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Yes, it's been longer than a weekly check-in.
Way longer.
It's been an interesting time for Domino. Keeping her word is important to her and all but, well..extenuating circumstances and all. She's so fashionably late that she makes comparable moments of tardiness look completely under-dressed for the occasion. But at least this time around she's better armed.
A parking space is claimed more than a block away, walking the distance as before. This time she knows where to go and which door to wander through in order to find Glory and King, once more showing up without the benefit of knocking before trying the handle.
She wears some of her excuse quite clearly, there's a plethora of deep bruises and scrapes upon her person that are all within various stages of advanced mending and a somewhat heavy feeling within her brisk stride. It's still her, just..her after a few dozen ass-kickings.
"I haven't forgotten. Honest."
*
Someone truly might forgive the delay.
Elizabeth Braddock has other duties than being a typist or an investigator. She models, and this is New York Fashion Week. Someone has to walk the runways as the example of a fine young woman even if she is on the upper reaches of age.
Then she has the balls, the responsibilities to appear socially.
Never mind Mr. King hasn't been about in nearly as long. Before a certain albino last visited, anyways. But that's neither here nor there.
Elizabeth is there, nevertheless, typing away. The machine obliges her by a click and a bang of the carriage return even if what she types is nonsense to most people. A letter, instead of something fun.
When the door opens the psychic looks up. It may be unnecessary. She is rather aware of her surorundings, the whispers of thoughts warning her of much. "Ma'am." English is as English does, and doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Cuppa, or would you prefer some coffee? I believe there's a halfway decent shortbread in here."
*
Said albino hasn't forgotten their last encounter when it came to the matter of coffee or tea, either. "The House Special didn't let me down last time. Around this city all I need to do to find coffee is walk fifteen feet in any direction and slap some money down."
Shortbread, too? Well, this gives Domino something to do while the mindreader is finishing up with the letter. Free food is not something she's in any position to turn down, even if the last few days have been somewhat more bountiful on that front.
Left to wander it isn't long before she also sheds her coat and finds somewhere to hang it up, apparently not at all concerned about showing the pair of .380 Colts nested within the small of her back.
City police officers have really liked that model of sidearm for a number of years. It probably wouldn't be a difficult read to figure out that's who she got them both from, either.
Already the pacing begins, her arms folding together as she wanders about as if in search of a purpose in life. "Tell me you've found something I can work with."
*
"A strong cup of good, black tea works just as well as coffee," says Elizabeth, true to the empire as she no doubt is to the Queen. Look around, the picture of Her Majesty in splendour has to be somewhere. Also, English spelling done the British way. She gets up from behind the desk and makes an unfair study of grace, sauntering across the distance as if she owns the place.
The tin of cookies contains, as promised, Scottish shortbread dense enough to use as a hockey puck and fluffier than meets the eye. She sets it on a table. A small saucer plate without a central rim for a cup follows, the napkin essential. The tea service will take longer of course. "Israeli, as expected. Common movements go through a variety of ports, none directly out of the Middle East. That's much too obvious. I might have expected they would use Kenya or Egypt, reliable to shake any tracking. However the instability in Kenya makes it unsuitable for that route, and obviously the Balkans are completely cut off."
Her assessment follows with a crisp candor. "Smuggled under false certificates through Cyprus, then they wash up in Italy, the port of Bari. Not the common choice on the east coast of the boot, but reasonable if they want to use the camorras of the Mafia to get them over to Napoli. Naples. From there, Spain, and it's straight from Cadiz overseas. I had a hard time connecting the dots from there. South America? Jamaica? It looks as though there was a stopover, but they came here."
*
It looks like a cookie. It smells like it's edible. It's good enough for Domino. The tin barely has a chance to come to a rest before she's plundering it of its goods, cookie in one hand and the other running fingertips through a black mess of hair. Perhaps the best part of introducing the densely packed treat is that it keeps her quiet for a while, which turns out to be useful as there's a lot of information heading her way.
Her pacing gradually ceases, the mental gears hard at work.
"That's a helluva lot of trouble for one sub-machine gun." Hypothesis: This isn't a one-time deal. It had been part of a much larger shipment. It's the only way to justify that kind of operational cost. "Okay," she thinks aloud with a drawn-out sigh. "Someone who is very connected across the globe, has a lot of financial backing in addition to ordnance sources, time to spare, and a borderline obsessive attention to detail. That narrows it down."
Not.
"I can't follow that kind of trail back to the source," she admits while turning to look at the other lady. "Not without a lot of resources which I don't have. By the time I'd get anywhere near to the source they'd see me coming half of the globe away and will change their operation."
Clearly this isn't the sort of result she had been looking for, but what else could be done?
*
A soft buttery cookie full of mouthwatering golden goodness, what isn't there to love? The flavour melts on the tongue and the dense structure falls apart almost immediately.
Elizabeth pours two cups of tea and brings them over to Domino, one for herself and one for her guest. Two lumps of sugar are added; like a heathen, she pours a little cream. "Not just one. A crate of them, and other contraband besides. The manifestos give a general idea of the volume where copies could be obtained. They had half a box, which would give them liberty to move quite a bit of materiel that way. It's common enough for trading companies to purchase space by the foot or by the ship container, and parcel out the interior. Most of those are a nightmare to trace, the paperwork can take months, and port facilities are not the most secure in developing areas. A little cash slid over the table and authorities forget everything they saw. You could tell them you had a pile of cabbages and footballs, but transport elephant tusks and none's the wiser."
Or Soviets could move a number of missiles right off Cuba with most people not terribly aware, but that's neither here nor there, is it?
"As it happens, you can follow something back to the source. The Italians were involved in Napoli. Cadiz, a trading company involved is sourced out to Palermo. As in, straight in the heart of camorra territory. Sicily is a dead loss. Your first bet? Go shake up an Italian tree. Little Italy's not hard to find and the mob here keeps ties to the old country. Half the family names are identical and the boys go sailing or flying over to visit Donna Maria or Donna Elisabeta all the time. They're an in-bred family bush, not even a tree any more. Just start clipping and my dear, you will soon have precisely whom you are looking for."
She gives a piqued smile. "Isn't it wonderful how small the world is becoming?"
*
For the first time in what feels to be a -very- long time..Domino takes a seat, stays quiet, and listens. And lets her tea cool down some. She's good at what she does, a whole lot of taxpayer money went into making sure of that. It would have taken her a lot longer to gather all of this intel. It's ..almost unfathomable, frankly.
Did Elizabeth even leave this room when she discovered all of these details..?
Is this what a psychic can accomplish, given a couple of weeks?
"Christ, lady. You're gonna put me out of a job before I even get employed," the albino mutters, failing to hide the fact that she's impressed by the show.
Another local mob to hit up, this time in a more literal sense. This might possibly interfere with some of her other plans…
Eh.
"Italians sourcing Israeli arms. Guess everyone needs a hobby." Still. "This..I can work with. And the item I left with you, are you done working your voodoo on it? Because I can think of a few other ways it could help me out."
The ol' 'shove the gun under their nose and ask where it came from' gag. Always good for discoloring some trousers.
"I'm thinkin' I've got some vacation time in my near future," she says with a humorless smirk.