Russel Skronsky, or Leather-Jacket to Caine, didn't stop running for a long time, not until his legs were burning and his chest felt ready to burst, and even then he didn't stop moving. He kept stumbling forwards, the imagined terrors of what the stranger at Lord of the Wings would do to him if he caught acting like a cracking whip that seen him fleeing back to his apartment over twelve blocks away like a dog with it's tail between his legs. Even there he didn't feel safe, triple locking his door and pulling shut his curtains and blinds. 

It took time, and not a small amount of cheap whiskey, but when he did he started to come to the realization that because Charlie and Niall had been taken down and for all he knew killed then that left it up to him to contact Mr Stone to make him aware of the situation. A dire prospect, as Mr Stone isn't the type that you would want to be bringing bad news to. The phrase "don't shoot the messenger" never really seemed to have much effect on him. As daunting a task as it was though Skronsky knew he had to do it, and do it quick. It would be like removing a band-aid, better to get it over with quick. With a sigh he dropped himself into his couch, picked up his phone and dialed. 

It rang for so long that Skronsky actually began to hope that it would never get picked up, but his shitty luck for the day held up and the call was answered on the last ring. 

"Mr Skronsky. To what do I owe the pleasure." Redford Stone, known to the general public as the owner of a chain of fitness gyms and healthy living delicatessens, while rumored to be the head of an extortion and steroid dealing racket, was master at the faux-pleasant greeting. His voice was as warm as bread fresh from the oven and as smooth as honey from the comb, but Skronsky had been working for Mr Stone long enough to know that the man's explosive temper was never far from the surface. 

"Eh. . . There's been a problem boss. With the wing joint." Skronsky involuntarily winces, ready for the fallout. 

"A problem you say? Now what sort of problem could that be, pray tell Mr Skronsky?" Stone's voice is deceptively calm when he answers, that coupled with his verbosity, which he only ever employs before he explodes at someone, is never a good sign.

"Well it was going well, Giovanni was just about to cave, when some guy came outta nowhere, packing heat. He took out Charlie and Niall, I had him on the ropes but the cops caught wind of the commotion so I had to bail out before they collared me. For all I know Charlie and Niall have been pinched, or maybe even dead. That guy was crazy." 

The line was quiet for what seemed like an age after that, but could have only been about ten seconds. Still, it was more than long enough for Russel to seriously consider putting down the phone and fleeing the city. At that moment it seemed like the safest option. Then the bomb hit.

[B]"WHAT THE F**K DO YOU MEAN SOME [I]GUY[/I]!!! THAT'S WHAT I PAY YOU RE**RDS FOR, TO DEAL WITH THE [I]GUY'S[/I]. SWEET F*****G CHRIST, IF I GOTTA DEAL WITH THIS F*****G THING MYSELF SO HELP ME GOD, THE THINGS I'LL DO TO YOU SKRONSKY, NOT EVEN YOUR WHORE MOTHER WILL BE ABLE TO IDENTIFY YOUR USELESS ASS! GET F*****G BACK THERE AND GET MY F*****G MONEY!"[/B] The phone beeped then, signifying the call was over, leaving Russel into no doubt that he had just been given his orders. Having them and acting on them were to separate beasts though, and he didn't think that he'd have anymore luck with that big, barbarian looking guy at the diner this time than he did the first time. Not like he could run though, Mr Stone would find him to easy. He was literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Damn." whispered Russel.