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     Finch tilted his fedora down low, to shade his eyes from the man at the counter of Hargreeves’ Umbrella Shop. 

     “Lovely day to see such a fine fella,” the man purred, “What brings you to our shop?” 

     Finch spared a glance at the man’s nametag; Klaus, Owner. “Well, Mister Hargreeves,” he drawled, “Seems a fine place for a cover, or so I’m told. Though I heard you have a more...  gentlemanly  selection in the back.”

     With that Klaus straightened, eyes gaining an intrigued glint. “The finest for the highest dime, isn’t that right doll?” 

     Finch knows this bit. “Well I’ve got a pretty penny, pal.” Klaus grinned and nodded, leading him back to a hidden stairwell behind a bookcase. As Mister Hargreeves withdrew, Finch descended into the smoky haze and chattering buzz of the speakeasy. He hung his suit jacket from a hook and made his way towards the bar.

     “Mama Medda, lovely to see you,” he greeted the bartender jovially, leaning across the bar to give Medda Larkin a kiss on the cheek as she chuckled.

     “Hey Finchy!” 

     “The usual?” 

     “You know it Hannah, ‘ey Smallsie!” While Smalls was family and a long-time member of the Larkin Mob, their other bartender was not. Hannah, their newest informant, was secretary to none other than Captain Joseph Pulitzer. Hannah had been pulled in when Katherine Pulitzer, the Captain’s daughter, had come too close to getting caught. In order to keep her and her lover, Sarah Jacobs, safe, the gang had turned to a new informant. 

     If you tried to pry deeper into why Hannah was even considering working with the most prolific gang in Manhattan, she’d send you a smile that seemed more a threat and say, “So long as they keep my secrets, I’ll keep theirs. What Pulitzer doesn’t know can’t hurt me.” Then she’d give you your drink, and unless you were leaving a tip you better not come back to her. 

     She wasn’t any concern to Finch, long as she stayed loyal and kept making the best drinks this side of the Hudson.  

     “Finchy boy, get ova here!” John Larkin was head of their gang and Mama Medda’s “son”. If you were family, you knew he was Jack Kelly, an Irish boy by blood. But better that the law didn’t know, as “Jack Kelly” could be arrested for at least two counts of murder in concrete; that of his mother and father. But that’s all Finch knew or wanted to know “Youse ain’t getting' sweet on my mama now, are ya?” 

     “A ‘course not Jacky. S’just rude not ta greet family.” 

     “So what’m I, mustard plaster?” 

     “As if I’s muggin’ your ugly puss. I’ll leave that ta Dave an’ Crutchie,” Finch said, tipping his hat to the two boys hanging off of Jacks arms. David Jacobs gave him a polite nod, while Crutchie beamed by way of greeting. Jack scoffed and took a long drag from his cigarette before getting down to buisness. 

     “How goes it wi’ them gum-shoes, hm?” He asked, smoke curling off the words. Though Finch was the Larkin Gang’s enforcer, he was recently sent on somewhat of a reconnaissance op. Detectives Albert DaSilva and Elmer Kasprzak were fresh meat, just transferred over from the 99nth in Brooklyn. Spot Conlon, King of the Brooklyn Mob and Captain of the 99, hinted that these two may need to be looked at. “Sharp as a chiv an’ thicker’n rice puddin’,” were Conlon’s exact words. And he was right. 

     "Sniffed out Race’s dealins in Sheepshead faster’n anythin’ boss. Lucky for ‘im I’s been coverin’ ‘is tracks. Could only get’im on rats n’ mice, and he pulled the Daddy Higgins card. They’s was gripin’ ova it the whole way to Romeo’s drum out in Hell’s Kitchen. Jess saw’em on their way an’ tipped me off ta head ova there. You’ll neva guess who’s right goofy ‘bout each otha,” Finch reported. 

