"Operation Clean Sweep" (closed)

[MarieDavisRPs]

"Operation Clean Sweep"

(closed)
​

Springfield
Outside The Hurricane Bar & Grill

Close to midnight:

Anya Parker
26 years old
5'6", 128#; 34b-24-34
Slim, fit, with long legs for her height.
Long, fine, gently wavy, brunette hair.

She waited impatiently in the alley outside The Hurricane while two of her six bodyguards took a stroll through the lounge looking for potential dangers. Since she was a little girl, Anya had had at least one armed, MIB-type bodyguard escorting her almost everywhere she went, as if she was the nation's First Daughter. She hadn't understood the security when she was little, of course; it wasn't as if her father had told her on that first day of kindergarten that he was the boss of a powerful crime family, or that he, his wife, and his children were always in danger of being kidnapped or, worse, killed by his equally criminal competitors.

Ironically -- and tragically -- being shot was exactly why Anya was these days traveling with six bodyguards rather than just one or two. Her father, Paul Parker, had been gunned down in the streets three months ago. He'd survived the shooting and the subsequent surgery to remove three bullets from his torso, but his doctors had told Anya that she needed to make her peace with the fact that he would soon be leaving this mortal coil.

Currently, Anya's father was lying in a hospital-style bed in the library of their home, Hilltop, located in the Red River Mountain Range just north of Springfield. He had tubes running into or out of him from both natural orifices and unnatural holes cut into him by the hospital doctors. Anya visited him every morning and night for an hour. She would spend more time with him if it didn't break her heart so tragically to see him like that.

One of the men who'd gone inside appeared at the lounge's backdoor, signaling that it was clear for Anya to enter. She entered, preceded by one bodyguard and followed by another; the other four split into pairs to watch the bar's front and rear entrances until she'd concluded and exited. Anya wasn't here to drink or eat or listen to the live music, which was surprisingly very good considering that The Hurricane, in her opinion, was somewhat of a dive bar.

But hell, what did she know about bars, dives or not? Anya had never been in a bar during her early drinking-age years, only ever patronizing the two clubs in the city owned and controlled by The Family: Pulse had been her non-alcoholic, go-to dance club before she'd turned 21, and Risky Business had replaced it after she'd reached that milestone age. When Anya was at either of them partying with friends, it had seemed as though her father's entire entourage of gun-toting MIBs were scattered about the crowd to ensure that she was safe.

Anya followed the leading bodyguard through a maze of small tables, most of which were occupied by people who were obviously enjoying tonight's band. Eventually, he stopped and casually gestured toward a small, four-patron booth, in which was just one man. Anya nodded to the bodyguard, jerking a thumb at him to indicate a desire for him to make himself less conspicuous. He reluctantly made his way to a nearby pillar at which he could stand and keep an eye on Anya without blocking the anyone's view of the band.

Suddenly realizing that her heart was pounding anxiously, Anya drew a deep breath, released it slowly, screwed up her courage, and stepped up to the booth. She stopped directly in the man's line of sight of the band, smiling down at him for a moment in silence. She wondered whether or not he'd recognize her seeing how they hadn't seen one another in person in over a decade, since just days after her 16th birthday.

At the time of their familiarity with one another, Anya hadn't fully understood his position in The Family or his specific tasks and responsibilities. All Anya had known then was that he'd been very nice to her, he'd been very handsome, and -- once she'd turned 16, which she'd thought was an appropriate age to surrender her virginity -- wanted it to be him who claimed it. That hadn't happened, obviously.

Just as she hadn't understood his duties back then, Anya hadn't known his big secret either: he'd been undercover, an FBI Agent working to take down her father and her Family. She wouldn't learn about his real job until almost a year later when one of the Family's Lieutenants was speaking about him and the damage he'd done to her father, not knowing that Anya was within ear shot.

Anya had been crushed by the news, not because he'd been an FBI Agent or that he'd been here to destroy her father's criminal enterprise, but because she suddenly realized that if he had come back into her life at some time, she'd never get the chance to lie naked with him and become a woman.

