Tommy Cortex: Barbed Wire and Inquiries

I’ve always been good with people.  More to the point, I’ve always had a knack for getting them to do what I want, or agree to what I suggest.  Really, negotiation is an art.  And like any art, there’s dozens of little tricks, techniques, and nuances that separate the amateur from the pro, capice?  Brooklyn knows this, which is why my paychecks from Titan have all those zeroes on them.  I’m damn good at what I do.  That’s all there is to it.

But, just because you’re a pro, it doesn’t mean you know it all.  Ever since I took Enrico Bonanno’s seat on the local Commission, I’ve learned quite a few things about the ‘game’, and how to play it.  Being associated with the ‘old guard’ has opened doors I couldn’t even find on my own.  My network’s grown a lot.  Good thing, too.  I was gonna have to tap it pretty heavily now.

I swung my feet off my desk, transferred my cell to the other hand, and jotted down what my contact was telling me.  I didn’t have much to write.  I thanked the guy, made a mental note to send him a little bonus, and sighed.  It’d been like this all week.  All I’d really gotten was the name of a guy who might know a guy who allegedly delivered supplies to some black-ops Arachnos unit last month.  Not the most solid of leads, but it’d have to do.

This was a pretty sticky situation that could get pretty ugly if it wasn’t handled carefully.  Thomas Peterson needed the calvary, and the clock was ticking.  Assuming it hadn’t already run out. 

No, scrap that.  Positive attitude, Tommy. 

So, yeah…he was depending on us to get him out, but here’s the thing.  He was being held by Arachnos.  Now, Arachnos turns a blind eye to a lot of people digging and poking around in their biz just because it’s usually small-time, and not worth the trouble or manpower to stop.  But this?  We were trying to hunt down an elite black-ops unit to free their prisoner.  That’s just the kind of thing the Arbiters might have a problem with and we didn’t need that kind of aggravation.  So, we just had to make sure they never found out, or at least gave them someone else to blame for it.

I looked at the name and address I’d written, and called out, “Angelo!  Get in here.”  A few seconds later, the door swung open, and my new consigliere stepped into my office.  I sized him up.  Again.

To his credit, Angelo ‘Barb-wire’ Conti waited patiently for me to get to the point.  As looks went, he’d gotten the shaft.  He’d been decent-looking before, but he’d gotten caught by a rival gang once, who did a number on his face with – you guessed it – barbed wire.  Then they tied him to a chair in an abandoned storage unit and set the place on fire.  He’d somehow managed to pick the lock on his cuffs and escape.  A real survivor, Conti was. Well…that, and damned lucky.

A guy could do worse, I suppose.  I caught myself mentally comparing him to ‘Tony’ again, and stopped myself.  Angelo wasn’t ‘Tony’.  He was real, and he’s what I had to work with.  I offered him the note I’d written and said, “Follow up on this, willya?  You know what to ask.”

Angelo casually took the note, examined it almost negligently, and tucked it away in his jacket.  He wasn’t fooling me, though.  He’d memorize it later then destroy it.  The guy paid attention to detail.  That’s why I chose him.  Well, that and one other thing.

“I don’t like this, Tommy.  We’re sticking our necks out here.  If the Spiders catch wise to this, it’ll get hot, and QUICK.  We’re risking a hell of a lot for some guy you used to work with.”

Angelo Conti isn’t a ‘yes man’.  That’s the other reason I picked him.  He says what he’s thinking, but with respect.  As for his loyalty, I was sure he was stand-up…but let’s just say I’ve also made provisions just in case.  Hey, I’m not stupid, you know?

He was right, though.  I was skirting some dangerous territory here.  I considered him for a bit, and replied, “Point taken, Angelo.  But we look out for our own.  As for Tom Peterson…well, let’s just say I owe him one.”

Angelo just shrugged. “You know what you’re doing, boss.” He’d voiced his objection, now he’d let it ride.  The guy was learning.

“Scram, Conti.  I gotta think.”

He shut the door behind him, and I put my feet back on the desk.  This was a lot to go through for Tom Petersen, but it was my oversight that let Kristoff live the first time.  I didn’t torch Peterson’s hospitals, but ever since, I’d felt a nagging sense of obligation to the guy.  He didn’t hold me responsible, but in a way…I kind of did.  This would put things right, by my reckoning.

I ‘reached’ out with my mind, trying to find him.  No luck, but I wasn’t surprised. 

“Hang in there, Thomas.  We’ll find ya.”