Alex sat behind his desk and angrily went through the earnings report from Vladmir Illyich's card room once again noting the discrepancies that his accountant had highlighted. There was no way around the fact that Vladmir was skimming money from the top before kicking up his proper percentage to Alex. Alex didn’t begrudge anyone the right to earn – but certainly couldn’t let some low level scum steal from him either. Thinking hard he decided he knew just the person to take care of this job if the rumors he had heard were true. Picking up his phone he called up SaintSilver and with a slight growl said, “Saint, please come to my office, we have businesses to take care of.”

Saint Silver knocked once at the door, waited for permission to enter, then stepped warily into the office of his new boss. He'd barely spoken to @Alexander_Solonik in the past, but he'd heard from people that knew that the guy was all right. That said -- he wasn't aware of anyone who had ever done "business" with the man privately.

"Mr. Solonik! Came as quick as I could after your call -- what's goin' on?"

Alex motioned for Saint to have a seat and waited for him to get comfortable before continuing. As he did so he watched the man closely - he had heard of him through his hands and heard that he was a loyal associate who worked hard, that is why he was trusting him with this job. Well, that and one skill he heard Saint held in spades so to speak.

"Saint - is it alright if I call you that? I know it is a nickname but it is what Gracie had referred to you as when we have spoken?" Getting a nod he continued, "I have a job that I believe you might be well suited for, especially given your reputation at the card tables. I have heard good things about you and have been told that you can get things done. If you take this job, however, it will require a more permanent solution that you typically prefer from what I have heard. Are you willing to do this for the family?"

Saint took the seat he was offered and smirked, "I prefer the solution that solves the problem, sir -- I think you can count on me. I gotta ask though -- I've made a killin' at the card tables before, but never the kind you're talkin' about, so I don't know how that comes in to it..."

Alex laughed darkly at Saint's comment before going on.

"I have a guy who runs a card room off of Sunset Blvd. Poker, Baccarat, Blackjack, whatever. Thing is, he has recently taken to increasing his cut at my expense - that isn't something I can allow. I could get just about anyone to hit him at his house or elsewhere but I want a message sent; I want his blood to stain the walls of his precious game to ensure that everyone knows that if you steal from me you pay the price - period."

Alex took a deep breath to calm himself

"Now, while the card room is open he keeps a couple of guards on staff, nothing to crazy but a couple of goons with guns. If I send in a squad to take him out with them there a lot of innocent people could wind up dead. There is, however, a way around it. Anyone who wins big is invited to stay after hours for drinks - it is his way of trying to schmooze the big money guys into coming back later. The guards leave when the game is over and the money packed away so that is your opening. You just gotta be able to win big enough to catch his eye. Think you can do it?"

Saint nodded to show that he had understood everything that @Alexander_Solonik had told him. Shaking hands with his boss, Saint left the office and hailed a cab.

"Take me to Tarnished Silver over in the business district," he said to the cabbie as he threw a few dollars his direction. The cabbie grunted his appreciation for the inflated fare, then drove away from the curb.  The rest of the ride was taken in total silence. When they had arrived in the dingy neighborhood where Saint's shop was located, Saint indicated to the cabbie that he should wait for him, then he walked swiftly into the shop.

He found McGibbon there, as usual, looking over the ledgers and making incessant notes in the margins. When the older man looked up, Saint nodded at him, saying, "Just a quick stop over Jim."

Taking a small notebook out of the inner pocket of his coat, Saint consulted a list of numbers written there before addressing his employee, "I'm taking lot number 327491 out for a quick spin -- it probably ain't comin' back, so go ahead and burn it for me." With that, Saint pulled a ring of keys out of another pocket, unlocked one of his glass cases and extracted a compact, snub-nosed revolver from inside. Snapping the barrel open, he checked the gauge of the weapon, then said, "Need some 32's -- got somethin' over there?" 

McGibbon looked up from his ledger long enough to reach under his counter and pull out a box of ammunition. Saint took the box, removed six bullets and loaded his revolver. That done, he placed his notebook on top of McGibbon's ledger and tucked the gun into the pocket where his notebook had been. 

"Expectin' trouble, boy-o?" McGibbon asked as he secreted the notebook away into a drawer behind him.

"Ain't I always?" Saint asked, flashing a quick grin before waving and exiting the way he had come.

The cabbie was waiting where Saint had left him. "All right, now take me to the card room off Sunset -- then you can beat it."

