spine. The source of his cursing came from his fingertips. A small cut formed along the tip of his middle finger where his blade struck flesh, mixing in with the juices of the green onions he was chopping. The result is a searing sting that burns through the man's patience and willpower by the second. He heads over to the kitchen sink and twists the cold water on to soak the wound while he heaved a deep exhale.

Evening plans were still on schedule, despite the minor set-back. Instead of a traditional dinner out in one of the swanky Philly restaurants, Sam decided to arrange it all himself. Partly due to the fact that he hasn't found a single establishment he actually enjoyed, the other aspect oriented towards gaining an edge in the meeting ahead. Having the other party meet in unfamiliar grounds, where as he himself enjoyed the 'home field' advantage was critical to creating the best deal possible. Every single action he took was strategic and worked towards his goals, despite how petty and insignificant they may appear. 

The battlefield was set with an array of dishes and platters, all effectively completed. The first wave consisted of a Caesar salad, made with fresh produce gathered from the local market. A formation of romaine lettuce and croutons, fortified with a blend of grated Parmesan cheese, olive oil, lemon juice and black pepper. Reinforcing its flank was a basket filled with garlic bread sticks, coated with a light layer of parsley, garlic powder and melted butter. The beverage Sam chose to accompany them was an imported red wine from Bordeaux., French and fancy wasn't exactly his first choice, but only a barbarian would offer beer or whiskey with such a meal. 

The main course stood ready, as well. The pair of steaks were already taken off the grill and left to rest, emitting a glorious amount of steam from its brown exterior. The upper portion was coated in a slight steak seasoning and stained with Worcestershire sauce, the envy of the entire army. Its subordinates considered of soft baked potatoes, grilled corn on the cob and steamed green beans. All it needed was an artistic touch-up, which is what the green onions were intended to fulfill. 

Luckily, the dessert was taken care of and left within the refrigerator to preserve until prime time. Banana pudding, made in one of the local delis. Sam had to cut corners somewhere, some aspects of a gourmet meal were out of his reach. The man fancied himself as a decent cook, at least when catering to himself and his crew. 

Sam shuts off the water and dries his hands with a towel, fetching a roll of bandages from a nearby cupboard. Wrapping his wound, Sam checks the nearby clock that was mounted on the wall. Five minutes until her expected arrival. His driver, Carl, should be on his way with the VIP and arriving any moment now. Sprinkling the remains of the green onion onto the steaks and salad, Sam starts heading out of the kitchen to quickly freshen up before the grand arrival. 

At the headquarters of RP, Inc., Kathryn hands Merci an envelope. 

"This came for you, it was in with my mail," she said with a quiet smile. "If you'd sit still long enough,  I'd set you up with your own office, you know." She added, watching as Merci opened the envelope. A small smile curled her lips.

"I need to go to Philly for a few days. Potential business," Merci says, waving the letter at Kathryn, who raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh? Care to share?" she asks, interested.

Merci bites her lip in thought.  "Not yet. But I'll call you. Trust me?"

Kathryn grinned. "Implicitly."

***

The flight to Philadelphia was uneventful, very much in stark contrast to the last time she'd been here. She'd been shot on that trip, an unexpected attack from an old adversary of Kathryn's. Even then, prior to Kathryn's authorization in Las Vegas, Merci had known that protecting Kathryn was what she was made to do. Stepping in front of her, she'd taken not just one bullet, but two.

And here she was again, touching down in the City of Brotherly Love. Merci smirked as she exited the plane and made her way towards a driver who was holding up a placard with her name on it. She smiled and introduced herself, letting him take her bags and making small talk while they made their way to the car.

The drive to the rented flat was uneventful as well, although upon arrival, Merci noted that no expense had been spared. The small home was lovely...fully furnished and decorated with a subtle elegance in tones of blues and greens. Gazing at the large floral bouquet presented on the bar; she considered that she'd never received flowers from a man before, and although this technically didn't count as such, it made her smile.

***

The next day, Merci dressed for the dinner meeting, donning a green dress that Kathryn had suggested she wear. Had it been left up to Merci, it would have been jeans and a tee shirt, but Kathryn knew her hand well enough to nip that potential problem in the bud before it ever sprang to life. She'd carefully applied makeup borrowed from her roommate Grace, and let her mahogany hair fall loose on her shoulders. A knock sounded at the door as she was putting on her heels, and when she answered it, the same driver from the day before greeted her again, this time with a lingering, appreciative look. 