     “Well I’ll be a patsy. Looks like we got a coupl’a redhot dicks to jaw wit. ‘Ey Hannah, I need ya for somethin’,” Jack called. Finch turned in time to see the glare she levelled Jack’s way before coming around the bar. She sat down in the booth across from Finch and turned to Jack. 

     “Before you even start, Mister Kelly, I’ll be taking my smoke break,” Hannah said, lighting up a cigar and taking a few good puffs. After blowing smoke directly in Jack’s face, she settled back into the seat and smiled sweetly, “Now, what was it you wanted sir?” 

     Jack chose to ignore her little display, counting it as fair, and laid out the plan for them. “I needs you ta get them two dicks, DaSilva and Kasprzak, inna this joint nex Thursday. Say you an’ ya brotha Patrick wanted a night on tha town, figured they might wanna tag. Finch, youse just gotta be propa an’ all, but when ya get here I wan’ you ta take ’em ta the room, show ‘em some good muggin’.” At the last bit Finch raised an eyebrow. 

     “Um, ‘scuse me boss, but why the hell should I’s be muggin’ wit’em? Last I’s checked, I was ya bruno notcha pro skirt,” he said, “Why don’tcha get one a them ta do it?” 

     Jack chuckled. “Pally I don’ think the girls is their type. An’, not ta be flirtin’, but youse ain’t no ugly fella. So, we’s got an agreement?” Finch sighed, mulling the idea over. On the one hand, he wasn’t no pro skirt. On the other, he hadn’t gotten any in months. Between tailing the detectives and tamping down on any dissonance in the gang, he hadn’t had more than a moment of spare time. What the hell, he thought, may as well. 

     “I’s in.” 

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     ”I’s in.”

     Finch was beginning to regret that choice. First off, they didn’t even know if DaSilva and Kasprzak were even looking for more. Second, it wasn’t good practice to bring two whip-smart detectives into the Larkin Mob’s headquarters. Regardless, Finch had already agreed, and it was showtime.

     He took one last, long look in the mirror. His hair was perfectly coiffed underneath his finest fedora. For once his suit was perfectly tailored and made from expensive materials. He was carrying his grandfather’s gold watch, and had his favourite knifes securely sheathed against his suspenders. The final touches were his “talons”; ornate sharpened rings that encased his first and middle fingers, both left and right. He frowned as he took used his handkerchief to polish bits of rust red stains from the otherwise pristine gold-plated surfaces.

     Pulling out his watch he confirmed that it was indeed time for him to head out to pick up his dear sister and the detectives from the precinct. He gave his shoes a last polish and set out.

~~~

     A short drive later, Finch was walking in the precinct’s front doors. He immediately found Hannah, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “Evenin’ sis.”

     “Brother dear, these are the detectives I was telling you about,” Hannah “introduced”, “Misters Albert DaSilva and Elmer Kasprzak.”

     “A pleasure to meet you gentlemen. Patrick McLoughlin, at your service,” Finch said, holding out his hand to shake. A fake name of course. Fionn “Finch” Cortes didn’t give out his real name to just anyone. It had a history.

     “The pleasure is ours, Mister McLoughlin,” DaSilva replied, giving Finch’s hand a firm shake. Kasprzak followed suit, but with a much warmer smile. Interesting.

     “I do agree. Now, let’s dine!” Kasprzak, as Finch was coming to see, was a cheery sort of fellow. It was much complementary to his partner’s mellow politeness. Finch chuckled warmly and led the detectives out to his car.

~~~

     “Patrick McLoughlin! Ain’t you a sight fo’ sore eyes!”

     “Ciao Signor Gianni! How’s it goin’?” Finch greeted warmly. He and Signor Gianni had known each other for some time, Finch having run through his kitchen from the age of four as Mister Cortes conducted gang business in the rooms below the restaurant.

     “As good as ever. So, where would you and your friends like to be sat tonight?” Signor Gianni asked, slipping into the role of host as though it were a pair of well-worn shoes.

