(Note; Donny's employer will be the first person to respond to this post)

Public libraries are one of the few pure institutions left. They are an absolute good, providing free, easily accessible information to people from all walks of life. A library is a place of enlightenment and peace, true neutral ground. When was the last time, in all honesty, you heard of someone shooting up a public library? People shoot up churches. People shoot up schools. No, don't Google it. Search your own current mental reservoir. If you Googled "library shootings", you'd get what you asked for. If there is a despicable deed, you can bet your last dollar it has been done many, many times throughout history. Just, not that many times concerning libraries.

But still, have you yourself ever heard of someone killing in a library? Yes? Too bad you special starturd, pretend that you didn't. You're ruining this intro, you bastard.
At any rate, folks should respect libraries. That was why the meeting with "First-Degree" took place in one.

*6:00 P.M.*
*A man enters the library. This happened many times today under the stern eyes of the overweight library cop. You know about library cops. They sit at that little desk beside the door, giving everyone the evil eye as if it were an airport and every patron had a dirty bomb under their turban. This time was different. The cop nearly cringed, muscles tensing, cool sweat glazing the back of his neck. There's a funny thing people say about serial killers. "They look just like us". It's true. You might think that a killer may have a special gleam in their eye, or some kind of expression or quirk that sets the wolf apart from the sheep. There is no such thing. But, there is animal instinct. A brightly colored snake hints at danger. Spiders evoke repulsion at a glance. Great fangs and yellow eyes bring out our primal fears, which helped to keep us alive in less civil times. Sometimes you may see or meet someone that itches you the wrong way. The library cop had met a few such folks before, when he had been younger. Not every cop starts out working in a library. Many of them are merely the government equivalents of Wal-Mart greeters, semi-retired folks that can no longer keep up with the serious full-time job they had previously held.

He took a moment to size up the newcomer once more. Nothing wrong with the sleepy smile. The eyes had no murder in them, only a sort of kind tranquility. His bright ginger hair was slicked back, but dry strands fishhooked at the nape of his neck like so many licks of fire. The patron wasn't tall, wasn't muscle-bound. He didn't even seem to have good form. He walked in a slouch, shoulders slightly hunched, right hand sunk in the deep pocket of his black overcoat. Looked kind of like yuppie from New York who might smoke weed now and then, with even the black gloves and gold tie and everything. The hair on the the library cop's forearms stood on end. As he watched this thing lurk past him and into the quiet reading section with the big, comfy chairs, the cop thought of the shows on Animal Planet his granddaughter watched all the time. Could you call the stance of a crouching lion or a coiled snake a lazy slouch? When a lizard eats a bug, does its expression at all change or matter? The cop decided not to dwell for too long on such thoughts. He was too old for this, and was only a tiny pay grade above the frequently mocked position of mall cop. Best not to stir the shit when it's settled.*

Donny stopped in front of the person he had been looking for. He exhaled through his nose with satisfaction. When he spoke, it was like a cross between Forest Gump and Jud Crandall. Wherever he was from, this man sure hadn't been born in the city. His "r"s were "ah"s, and there was no "ing", only "in'".

"Oh, ayuh. Was a dite 'fraid Ah'd miss'd yuh. Bit late an' all, tryin' t'follow them culch d'rections. No sense bein' awl spleeny ovah it naow though. Les' 'ave a talk abaowt business, frahnd."

(TRANSLATED FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE)

"Oh, hey. Was a little afraid that I'd have missed you. I was a bit late and all, trying to follow those bad directions. No sense in mulling over it now though. Let's talk business, friend."

@Doc Doctor

A public library was the last place she expected to find herself, but that is where this particular meeting was arranged to take place. While a dingy, fishy smelling warehouse in the shipping yards could have sufficed, or a dark and desolate alleyway, at least the woman could say this place had a bit more...class, and she was all about class.