A few short minutes later, the car arrived at Sam's headquarters, and the driver escorted her to the door.

Cautious Carl, as the man was dubbed by the locals, seemed to be some sort of old grizzled veteran from the Great War. His skin was weathered and tanned, eyes entertained the thousand yard stare from time to time. Stern and rough, each wrinkle along his visage expresses a life long lived on the edge. But now, he was a simple driver, catering politely to make Merci's route as convenient as possible. The vehicle of choice was an imported Ford Model CX, sleek and black and fresh out of the factory. It was maintained so that not even a speck of dust dared to damage its dashing display. 

Through the two road trips around the scenic downtown area, the small talk would reveal few but critical aspects of the man. A thick northern Italian accent augmented his gravely voice, and what few words he said were straight and to the point. "Ma'am" was likely his favorite word if Merci had to guess. Eventually, the car came to a stop at what could only be described as a fortress. 

The Shady Syndicate HQ was stationed in the Old Town District of Philly, right along the harbor. A large, sprawling white mansion with blue trimmed window covers was laid out in a U shaped complex, with the two garage entrances facing the street on either side. Between them, a modest brick wall and reinforced iron bar gate guarded an interior yard that had a smooth stone walkway that ran to each of the entrances of the wings and gathered into a circle at the center. No real gardening was done here, just grass that laid barren in the winter's grasp. A couple of men in long dark trench coats that were patrolling the exterior came up to the vehicle, opening the door for Merci while the other began opening the gate. Seems she was expected, and the men quickly usher her through the secluded yard and to the main entrance of the center wing. These rank and file grunts seemed a little less polite than Carl, who drove off to an unknown destination. Their eyes could be caught wandering, flashing each other grins but knew well enough to not voice their obvious thoughts.

Inside the entrance lobby, a lone man awaited for the woman's arrival. Dressed in a long white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black slacks and dark Oxford shoes, Sam seems completely different than when out in the streets. Without his hood to hide under, his bright green eyes and short brown hair were on full display. He even shaved, keeping his visage clear of any unprofessional scruff. The only flaw in his attire was the bandaged left middle finger. The moment he sets his eyes on Merci, his expression shifts into a bright grin that tapers slightly after he recovers from the initial reaction. He knew he was to be dining with a member of the fairer sex, arranged the entire ordeal. But damnit, It was hard not to admire the gorgeous lady he intended to conduct business with. Luckily, in the pair of seconds that it took to close the door, Sam recollected himself to greet Merci properly.

"Merci, I assume. Thank you for taking up my invitation and flying all the way out here. I trust the journey was not too taxing?" 

Closing the gap between the two, Sam reaches out to offer his hand for a formal handshake. Then, his smile creeps back as he briefly inspects his own outfit in contrast to Merci's. He was woefully outclassed.

"Stunning dress, by the way. I knew I should have kept my jacket handy. Anyways, let's sit down, shall we?" 

The two gawking guards were swiftly ran off with a flick of Sam's hand, who then proceeds to lead Merci out of the humble lobby and towards the seating area. Overall, the interior of the mansion seemed plain. Not much style or investment was made to spice up the environment, likely to be blame with how new the structure was. The lobby itself was simply a large hallway that had a stairway leading up and two smaller hallways to lead right or left. Sam took the latter route, striding his way into the dinning room.

Much more effort was put into this area, with a long boardroom table taking center stage. Along the walls, a few bookcases and lounge chairs were posted, as well as a couple of paintings and house plants in vases. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, a vortex of crystallize light that lit the room warmly. In addition, one large window spanned across the right side of the room, facing the wondrous harbor and allowing a wide gaze of the passing ships and the docks. On the opposite side sat a fireplace, roaring with fire and crackling wood for heat and visual stimulus. Upon the dining table proper, it was set for two at the center, with chairs on the long but narrow side. An array of silverware, glasses and plates were already in place. Sam turns around to fiendishly grin, holding out his palms outward to gesture at the arrangement. 

"And here we are. Now it may not be up to par as some of the restaurants downtown, but at the very least we won't have to speak in riddles or use other such veiled languages." 

Sam turns back around to pull out the chair intended for Merci, the one that allowed her the view of the harbor window. After allowing her to be seated first and pushing in the chair, he walks back around to take his own seat, heaving a soft exhale. 

"Granted, I might've preferred to have someone else cook for us, but I think I can hold my own against those so-called chefs. Now then, what would you like to drink? I do have a wine that'd pair well for what we're having this evening, but I leave the choice to you." 

