The information broker, a man with his finger on the pulse of New York City, sat on a cold bench; staring at the steel bars of the jail. Nick ran his fingers through his short brown hair and sighed gently, looking up at the police officer that smirked at him through the bars of the cell.

“Smyth, you fucked up this time” The officer shook his head and grinned “Getting caught with those Russians?”

Nick sucked on his teeth and raised an eyebrow “You’re an idiot aren’t you, Officer Little?” Nick leant forward, lacing his fingers together “They were the Sicilians...not the Russians…” he sighed again softly as Officer Little immediately gulped heavily “It’ll be now that you scamper off and go get your key and let me out” A finger tapped gently at the Brokers chin as the officer stepped back from the bars and grabbed for his keys “much better.”


-A few hours later-

Nick pulled at his dress shirt, pulling the cuffs out through the sleeves of the black suit jacket. Nick was nothing if not a man of impeccable taste. Maybe the Sicilians were rubbing off on him, as the members were so fond of telling him. He recalled his first meeting with the Sicilian Consigliere, a fresh faced Nick dressed in a Metallica shirt, jeans and a beat up pair of converse. That was a weird and interesting meeting. He smiled and tapped his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone, Black Book. His fingers flexed, the four rings that adorned his digits glittered slightly in the sun. All good. All was there. That night sitting in the jail put him slightly behind on the schedule he had set up for himself. Admittedly he had to check in with the Underbosses over the next few weeks, ensure that they remember that he still held some keys to their families. He yawned, scratching gently at his chin and looked down at the phone in his hand as he walked to his car. He idly wondered who to chat to today. He entered the car and flicked through his contacts. If his information was right, and it generally was...he could deduce where some of the Underbosses would be at this time of day. Key in the ignition, the Broker decided just to drive to the closest place he could guess an associate of his would be. The sounds of Tiger Army blasted through his speakers and the Broker grinned. The Impala growled and roared out of the precinct impound lot and around a few blocks. 

The trip to where he intended was not too far. He entered the small coffee shop, grinning to himself as his educated guess was correct. He hadn't expected the self described hard ass Thirty to be in a quaint coffee shop, but Miss Cardona was expected. He smiled politely to the owner behind the counter and sauntered over to the Spanish underboss. A sat down across from her in the booth, a knowing and probably all too confident smirk playing on his lips “Pedimos disculpas por la intrusión” he pulled out a small black tablet from his jacket, his eponymous Black Book “Miss Cardona...La Diabla” Nick smiled “I sure hope you remember who I am?” Nick’s fingers rapped gently against his tablet “It's been too long since I've had to speak with someone from your organization...all so secretive...until last night…” he said softly “I hope to solve this little issue I've come across without a grudge or widespread feat hmm?”