She had just arrived not too long ago, dressed in formal pinstripe business attire, a simple yet oh so stylish blazer worn over a white button blouse and a knee length pencil skirt just slit at the side to show off a bit of thigh. Her black stiletto heels clacked across the polished marble floors with each step, an authoritative fervor to her stride. She had on just a tiny hint of French Jadore perfume and her usual shade of rose red lipstick. Her eyes, feral, like those of a daunting lioness, and green as precious emeralds, were concealed in the darkness of her designer shades.

Rebecca Antonia Selie Valentine had arrived.

~"Buongiorno."~ She greeted the hitman in her native tongue, a bit surprised when he replied. Twas as though the man came from another planet to Rebecca. She couldn't even pinpoint the origin of Mr. "First Degree's" accent. Irish? Scottish? Cockney? She was indeed baffled, but at least she understood one word...business.

~"Good. Lets."~ She responded, her ruby red lips curling into quite the smirk.

The sleek silver car twisted its way through the streets of the city. An Audi R8. A fine, beautiful, elegant German model. You'd have to be pretty wealthy to proudly drive around in an R8. And the man at the helm certainly was. Ivan Aleksandrovich Kulya. Arms dealer. Ukranian national. Top of the line weapons provider. If you want it, he could get it. It just so happened that Ivan was driving past the ornate library. It reminded him of the Kiev cityscape, with its old, beautiful buildings. Ivan had no deals to set up at that moment, so he thought it would be nice to ponder over some literature. Despite residing in the US for over fifteen years, he had not fully grasped English as a language. Reading books helped him get a better grip on the language.

Ivan parked his car up behind the library and entered. He was not necessarily a largely sized man, but he created a sense of impact and massiveness. The young female librarian squirmed in her seat and the library cop watched him with a suspicious eye as he asked where the classical novels were kept. He grabbed an intriguing title off the shelf and sat down at a nearby table in the quieter section of the library. It was then he heard quite a distinctive voice. It wasn't that Ivan recognised it, it just sounded.... Odd.

The voice sounded rather brutish and immature. Then he heard a voice that was actually familiar to him. It was the voice of Rebecca Valentine, the Don of the valentine crime family. Ivan had done dealings with her in the past. Nothing major, just a couple of firearms. They were clearly discussing some sort of "business". Those crime families and their dealings, Ivan thought, then went back to his book.

Linda pulled up at the library, her motorcycle producing an incredibly loud rumbling along with the two men who accompanied her the VP and Sgt. at arms of the Bastards of Hell. She brought the two wheeled vehicle to a stop beside the curb pushing the kickstand down as she stepped off the matte black sportster, her heavy black steel toed combat boots kicking up dust as she walked towards the library doors; her accompanying brothers waiting outside with the bikes. Unlike the other two whom walked in, Linda was obviously a criminal openly advertised by the leather sleeveless cut she wore, the back sporting three patches the top rocker indicating the club name Bastards of Hell, the center patch was the club symbol a skull and cross bones crossed with two ak47's; the bottom rocker indicating their city of origin. The front of the cut bearing her president patch along with the Demon of Hell patch showing she had killed for the club. The lower right side bearing a large circular patch as a tribute to those brothers who died, as she walked into the library Linda puffed on a cigarette, tossing the out of shape guard a sharp look as warning; continuing right on past him and the librarian both no one saying a word to the MC president a large foot long sheath knife hanging from her belt. Linda walked over to Rebecca and Ivan's table, coming from behind Ivan as she took the cigarette from her lips; grasping a chair with her free hand dragging it rather audibly over to the unoccupied side of the table. A smug grin covering her face as she sat down in the chair backwards, her elbows balanced on the back of the wooden seat, inhaling deeply she looked between the two opening her mouth to speak with the cigarette still held betwixt her lips.

"So, what're we talkin' about then Rebecca? Annnnd?"