The door is opened by a handsome young man, crisply dressed and sporting a charming smile. As they shake hands in greeting, her hand brushes against a bandaid, which amuses her for some reason or another. Perhaps she'd ask about it later.

She's led through the entryway and into the living area proper, which has so many features that one would need a week inside of it to appreciate them all. She's then guided to an expansive dining table, set for two with a China pattern and matching linens. 

Merci settles into her seat while admiring the surroundings. It was astonishing, really...she'd seen several HQs in her day, but none looked like this. Several things competed for her attention...the spectacular water view, the fireplace, the tasteful library. But she picked up on the meaningful, little things that gave her a better perspective of the man she'd come to see. 

He had...house plants. Whether some paid servant took care of them, or he did, didn't really matter much. Someone here was taking the time on a daily basis to see to the care and maintenance of house plants. 

And then there was the dinner itself. She had no clue what he had in store, but the fact that he'd prepared it himself was, well, unheard of. She'd simply never seen a man cook before, with the exception of the short order guys working in the back of various diners across the country.

And lastly, she was impressed with the offer of wine. Every man she knew...and most of the women...were liquor drinkers. She herself preferred a good martini with an unhealthy number of green olives in it, but under the circumstances, she thought it appropriate to try something different. 

"Goodness. Well, I trust your choice in a pairing, Sam," she says, studying him carefully. Very few people on the planet had true green eyes, and he was one of them. She noted in an absent kind of way that they matched her dress perfectly.

With a clap of his hands, Sam summons the first wave to commence their attack. Two burly men who likely serve as bodyguards for the estate, have been converted to waiters to bring in the food from the kitchen to the table. They even wore tuxedo shirt and ties, although one of them tied the knot the opposite. The lead waiter brought two small bowls to place in front of the pair and sets a larger serving bowl one in the center, filled with Caesar Salad. The second sets down a basket of the garlic bread sticks, and brings the expensive red wine to Sam. Producing a corkscrew, he pops off the cap to the wine bottle, then pours his own drink first before offering it for Merci. In the meantime, the 'waiters' scurry off back to the kitchen to prepare the next volley. 

Finally seated down, Sam started to relax, shoulders drooping down as he inspected his handiwork with the salad. From here, the food could help space out the conversation with acceptable pauses to gather one's thoughts. He plucks his half-filled wine glass from the table, leveling it just under his nose to inhale the decades old vintage. Finding it quite agreeable, he takes a sip, then sets it back down to nurse from time to time. Allowing Merci to take the first stab at the food, he'd pile on some of the salad into his bowl and fetch a pair of the bread sticks. 

"The wine's from 1875, from France. Likely bottled in celebration of the Treaty of the Metre." A slight scoff followed by a shake of his head. "Made the metric system official around the globe, apart from here in the old US of A." A quick stab of the salad finds its way into his mouth, savoring his own creation while he watched Merci's reaction to the appetizers. Anything but outright gagging and frowns would be wonderful. 

"At any rate, I asked you to come all the way here to figure out what we can do for each other. Renford Properties, as I understand it, holds ties over on the west coast. Meanwhile, my Syndicate resides on the east coast." While having hold of a bread-stick, he begins waving it around as he speaks, likely not realizing how comical that might make him appear.  

"We are primarily entrepreneurs, of both legal entities and among other shady operations. While we are still getting our foundation established, I intent to pursue a reconstruction and stimulus of the city's Business District. The planning is still in its infancy stages, mind you, but I know you and your organization has quite the investment in land and property." He pauses, taking a chomp out of the bread stick before setting it down, fetching a nearby napkin to wipe his lips off. "The cupcake shop downtown has an excellent baker. Bertha, was it? We need more businesses similar to such quality. Over half of the current businesses are dead in the water, some energy and life needs to return back to this city of mine if we're ever going to recover from the previous war." 

It wasn't just that, either. The recovery efforts were steady, but set backs have already occurred. South Philly has been hit hard, with a newly established Crew Leader being shot for not possessing tact and respect, and another having a massive bounty of ten million dollars on his head. Sam knew this road would not be an easy one, but every morning he wakes now, he wonders which bad news will be thrown at him next. If he even wakes up to begin with. 

But, at the present time, he's been blessed to enjoy a dinner forged by his own hands with the company of a beautiful woman of his own profession. Both were a rare sight and to enjoy them together brought a pleasant mood upon the man's visage. 