Their eyes met as Anya smiled down to him, pointing to the seat across the booth from him and asking, "May I?"

 

[JackHemingway]

Name: Daniel “Danny” Reyes
Age: 31
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 198 lbs
Build: Lean athletic; broad shoulders, long reach, built for endurance rather than bulk
Hair: Dark black, worn short and slightly unkempt when undercover
Eyes: Brown, steady, and observant

Daniel “Danny” Reyes, a dark-haired FBI undercover agent in his mid-thirties with a calm, unreadable gaze that makes people underestimate him—a mistake that’s usually their last. On assignment, he disappears easily into the background: dockworker, nightclub fixer, low-level courier, whatever the role demands. Off duty, though, Danny favors loud Hawaiian shirts, faded jeans, and scuffed boots—part disguise, part rebellion. The shirts help him look harmless and lost, which suited him just fine. He'd spent years pretending to be someone else. You can change clothes, looks, names, and cities, but they can't change you. Danny grew up in a blue-collar working-class neighborhood where his immigrant father owned a liquor store, which was the hub of the community, and his mother, of Dutch background, was a dedicated librarian. Their loving union produced a boy who liked to read constantly but wouldn't back down in a fight and who learned the value of hard work. The FBI application was just one of those things you filled out when you didn't know what to do after college, and at the time, the bureau was trying to hire more people with diverse experience and backgrounds. After all, most Ivy League lawyers and academics didn't know how to fit in at a neighborhood bar or deal with street-level criminals. Through his work, he'd gotten to deal with the worst of the worst.

Sometimes it was hard to decide who was worse, the bikers who moved crystal meth, the terrorists who plotted to blow up planes, or maybe it was two years south of the border, dealing with human trafficking rings. Then there was a different kind of difficult situation, like with the Parker family and their ilk. They were criminals, no way around that, and what’s more, they knew it, but it was how they did business and felt they were their own government, and they didn’t need anyone else’s rules holding up business as usual. The investigation wasn’t that successful against them. It netted a lot of low-level people and probably cost them millions, not thinking the family couldn’t survive. No, what bothered him was that the Parkers, particularly Anya Parker, a beautiful, intelligent mob princess. She had the whole world laid out for her, but she still put in the work and knew something about the world, even though she grew up in privilege. She might have walked out to the pool wearing six-hundred-dollar heels, but she knew other people struggled. Her Dad was a leader and protector among those people who did what he had to do.

When you spend years in the field without a break of any kind, much less a real vacation, you accumulate plenty of paid time off, but when procedure says you’re not supposed to spend that time among evil people and should have long rests after operations, you don’t get any. The powers that be have to come up with a solution. The solution this time around was pay him and just have him check in weekly in a city where he’d be reasonably safe. They’d wanted him to take his time in some middle-of-nowhere burg, but he was back now and enjoyed some familiar sights, food, and good times. He was surprised, though, when someone from communications called Anya Parker and asked if he wanted them to forward the call. He took the call, and now he was back at the Hurricane, a place he practically lived in some years back. He’d arrived early and done his own check, and soon the hired killers who worked as the family’s bodyguards had arrived. He’d had dinner and a few drinks by then, but eventually she’d arrived, and she had grown up and was beautiful.
Their eyes met as Anya smiled down to him, pointing to the seat across the booth from him and asking, "May I?"

Danny just cracked a smile and gestured to the empty seat. He had a few beers by him, and he slid over a bottle of Tidebreak Lager and a pack of Caldera Reds, and before taking another sip of his beer, he inquired, “You still drink and smoke like a normal person? I assume not behind the garage anymore.”

Before she could respond, he realized he was being insensitive, so he reached out and squeezed her. “I was sorry to hear about your Dad. How is he doing, and why did you call me? I always figured you hated me after everything.”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

It had been ten years since Anya had seen Daniel Reyes; back then, he'd dressed differently, to fit in with his Family duties, and he'd worn his hair a bit differently. And yet she still saw in his face the man she'd so been in lust with once she'd gotten to know him ... which, of course, she actually hadn't, not really.

