Thread: Bright Young Thing ::: {Prince of Smut & Ariamella}

RE Bright Young Thing Prince Ariamella IMG200x112 Brian Grady Brian checked his watch one last time and confirmed that they had two minutes before kick-off. The club would be packed at midnight and full of illegal booze, cash and hopefully gangsters. Movement at the alley entrance caught his eye and he saw one of his police officers chatting with two young ladies. The one with dark red hair was particularly fetching, although Brian was a bit too far away to catch her features. The cop shouldn't be talking to people, he could be sending a warning or something, but just as Brian was about to speak up, the two girls spun and hurried off in the opposite direction of the club. Hmm, he'd have to keep an eye on that cop in the future. In any event, it was time to go and the girls weren't going to get to the club before they were, not in those heels! Brian blew his whistle. Let's go lads! Time to bust some gangs! The police fanned out with a military precision that made Brian smile, everyone jogging down the nearly empty boulevard in an odd, anxious silence. The few pedestrians out at this hour quickly got out of the way of the column of police officers and trench coated agents that were charging down the sidewalk. The more intrepid joined the end of the line, eager to see the aftermath of whatever takedown was imminent. Brian was at the head of the column and started to slow as he saw a large number of people starting to form on the street ahead. Many of them were laughing and shouting, clearly drunk and leaving a party of some sort. Those that saw the cops arriving trying to push away, but the majority of the crowd didn't realize what was going on until blue jacketed police officers were pushing through them, freely shoving people aside to try to get deeper in the alley. Shit. The club had shut down early. They had been tipped off! NO - get to the club! screamed Brian, shoving men and women aside as he swam upstream through the press of partiers that were now flooding out of the alley. He fought his way to a non-descript door, one hand holding a search warrant and the other his pistol. Frustrated, he waved the paper as he yelled, Federal Agent Grady. I have a signed warrant from Justice Westin to search this property for illegal contraband, including liquor and gambling operations. There was no one to even talk to. Just drunken guests filing out of the building. Cursing, Brian shoved his way inside with a press of cops close on his heels. By the time he reached the main floor, there were very few people left, only the drunkest of the guests who could barely walk, and certainly no one that looked remotely like a gangster. Gambling equipment was scattered throughout the room and the bar stocked, but not a single manager, dealer or enforcer seemed to be left. Cursing, Brian started shouting orders at the cops, pointing to various doors to check and other exits to investigate, but he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. They had been tipped off somehow. There must be a mole in his team, there was simply no other explanation. Some of the cops were grabbing guests outside per his orders and interrogating them might give clues, but the gangsters had the upper hand tonight. Brian kicked an glass on the floor in rage and shattered it in a spray of ice, broken shards and liquor. Walking to the bar, he grabbed a small bottle of whiskey and tucked it into his jacket pocket in a casual motion. At least he'd have something ease his anger tonight. There's a ton of booze in the store room! came a happy shout from one of the cops. Take it upstairs and let the press take pictures, said Brian with a dismissive wave. They'd still get a nice story about shutting down the club and confiscating alcohol, but without a stack of cash and Italians in cuffs to parade around, Brian considered this a complete failure. Somehow he had been foiled. Whoever did this was going to pay. IMG150x112 Lucca Carbone Lucca glanced out of the window of his car as they drown down the street, eying the crowd of cops jogging down the sidewalk. He couldn't suppress a grin thinking about the empty club they were going to walk into. Sure, they'd grab a lot of booze, but booze was cheap and could be replenished. Cash and people couldn't. The tunnel he'd fled in had been an old steam connector that ended in the building across the street which had a garage at ground level. His crew, with Skinny barking orders, had been remarkably efficient and moved all the cash within ten minutes, leaving only tables and booze behind. Most of the gangsters had come with Lefty through the tunnels, while the dealers had simply taken off their bow ties and grabbed coats, mingling with the guests departing out the main door. Great call boss, did the doll tip you off? asked Skinny, who was still sweating and panting from the effort of the shutdown. Yeah, let's say she spooked me... but I'm still not sure how she knew, Lefty answered, growing thoughtful. I want her description circulated to every club on the North Side. If she's seen, the managers have to call around and pass the message. Understand? Will do boss, sure, replied Skinny. We'll keep her in the club if we find her until you get there. Lefty nodded and returned to looking out the window. Ruby was still an enigma, but he had a hunch, a strange one at that, that she might be a tool he could use to stack the odds back in his favor again. And that could be worth a lot of money.