The High School
"Just one moment, young lady!" For such a petite woman, Principal Carver had a booming and strident voice. Twenty-five years in Tacoma's public schools had done that to her, she had seen the worst, she knew all the tricks, and she had stood stalwart against delinquents and outside influences. Fast talking and a quick departure were not enough to pull the wool over her eyes.
The principal stormed after Cheyenne, catching up with her just outside the doors. "This is an alcohol-free campus, young lady," Carver said with scathing disapproval as she snatched the bottle of whiskey from Cheyenne and slipped it into the pocket of her own blazer. "I've already had the displeasure of meeting Mr. Salviati. I know exactly who your husband is. And for that reason I will not allow your son enrollment in my school." She scowled more. "I am responsible for the safety and welfare of five hundred students. If you think that means I will consider for one moment allowing a mafioso like Giacomo Salviati to settle in Personville and endanger my students with drugs and the promise of illegal employment with Cunningham's thugs, then you are deeply mistaken. I am sorry, but your son is not welcome at my school." Carver lifted a walkie-talkie off her belt, held it threateningly close to her mouth. "You have one minute to leave this campus or I will have you escorted off the premises."
The Church
The worker gave Los Angeles a long, critical stare before nodding mutely and leading LA down a side hallway to a glass door marked "Pastor's Office." The worker knocked and opened the door. "Pastor James, gentleman here to see you."
The pastor, a florid and balding round-faced man, got up from his desk with a smile. "Nice to meet you, he said with a hearty handshake. "Thanks, Mike, you can go," he said, dismissing the man who had ushered LA in. The gaunt custodian vanished silently. "You'll have to forgive Mike," the pastor said apologetically. "He means well. Unfortunately, not every newcomer to this area has had the best intentions. I'll be frank with you, this town isn't quite what it once was. Mike's wife has developed something of a drug problem. Very sad thing, such a nice woman, too. But it's been happening so often lately." The pastor sighed, and for a moment LA could see the tremendous weight on the man's shoulders. "We're trying to do what we can about this, this unholy epidemic. But there's only so much we can do." The pastor caught himself, smiled brightly once again. "Forgive me, I was rambling there. What can I do for you today?"
Meanwhile, in the balcony pews, it was becoming apparent to Silva just how beat-up this place was. The building had probably been constructed in the Thirties, but well-maintained, up until a few years ago. Paint peeled on the walls, the once lovingly polished wood lacked luster, rust peeked through on metal fixtures. Tithes had stopped coming at some point, this much was obvious.
Silva heard a delicate cough behind her, turned to see the custodian, Mike, standing there. "Something I can help you with, Miss?" he asked.