As she drug out the and her hazel eyes drifted over towards Ivan, a lone russian was hardly actually alone and they typically dealt in weapons something The Bastards of Hell prided themselves on having a monopoly over; and news from her little birds told her something might have been happening without her knowledge.

@Vas Khaleen@KaijuBaragon@Doc Doctor

Rebecca tipped her shades slightly at the two, eyes narrowing and brow crinkling in befuddlement. Funny, she didn't recall this being an open meeting, and if she had her Irish Whiskey Rose at her side, she would show these two meddlesome fucks how rude they were to interrupt her private affairs

And while she had no qualms about Ivan, the dapper gentleman he was...her skin started to itch when the Bitch from Hell bolstered through the door so uncouth.

Twas no secret the Bastards of Hell and the Valentine Family were locked in a brutal turf war over Bartlett Square. Blood flowed like the money would when the Mafia obtained that part of the city, expanding their gambling and drug empire, yet these uncivilized, trailer trash meth junkies thought.. and still think they can hold out against the Cosa Nostra, the elite.

It's not as if Rebecca tried to be civil at first, but when her advisor returned from Bartlett Square...cut to ribbons with a chainsaw....that's when the Intocabile made her declaration of war...

...by burning five of Linda's men alive...

~"Ah, Linda, so nice of you to drop by."~ The Mafia Queen's response was sincere yes, but only in tone. There was that underlying venom she held in her gut for the bitch, as it showed in her serpent eyes, eyes that gradually moved from the redneck to the Russian, ~"And Ivan. I assumed you would be trading AKs with the Somalians, but nevertheless, you made time to drop in and see a dear friend. How courteous of you....but that's beside the point."~ A sly insult, she flicked the ashes of her cigarette onto those scuffed and muddy boots of Linda's, a coy smirk of her lips. ~"Your interruption of an important meeting between the Cosa Nostra and Mr. "First Degree" Donny is both unwelcome and an insult...personally to me as I made it clear to Donny boy we would have no such interference during our liason. Now you have two choices. You can either leave peacefully, and we will forget this never happened, or....you can leave in a body bag when my Irish Rose arrives."~

"Ye herd the lass ye cunts."

The thick Irish brogue of the woman was followed by the telltale click of a. 45 hammer thumbing back. At that time, she came swaggering out of the dark unexpected by both Rebecca and those who were present at this little...impromptu get together, a Kimber Warrior 1911 in one hand and a flask of Jameson in the other...the Irish Rose evidently drunken by it.

~"I had hoped you would arrive sooner"~ She hissed under her breath. ~"Rhiannon."~

"Aye. I would've." Replied Rhiannon in slurred speech. "But I wa finishin' op dat job for ye." She stumbled up to the table, wasting no time in flopping down beside the biker, taking another swig of her flask. "Soooo....Ivan the Terrible an Harley Davidson walk into a bar. Wot? No Guinness? An' who's this pretty boy, Ol' Beck?"

Rebecca sighed with a low, audible growl, ~"This, Rhi-Rhi, is "First Degree" Donny, a most trusted and respected hitman in the criminal underworld. I was hoping to acquire his services for the Valentine Family, but then these two happened along our meeting....which I'm beginning to suspect they were informed."~ Her eyes shifted suspiciously from Linda to Ivan. Just how did a weapons dealer and a white trash whore learn the most powerful woman in the city had arranged a meeting with Donny boy?

~"Now then....if you two would be so kindest to leave, I would like to continue discusing my arrangements with Donny boy....alone."~

Linda chuckled with a bemused and condescending smirk on her face as was her nature, far more bold and brash than the more secretive mafia elites, something which led to the club being feared on the streets and holding down a lot of smuggling into the prisons. As she made her ultimatum the woman put her cigarette butt out directly on the wooden table leaving a permanent burn on the table top, dropping the still smoking butt on the floor under the table; clasping her tattooed hands together as she heard the gun hammer click back unflinchingly staying in place making no reach for her own colt 1911 under the right armpit. Looking lazily back towards Rhiannon for a moment before turning back to Rebecca, already knowing her rebuttal opening her mouth to deliver it her eyes darting up and down the woman's body which she had noted was never very bad to look at; that opinion easily seen by her expression.