Sampling the salad, Merci nods as Sam speaks. These were uncertain times, indeed. A loner by nature, Merci nonetheless had a few contacts or acquaintances in each of the key cities to keep her abreast of the more pressing news and undercurrent of rumors. She hated the rumors, but one had to listen to them in this line of work. They tended to bring down entire cities.

Moving the wine around her glass to release its fragrance, she sips. He'd chosen an excellent vintage. Wine glass in hand, she responds.

"I would agree," says, wondering just how far she should reveal some of the intentions of her own crew. 

"There are several...enterprising souls out there that are making a lot of money simply by ransacking dead businesses. A few of our men are involved in some of it, but when you're placing so much trust in others of ill repute...well, let's just say I'm happy to see them walk back into the HQ at the end of the day. But beyond that, those old businesses will dry up.

"Personally, I think they can be pilfered for things others might not find valuable on the surface...information. There are a lot of documents and journals in those buildings, and I intend to get my hands dirty with those in the near future, either alone or with my boss.

"But what you're saying is abundantly clear. The business districts nearly everywhere are suffering. Vegas is doing well, but there's always room for more, and we welcome out-of-towners with open arms. 

"What are your intentions, if I may be so bold to ask, Sam?" she asks, smiling over the rim of her wineglass. She needed to eat more, as the wine was already going to her head. 

"Strictly financial help, setting up enterprises here, or perhaps all over the country? Manpower to assist running them? 

"I've done my homework. Your reputation is stellar. You're a gifted speaker and know how to work the system to your benefit. You've done very well for yourself and I fully expect to see you expanding soon. If you weren't in charge of your own operation here, I would have gone to great personal lengths to recruit you myself," she says, eyes glimmering. She picks up a breadstick simply to have something to do with her hands besides drinking.

A soft chuckle passes through his lips as he forks through his salad, gathering up a bite to devour. 

"Good to hear I'm not making too much of an ass of myself. Thank you for that. You make me slightly regret pursing leadership, but I felt that it was an once in a life time chance to have my bloodline break out of the rank and file. Prove ourselves capable of handling the responsibility. We'll see if that'll be the case, though."

Chewing through the healthy nonsense, he returns to nursing the wine, leaning back into the chair as he taps a finger against the wide brim of the glass. 

"Intentions? You make that sound so foreboding." He fires a grin towards the woman, then sits up a bit straighter. "Firstly, I intent on drawing in business for Philadelphia. Specifically speaking, I'd like to see a business or two from your organization to establish themselves in the city. I too have done my homework, and I think one of your fronts or rackets would be a shining example as to how I desire the business district of my town to aspire to. I will personally provide a start-up bonus as well as direct members of my crew to help usher customers to them.

So, effectively, I'm asking you to take my money and make more money inside Philly. Strings... Somewhat attached." 

As if on cue, the main course begins to arrive. The two waiters carry large platters, one dedicated to each of the diners for the evening. Before each of them, the plates with metal domes are set before them. As the domes were removed, the plates reveal their payloads. Juicy, tender steak that dominates the pallet and invades the air in a gush of steam. The fat and bone was already trimmed, exposing a medium well interior. For whatever odd reason, Sam didn't enjoy the idea of eating semi-uncooked meat, despite what all others said about the taste. One grilled corn on the cob was offered, as well as two halves of a baked potato with a helping of steamed green beans. All and all, quite the fulfilling meal. Sam pushed away his salad to make room for his primary plate, rubbing his hands together as he admires the spread. 

"A favor or two wouldn't be too much to ask, hm? I have my own set of problems within my city that I'd wish to fix before I even think about expansion. And keeping my ear to the ground, I've heard nothing but excellent from your comrades in arms."

Merci slices off a bite of steak, pleased that it wasn't still bloody. She abhorred undercooked food. Placing it in her moth, she found it tender and perfectly seasoned. It didn't even require steak sauce as an enhancer.

"My compliments," she said, nodding towards the food. 

"I like your idea. The final numbers would be something I'd have to discuss with Kathryn, of course, and our accountant. My crew is small, and they tend to keep both their investments and their persons in Vegas most of the time. I'm the wanderer, I suppose. I know it's not the safest thing to be, but I'd set up a business in each city myself if flights weren't so cost prohibitive. 

"How would a trial business sound to you? See who we're getting into bed with. So to speak. My mother always told me to drive before I buy," she says with a flirty smile. 