Danny smiled up to Anya, gesturing to the seat opposite him. He slid over a bottle of Tidebreak Lager and a pack of Caldera Reds across the table her way, asking, “You still drink and smoke like a normal person? I assume not behind the garage anymore.”

She laughed aloud, reminding him, "You kept my secret after you caught me that day." She took the bottle and, before taking a big swig, said, "Thank you for that."

A waitress stopped, and Anya ordered two more beers and a big basket of fries. She pointed to the bodyguard standing a few yards away, saying, "He's holding my cash. Make sure to tell him I said you were to be tipped well. Pick a number you like."

The waitress thanked her and departed, after which Danny reached out to take and squeeze her hand as he said, “I was sorry to hear about your Dad. How is he doing, and why did you call me? I always figured you hated me after everything.”

"I did," she said without hesitation. Then, smirking devilishly, she said, "I still do. You lied to me. You lied to all of us." She hesitated, then continued, "But I forgive you, Daniel."

Anya had always called him Daniel, thinking it sounded so much more mature and manly, just what she'd wanted him to be if ever he took her clothes off of her and made her a woman.

"You were doing your job, and I understand that," she told him with a sincere tone. She shrugged, adding, "You did some damage to my Family. We lost some people ... lost some money ... lost some respect in the Community." She was talking about the criminal community, of course. "But like I said, you were doing your job, and I respect that."

The waitress arrived with the beers and fries, and when Anya noticed two twenty-dollar bills sitting under one of the bottles, she asked the woman if that was all her bodyguard gave her for a tip. She answered, "Well, that's meant to cover the beers and fries. Doesn't leave much for a--"

Anya rose from her seat as much as she could squeezed in the booth as she was and hollered at the bodyguard, "Hey! You cheap fuck! It ain't like it's your money!" She sat again, looked to the rather shocked waitress, smiled, and suggested, "Try again. I think you'll be happy."

The waitress laughed and departed. Anya didn't bother checking the bodyguard; she knew he'd do the right thing. She instead turned her attention back to Danny, smiled to him as well, and said bluntly, "My father's going to die soon. It's sad, and I'll miss him terribly. He's all I've had since my mother and brother died four years ago."

Marilyn and Paul Parker, Jr -- Pauly to everyone except his father -- had been killed in an automobile crash that had been suspicious in nature at the time and only became more so as the Family's attorneys and investigators looked deeper into it. Unfortunately, the suspicious evidence had never pointed to any one particular perpetrator, and -- not wanting to start a war with one of the other Families -- Paul Parker, Sr, had reluctantly accepted the results from the Springfield Police and Medical Examiner.

"I'm going to be taking control of the Family," Anya continued onward with a determined tone; she'd been planning this monologue for several days now and knew just what she wanted to tell Danny. "Once I do, I have a plan to take the Family legit. Or, at least, mostly so. Drug distribution will be shuttered entirely. The protection rackets will be restructured. No more violence, no more pressure, no more broken fingers or firebombs through windows when the client doesn't pay. It'll operate in the same way that legal insurance does, only better. When you have a claim to file, we'll actually pay you, not drag your claim on for months or years like State Farm or Progressive or Mutual of Oma-fuckin'-ha.

"I'm closing the brothels, restructuring them as well," Anya continued. "The girls who want out will get help ... to go home to their families, to go to school, to get a job that doesn't involve sucking stranger's cocks. The ones who want to stay will work as escorts, making far more than they are now ... with health insurance, regular doctors' visits ... continued and enhanced protection from my Boys."

She paused as the waitress passed by again, flashing a fist full of twenties at Anya, who gave her a thumbs up before turning back to Danny. "But I need your help, Daniel. The void that I leave must not be filled in by the other Families. I'm not quitting these businesses simply to allow the others to take them over. I want them to cease to exist. And for that ... I need your help ... the help of a Federal Agent--"

Anya leaned in a bit closer, smirked knowingly, and finished, "--who I think owes me."