~*~

Saint shifted nervously in his chair as he glanced at the clock and at the three cards lying on the table in front of him. He'd played it cool most of the night -- losing some, but managing to win most of his hands, and he was well up on the house. He knew Alex had told him he had to win big to impress his target, but this was a tricky situation. He'd been dealt a 5 and a 4 against the dealer's 8. The smart play here was to take a hit, but Saint knew the true count was a +6, and that meant taking a risk. The problem is, he was almost sure he'd caught some heat from the guy watching the players lose their money, and he had a feeling that the guy that ran the place only appreciated winners that came by their winnings honestly.

"Fuck it," he thought. Doubling his winnings on this hand wasn't worth not getting the invite he'd come for. With a dramatic sigh, just for effect, Saint grimaced at the dealer and said, "Hit me."

The dealer expertly slid a card from the shoe and landed it next to Saint's hand. A fucking Ace. Saint cursed inwardly -- he could have doubled his money. Oblivious to his inner torment, the dealer smiled widely at him, "20! Standing pat, I assume?" 

Saint nodded his assent then watched as the dealer pulled a Jack off the shoe. "Dealer has 18!" the dealer called before clearing the cards and paying out Saint's bet. Glancing at the clock again, Saint realized the joint was about to close down. Making a show of collecting his chips and money, Saint stretched languidly before walking over to the service counter where a vapid-looking blonde was trading chips for cash. Just as he stepped into the line that was forming there, he felt a rough tap on his shoulder from behind.

"Shit," he thought to himself. Turning slowly, he found himself face to face with a large man with no hair on his head, but almost comically thick eyebrows.

"Boss wants to talk to you," the man said simply as he turned and walked away. Saint followed, breathing a sigh of relief. He'd done it. The boss wouldn't bother talking to him if all he thought was that Saint was a cheater. You didn't deal with cheaters face to face when you ran a place like this. That's why you hired guys like Eyebrows.

His target turned out to be a greasy-looking Russian with unkept, thinning hair and garishly bad taste in suits. The man was sitting at a large table and had already gained quite a following for the night. Five or six other gamblers had taken up places of honor around him, and on either side of him were two women that Saint immediately knew were prostitutes, if not from the makeup, then from the disgusted looks they cast each other each time they thought the man wasn't looking.

"Vladmir Illyich," the Russian said, speaking in a thick accent as he extended a gaudily ringed hand towards Saint. Saint took it and grinned, "Andrew Santini," he responded evenly. Saint had internally rehearsed his makeshift identity from the moment he'd left Alex's office, and could have said on the spot where Santini was from, how many siblings he had, and the name of the girl he'd fucked the night before.

"Well Andrew, it seems you have done quite a job of cleaning me out this night," Illyich said. "Please, sit and have a drink -- on me of course...I might as well let you have a little more of my money!" Illyich laughed gregariously as he pushed a chair towards Saint.

Saint laughed as he took the seat, "It was a lucky run, I don't know how much I could hope to hold it out," he responded. A scantily clad waitress walked over to take his order, then sauntered off in a suggestive fashion as Illyich leaned in to speak more confidentially with Saint.

"I do hope you are planning on giving me a chance to win some of it back," Illyich said. "I always make a point of taking care of my regulars, as you can see," he finished with a broad sweeping gesture towards the others at the table. Saint was about to respond when Eyebrows approached from the other side of the room.

"Money is locked up boss -- me and the boys are leavin'," the man said.

Illyich nodded his approval then watched as Eyebrows and three other men exited the room. Chuckling, Illyich addressed the table at large as he said, "They're good boys, these Italian bruisers...The only thing is -- ", Illyich was cut off as the waitress returned with the next round of drinks. As she reached down to hand Saint his cocktail, he deliberately moved to bump in to her, causing the drink to spill all over his shirt.

"Ahh...that was completely my fault!" Saint exclaimed as he stood up abruptly. "Where's the john so I can get cleaned up?"

Illyich pointed in the direction of the restrooms as he laughed, "Taking my money and wasting my alcohol...maybe I don't like you so much, eh?"

Saint laughed with him as he stepped clear of the table and the waitress, his back turned to the people gathered there. Then, in one swift movement he pivoted, removing his revolver from his jacket and aiming squarely between Illyich's eyes. He squeezed the trigger once and watched the stunned expression on Illyich's face as the bullet planted itself in his forehead.

Saint didn't wait around for any further reaction. Dropping the pistol in front of him, he turned again and ran out of the club. He ducked into the first alley he saw, then out the other side on to an adjoining street that was much busier than the one he had come from. Once he'd satisfied himself that he was not being pursued, he slowed to a walk, his outwardly casual appearance hiding the heighted state of alertness he was in as he scanned the faces of each person he passed and listened carefully for the sound of sirens. A few blocks away from the card room, he hailed a cab and ordered it to take him to the nearest hotel. He wouldn't be going anywhere near his own property or that of RP Inc. until he was certain no one was on to him.

nice