"The cupcake shop could be used, expanded, converted. Or something new, if you've got a particular gap that you wish to see filled here?"

Sam equally started to dig into the main meal, taking small bites and alternating between the side dishes and the tender steak. Mindful of swallowing before he speaks, he continues a rotation of conversation then eating, drinking and returning back to speaking. 

"Thank you, and that sounds fair enough. I realize that the distance might put a damper on the frequency of your crew to maintain the business, but I have faith an arrangement can be maintained." The sly innuendos earn a coy smirk from the man, resting in his consumption to press his fingertips together. 

"Well, to give you an insight, the only active business is the cupcake stand and a chop shop. The rest are dried up or their owner was killed in the previous war. Already in the works, I have my brother Dobbie working on the blueprints for an art gallery. We're going to be ensuring that there's proper security, given with how often they are robbed. In addition, I am considering establishing a proper speakeasy and restaurant. Plenty of booze, music and food to go around. A place where we can cut loose and in relative safety." 

A few successive bites out of the corn lets the information settle and be digested before Sam carries on. 

"I'm specifically looking to build some reliable rackets. For example, imagine a one-stop shop for everything you'd need to be successful in this life of ours. Guns, tools, cars, suits, the works. All under the table, of course. Beyond a supermarket, there's the usual vices that can be pampered to. What is currently successful in Las Vegas, if I might ask?" 

Placing her fork down, her mind began to spin. He had some solid business ideas, and she was already jumping ahead, matching up crew members to jobs. 

"I would venture to say, nearly everything. The casino is the biggest draw right now, but the new nightclub is about to surpass it. Opening night was unheard of...and they don't let in just anyone. You really should come see it," she's says, leaving him to wonder at the meaning of the offer.

"There's a bank that makes loans at reasonable rates, some rental property, an import/export business that specializes in false compartment containers....brilliant, that one...we've even got a doctor in town who caters to our, uhm...specific issues, as they arise." The only reason Merci was comfortable wearing a dress like this was because Grace had done such an excellent job tending her wounds when she'd been shot. The scarring was barely noticeable anymore. 

"A firing range, open to the public and with no police interference. And I think another business or two were preparing to launch as I was leaving town. An art gallery, you say? That's a lovely idea. And a beautiful front," she says, winking. Her fork sunk into the buttery potato and she lifted it to her mouth. She'd never met a carb she didn't like, but this spud was cooked to perfection.

Sam sat back and stroke his chin with his hand, rubbing it as he mulls over the information given to him. Quite the resourceful woman. 

"I'd welcome any of those businesses into Philly, a shooting range or a doctor that knows to keep their clients off the records is hard to come by these days. Could always use more practice with my marksmanship. But yes, the art gallery will be quite the lucrative front. There's plenty of starving artists out on the streets that'd do just about anything to get one of their pieces on display, let alone sold." The undertone of the brutal business practices that the man employs displays a glimpse into how the man rose to power. While he might be charming and a decent cook, at the end of the day he was a harden criminal at the head of a syndicate. 

"But, the nightclub a real hit, huh? I might be tempted to pay it a visit, I've been meaning to go out there to the west coast. Pick up some ideas for the joint I want to run here and see what makes Las Vegas a jewel. Perhaps I could get a tour?" He waggles his eyebrows at that, grinning a bit. He reaches for the wine bottle to refill his glass, letting the dark crimson liquid pour out in a steady stream. Over half of his meal was already torn through, spending several hours preparing the dinner left him famished, but he had to actively pace himself in order to not appear crude.

"But bring all of this to your boss, see what she thinks. I believe it'll be quite the fruitful relationship."

Merci agrees wholeheartedly. Spearing some green beans with a fork in order to pace herself and not appear overly eager for any deal that came her way, she bites into them, pauses, and sighs. The man had unbelievable culinary skills. He'd missed his calling as a chef. Only partially kidding, she voices a thought.

"I can taste the effort you've put into this food. There's a little restaurant run by a Russian woman on the Strip. It's small, beautiful, and...eclectic, I guess you'd say. She changes the menu every few weeks, has her chef switch up nationalities...Chinese, Italian, Mexican. The casino owner was impressed enough to convince her to cater out to them. Maybe you could...come make a guest chef appearance? You'd be compensated, if course. Maybe check out Fire and Ice while you're there? Kathryn would enjoy meeting you, in order to finalize a deal," she says, smiling. 