 

[JackHemingway]

That was always the Anya he remembered; even when she was younger, she never thought negatively about those who were supposed to be beneath her. She helped the maids and even learned Spanish, saying she could lose it all one day and still want to know how to cook and clean for her husband. Clean the pool or service the cars, she’d ask to learn how, and called people by their first names and knew about their kids and their needs. While people may have thought it was a scam to make her family look good, every women’s shelter, animal rescue, and local house of worship got donations, so people were fed and felt that they mattered. Daniel was sure she got some of that from her mother, a gorgeous older woman he’d never use any crude terms to describe, even if she looked like an older pornstar. You came over, you ate, and felt like you mattered. That was part of the problem.

When you work undercover, you give yourself a reality check. Sure, you party with people, talk about personal issues, and win over their trust only to send them to prison, but that was the job. You're just trying to infiltrate and make a case for the government, and as nice as they might seem, they were killers and drug dealers who did awful things. Were the Parkers any different? Well, they weren’t some brutal, blood thirsty assholes who poisoned children and killed innocent people. They did business in a very dark world, and they probably killed more dangerous people than the long arm of the law. He listened to Anya and looked into her eyes a few times. She seemed sincere, not masked by sunglasses or bold lies.

Did he owe her? Well, it wasn’t simple. When you’re undercover, there are people who always have suspicions, but in time, they call you a friend, and any doubts they’ll put aside. He was so well-liked by one Colombian family of cocaine traffickers that when they saw pictures of him dressed as an FBI agent, they angrily thought the agency was trying to make him look bad. Danny had gotten in good with the Parks and their crews, so nobody questioned his movements, and when questions were asked, they were answered without deception; after all, he was one of them. All accept a certain young lady, whom many consider a mindless tease and the boss’s daughter. Well, she might have been the boss’s daughter and a sexy young thing, but she was far from stupid. He was sure she liked him a lot, but she also made it clear she knew he had secrets. She didn’t nail down what exactly, and she wasn’t about to order Dad’s thugs to work him over until he confessed, but she was on top of things.

When everything exploded, Anya took the high moral road for a gangster and said he was just doing his job. If he’d pressed things like remaining in their city, things would have happened that would be unpleasant, so he took off, and when he heard her name mentioned in the office or in the media, it always made him smile. She’d tried a few independent ventures and had some small “c” celebrity relationships, but when you’re a kingpin's daughter, society will only let you go so far.
“I owe you, and that’s why I’m taking your meeting, but I made sure it was in a public place. Also, I heard a similar speech from your father over a decade ago. He bought into a car company, and there was the football franchise, and I know you guys aren’t involved with any of that now. Speaking of which, the last time I heard you were engaged or married or something? I know the scandal rags had a picture of you on a topless beach somewhere with your friends. The official answer is the agency isn’t interested in you changing over to more lawful pursuits unless you come in, confess everything, and start over in witness protection after a lot of arrests and trials.”

He paused for a drink of beer, and before she could respond, he continued, “But I know that isn’t the case for many reasons. Never mind, I don’t think you’re ready to move on from the family home. I will help you where I can, though, if and I do mean if this is sincere. Because you can talk all you want about reforming the family, but plenty of your people make piles of cash they never would working an honest job.”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Anya could see in Daniel's eyes that he was remembering the little girl she'd been back when he worked for her father. She'd been a hellion at times, but -- as he was reminiscing -- she'd also been helpful and both sympathetic and empathetic to others. She'd gotten most of that from her mother, as one might expect. But despite his chosen career, he, too, could be a very benevolent person; some of what he'd done for others had been for good Press, but most of it had been because he really cared for the community.