     “The lower dining hall would be lovely Signor Gianni,” Finch replied, sliding him a wink. Signor Gianni nodded ever so slightly.

     “Of course,” he led them around past the jazz band that played for the patrons, down a short hall and in past a door. He allowed Hannah and the two detectives through, but pulled Finch aside for a moment. “You’ll be careful, right piccolo?”

     Finch smiled, appreciating the older man’s concern. “Always am, Papá Gianni.” Signor Gianni returned the gesture warmly and let him by. Finch descended the spiral staircase, meeting Hannah and the detectives at the bottom, and leading them through the twisting tunnels to the backdoor of the speakeasy. There Finch rapped three times on the door and waited for their doorman to answer.

     “Ya gotta sing it, the rules ain’t no diff’rent fo’ you hotshot,” Blink answered. Finch sighed.

     “You's gettin' me confused wi't Brooklyn the'e Blink. Ya really gonna make me? You know I can’t tweet no better’n a goose.”

     Blink smirked through the shutter. “You betcha.”

     “Fine. Picture a little love nest, down where the roses cling, picture the same sweet love nest, think what a year can bring,” Finch mumbled through to him, face burning red. DaSilva and Kasprzak shared a glance, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Let us in now wontcha?”

     Blink snickered. “Sure thing Patty.” True to his word, he let the four in, before returning to his post. Finch glanced back to see the two detectives still staring at him. He blushed even brighter red, and quickly turned to hang his hat and jacket on the wall.

     “You’s act like ya ain’t heard a man sing bufo’,” he grumbled, talking more to the wall than his to guests.

     “I can’t speak none fo’ Elmer, but I ain’t never heard no man sing that good,” DaSilva said, sounding shocked. Finch glanced out the corner of his eye to see Elmer nodding eagerly along. Finch cracked a small smile.

     “Aw shucks. Ya makin’ me swan,” Finch chuckled shyly. He mentally shook himself. “Now what can I get for you handsome gentlemen?” Albert smirked, while Elmer attempted to fight off the pale pink blush gracing his cheeks. Finch found it adorable, the light flush and boyish grins reminding him of children skipping rocks across the harbour at sunset.

     “I think I’ll take a wata,” Albert replied. Elmer hummed an affirmative. Finch caught this cue and crossed the room to the bar, where Hannah was back in her element.

     "Deares' da'lin' sis," he drawled, in the most sarcastic tone he could muster, "Migh' me an' my two guests get t'ree watas?" He flashed her a shiteating grin, to which she sighed.

     "Call me that again and you won't have a tongue to say it with Finchy," Hannah said, her tone sickly sweet as she poured three waters in quick succession. Finch nodded warily, not doubting her for a minute. With that he took the drinks back to where the detectives had settled in.

     "So, what brought yous two inna this scene?" Finch asked. "'Cause a little birdie told me you was at my pal Romeo's the otha' night." He really hated being so blunt, but he had to work with what little the detectives had given him, keeping much to themselves the short ride over. Unsurprisingly, they both flushed at the straightforward question.

     "Well sir, migh' be somethin' a little interestin'," Albert said cautiously, "Depends on why you's askin'." Finch scanned both of their faces, noting DaSilva's wary but curious eyes and Kasprzak's hesitant but eager expression. He smiled.

     "And if it seemed enjoyable?" Finch replied, leaning towards the detectives and tracing his talons on the table. Albert's eyes trailed their movement and Elmer leaned in.

     "Then one migh' ask if there was a more... private settin' this conve'sation could move ta," Kasprzak said, smile coy and inviting. Finch responded in kind.

     "I migh' know of one."

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MY LAPTOP IS BROKEN BUT I FOUND ONE TO WORK ON REAL CHAPTER COMING SOON M'APOLOGIES
goddamn fan broke
BUT NEW CHAPTER WILL BE UP SOON ISH
I'M SO SORRY Y'ALL