Sam sat back as he drums his fingers against his chest, trying to feign a neutral expression as the offer came his way. A chance to work in a real kitchen, potentially with a culinary crew to aid him? A lone thought considered it demeaning to be serving as a chef to others, but a loud majority easily brushed it aside. He'd be allowed to express his creative side on a scale he'd never fathom. Damnit, the woman was keen on pressing just the right buttons. And how could he resist after receiving such high praise from her? 

"Well, I can't say I've ever had the opportunity to try me hand in the professional realm. I... Might not be up to par, but no doubt I'd be interested. It'll keep me out of trouble for a day, at the very least." A quick grin breaks out as he starts picturing the scene in his mind, quickly reaching for his wine to cover his mouth with a quick sip. "I'll be willing to do so, provided I speak with the owner and figure out how much work he plans to extract out of me." 

"Anyhow, I'd hopefully spend a week there, considering I won't have the chance to visit often. I planned  hope to meet your boss, Kathryn, and perhaps visit this restaurant you mentioned. I assume I'll be kept quite busy in Vegas." 

Grinning widely, she sips her wine. She liked this man. Despite their line of work, he came across as forthright, honest. She enjoyed his company and sincerely hoped that business relations would be set in concrete soon. 

"We'll keep you on your toes. I can arrange a tour of the businesses, with security detail and a personal escort...although you'd probably prefer your own to accompany you. I'd be happy to clear my schedule and see to it personally, if you'd like," she says, tapping her fingers on the stem of her wineglass. 

An offer he couldn't refuse. Keeping the right hand woman of this crew close to him would only serve to continuously build much needed rapport. More importantly, it'll give him more opportunities to see if the pretty smile was genuine or simply polite. Far too many men in his line of work have been bound by the blinding beauty of a bountiful body, becoming blundering baboons. Merci had her own agenda to push and she's intelligent and resourceful enough to use any means necessary to do so. A slight smile spreads across his lips, as a single quote comes to mind.

'But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.'

"I'll take a few of my own people for protection, wouldn't want to to be too much of a burden. However, I think I'd quite enjoy your company during my stay there." He holds his tongue soon after, an internal debate waged in a matter of seconds. Opting to not to reveal any of his cards, he instead deflects the line of conversation with his most powerful tool in today's arsenal.

"There's dessert, if you still have room for it. Unfortunately not of my creation, even I have my limits, but I can vouch for its deliciousness." 

Continuing to grin, she speaks. "There's always room for dessert. Even when there isn't. Some things just shouldn't be passed up." She should know; she'd gotten caught up in a variety of life's indulgences. Dessert was, well, a piece of cake.

"Well I'd say this has been an incredibly productive meet. Several business opportunities, and a bit of a working vacation in your near future? I hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am. 

It's damn warm in Vegas, though. You may want to rethink the hood that I know you're so fond of," she says, tipping a wink at her host.

A chuckle follows the woman's words, both towards the innuendo and the remark regarding Sam's choice in attire.

"Far be it from me to deny such from you." He raps out another clap, leading the last batch of food to be brought to the table. Two small bowls of creamy banana pudding, topped with a neat circle of vanilla wafers.

"The hood won't cut it in the desert? Well, I'll be sure to dress accordingly. I expect it to be quite the memorable experience."

Without further ado, the pair dig into the dessert, most of the conversation reduced to simple small talk regarding the finer details of how Sam should prepare for his journey. At the conclusion of the feasting, Sam escorts Merci all the way to the front of the mansion, giving her a warm smile as his driver pulls up alongside of the curb. 

"Just send a telegram, or call after you bring all this back to your people. I'd like to hear what they think, especially Kathryn. Have a safe flight back home, and I hope you enjoyed yourself in Philadelphia. You're always welcomed back."

After the pleasantries of the farewell were given, Sam heads back into his headquarters, running a hand through his head. He finds his way back into his office, dropping himself into his comfortable chair and quickly produces a lighter and cigarette from a drawer. A swift ignition and inhale of the tobacco and nicotine into his lungs settled his swimming mind. So many thoughts bounced around in that skull of his, over the present and future. For now, he just needed to rest and think over all the information and actions that transpired over the course of the night. Letting his eyes fall shut, his self meditation only lasted for a short moment until there was a knock at his door. Dobbie, his loyal left hand and brother in blood, clutches an envelope to display towards Sam.  

"Boss, telegram from New York." 

Never a moment's rest.