If Anya had known what Daniel was recalling about her mother -- that she looked like, in his memory, an older pornstar -- she would have laughed. Gabriel Hernandez Parker had actually been a stripper when Anya's father met her. It had been her first night on the stage, her first dance actually, when Paul feel immediately in lust. He invited her to his table by flashing a hundred dollar bill at her, something she'd thought meant lap dance but turned out to be just conversation.

That very night, Paul had taken her out of the life that she'd only just answered. He'd promised Gabby an apartment, a car, and a generous allowance if she'd be his and his alone, an offer she'd taken without knowing anything about him. Surprisingly, they'd come to love and respect each other more deeply than most couples ever did. Anya had wonderful memories of her parents together, and -- if she'd known that Daniel was contemplating Gabby -- she'd believe that he had good memories of the times that he'd seen the two of them together, too.

“I owe you, and that’s why I’m taking your meeting," he told her, "But I made sure it was in a public place."

"I assure you, Daniel," Anya said with a smile, "You are in no danger from me or anyone from the Family."

"Also, I heard a similar speech from your father over a decade ago," he continued, speaking of Paul Parker's ventures into legitimate ventures in the day. He suddenly changed directions, saying, "Speaking of which, the last time I heard you were engaged or married or something?"

Again, Anya laughed, only louder and longer this time. "Yeah, that didn't go anywhere. He, um ... did me wrong, would be a good way to describe how we ended up going our separate ways."

"I know the scandal rags had a picture of you on a topless beach somewhere with your friends," Daniel reminded her.

Anya felt her face erupt in a fiery blush, making her glad they were in a darkened bar; he could probably still see the blush if he looked hard enough, though. She commented on his recollection, "Yeah, the wannabe novelist. He took it, the pictures, believe it or not ... then gave them to those scandal rags you mentioned."

She smiled wide, sipping at her beer before continuing, "My dad handled that situation personally. I won't go into details, other than to say that the Ex has to dictate his fiction into a recorder and have someone else transcribe them these days." She held her hands up before her with her fingers distorted as if the hands of an ancient Disney movie wicked witch. She smiled, clarifying, "He doesn't type so good anymore."

The waitress stopped by again, and Anya ordered two more beers and asked Daniel if he wanted anything more. When they were alone again, she asked him more seriously, "So, waddaya think...? Are you interested in helping me out?"

"The official answer is the agency isn’t interested in you changing over to more lawful pursuits unless you come in," he responded, continuing, "confess everything, and start over in witness protection after a lot of arrests and trials.”

Anya only stared into Daniel's eyes as he paused to drink his beer. She was about to tell him That isn't going to happen when he filled in just what she was thinking, “But I know that isn’t the case for many reasons."

He continued explaining his thoughts about her and her life before saying, "I will help you where I can, though, if and I do mean if this is sincere."

As Daniel talked about her reforming the family and getting rich off ill-gotten gains, Anya was leaning to one side to better get into the front pocket of her tight-fitting jeans a folded piece of paper. When he finished, she slid it across to him, tapping a fingertip upon it.

"Place and time of a major drug delivery ... Columbian coke and Bolivian marijuana ... two million dollars-worth once it hits the streets." Anya paused, smiled again, then said, "I know what you're thinking, Daniel. One of our competitors ... so, this doesn't cost The Family anything. But ... you'd be wrong if that was what you're thinking, and the proof is that you will find Robert Reed and Will Fat Lip Green there, picking the dope up."

She saw the reaction in Daniel; he would remember both of these men as he'd worked closely with them when he'd been undercover in The Family. They were two of the made men that had escaped the net that had taken down dozens of her father's men a decade earlier.

Anya could have sat there and discussed this further, but the bodyguard standing at the nearby pillar had stepped out of the shadows into a more illuminated space and made a gesture to her that meant they needed to leave, now. She stood, stepped closer to Daniel's side of the booth, leaned down, took his cheeks in her hands, and pressed her mouth to his in a long, soft, but erotic kiss.

Pulling back and standing tall again, she smirked devilishly and confessed, "I've been wanting to do that for a long ... long time."