"You ain't gon shoot me Rhiannon, summer of love might be over but killing the mother charters President? You know better than that darlin. I just wanted you to remember somethin' Becca The Bastards are here; we ain't leaving bar you or the goddamn Russians. You underestimate us, and there's your miscalculation. Well I'd love to stay and play high and tight asshole, but I've got celebrating to do!!"

As she finished speaking Linda stood back up, pulling a joint from behind her left ear a black dew rag holding her slight dread locked brown hair out of her face as she lit the end of the substance. Giving the lot a curt nod, she knew the new mans face and the fact he was an arms dealer as well; thats all she needed the club could vote on the rest and the appropriate actions to take. Puffing the smelly dope in a cloud of thick white smoke as she walked out the front doors, back towards her bike her brothers waiting for her on their own respective Harley's chatting up a couple of less than reputable women; Linda snatched one of them by her rear and jumped on her sportster. The girl clambering onto the back behind Linda, the bikes starting with a loud rumble and speeding off with even louder pops; headed back to the BoH clubhouse.

@Flightless_Soul

Ivan looked up at the crimelord as she attempted to insult him and the biker girl who had walked in seemingly out of nowhere. It seemed as if Rebecca was claiming that he dropped in on the conversation intentionally, which was not the case. Ivan decided to correct the clearly ignorant crime don. The Ukranian spoke in a thick accent.

"You seem to be mistaken about my intentions here, Miss Valentine. I simply entered this library to read some literature and touch up on my English. I did not wish to intrude on your petty mafia dealings. And getting your... Drunken hitwoman to try and intimidate me into leaving was rather unnecessary. If you had asked politely, I would have gladly taken my literature to a different corner of the library. Good day."

Ivan took his books up in his hands and walked over to the other side of the reading area. Those dons and their superiority. Always believing they could control whoever they wanted. Ivan wondered if he should have that irritating Irish hitwoman killed. She was rather irksome. He opened the first page of The Godfather by Mario Puzo. A rather fitting novel for the situation at hand.

@Flightless_Soul@Vas Khaleen@KaijuBaragon

Donny was paying careful attention to the conversation. He was applying for a job here. Somebody his potential employer didn't like was nearby. Somebody that warranted enough of a reaction to make another hired killer prepare their firearm.

But none of that really mattered. What was important was the perfect opening for some business that Linda had provided.

-----
"I just wanted you to remember somethin' Becca The Bastards are here; we ain't leaving bar you or the goddamn Russians."
-----

Whilst Linda was finishing up with her speech, Donny neatly plucked a cigarette from his pocket and poked it into the corner of his mouth. The left hand dipped back down and silently retrieved his lighter.

*Click*

He took a few light puffs, tendrils of smoke coiling from his nostrils.

Then, before Linda stood up, Donny lashed out with his left foot to knock out the nearest rear leg of the chair she was sitting in to make her topple backwards. It happened fast, without warning.
Should Linda fall, then by the time she figured out what had happened, whether it was an accident or not, she'd notice probably the biggest hand gun she had ever seen outside of a movie aiming down at her. The hitman had a strong center of gravity, and his eyes were sharper than coffin nails. If she make any sudden or suspicious moves, if she reached towards anything, he'd probably blow her head clean off.

"Rhi-Rhi won't shoot ya. But ol' Donneh? Ayuh, Ah will. Yuh can bar Miss Rebeccah an' thuh Russians. Jus' yuh don't group Ol' Donneh in with 'em. Naow then...

"Don't call for yuh friends outside. They'll die if yuh do."

The son of a bitch actually intended to take Linda hostage.