And with that, she was gone into the music-filled, dark bar, heading for her car and, ultimately, her home on the hill.

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny listened to Anya and picked up a few more details along the way, smiling when appropriate. He was sure whoever the guy was who released her pictures regretted it. Paul, confronted by his daughter, upset and yelling, “Daddy, do something,” was a recipe for disaster for anyone in the way. That wasn’t the only takeaway, though. She’d grown up, and Anya was serious. If she wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful, he was good with it for now. Anya was putting herself out there, and a princess, well, now queen, didn’t do that unless she wanted to do it. She had power, and she was making the offer to give some of it up to move forward. In the meantime, he took a few of her fries.

Yes, Danny remembered a younger Anya running around in only a t-shirt, panties, and flip-flops, grabbing fries and burgers from the guards guarding her father’s house while it was on lockdown. Danny could remember that time, glancing back, watching her dip his fries in his chocolate shake, and watching Anya talk about school while he stood looking out a window with an automatic weapon, wondering what was in the night. A lesser person would think Anya was oblivious to what was going on, but she refused to let it rattle her, even if it meant sleeping with a teddy bear and a firearm. For a second, he wondered if she still had Mr. Bear, but there were more important things to handle. She’d given him a note and was heading out.

Before she did, though, and not to tip off her bodyguard as she gave him a kiss, he slid his business card into the pocket of her jeans. On the front is the standard FBI business card, but on the back is a phone number for an encrypted cell phone and an email address that looked like something out of the dark web. He’d check on her lead and treat it as something active, but either way, he wanted her to be in touch again, without anyone listening to their conversation or knowing where she was. Anya was smart; her only issue was getting bored with something and moving on. She could have been successful at a dozen different things and largely was before she walked away, and that was after college, where she seemed to study everything yet still not have a degree, but professors who remembered the very bright girl in a halter top who brought cookies when she came to lectures.

Danny paid a little extra, even though it wasn’t necessary, and after a few more songs, left the Hurricane and drove away in his metallic Chevrolet Corvette C4. He rocked out to the highway and did a bunch of procedures from the manual, and a few that weren’t, to lose whoever might be following him before making it to his neighborhood and parking in the secure garage of the old converted coffee factory that now housed loft apartments among many other interesting lodging options. He’d made some shady financial arrangements, and with a growing stock fund, he’d been able to live beyond his means. When he was away on undercover, the place was easily rented out to peers in various agencies because the old industrial strip butted right up against the government quarter, where more than a dozen federal agencies had offices in Springfield. Rather than a city police precinct, it was a uniformed federal police substation because so many officers were needed.

When he unlocked the heavy-duty security door to his loft, he was greeted by the sounds and barks of his trusty guard dog, Briggs. The older dog, complete with scars and a leather eyepatch, was a rescue from a dog-fighting ring. Danny had the dog for only a year, but the creature was so loving and protective that he seemed to know what his owner did for him and loved him for it. He kneeled down, petted and stroked his dog, and smiled. “So Jody texted me you like the new chicken and gravy combo, and she said you were very sweet at the dog park.”

After some good-natured playtime, Danny made sure the apartment was secure and activated the security system, though he was pretty sure Briggs was enough security. He went to his bedroom, turned on the computer terminal, put his weapon in a lockbox, which was just a formality since there were plenty of weapons around, and undressed. He fed the data into the computer so whoever was on duty tonight on the intelligence section would start working on what he had gotten from Anya. For now, he had to play this by the book, and she was a possible informant, nothing more. Plenty came with a story and wanted out of the life, but that wasn’t the case here; he could say that to his people. He lay on his California king and waited for Briggs to make his regular plea to sleep in the bed, even though he had a wonderful dog bed at the head of his. Okay, Anya, we’ll see where this goes.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Warehouse district, by the docks
Midnight, two nights later:

Robert "Stubs" Reed and Will "Fat Lip" Green stepped out the back doors of the two black SUVs and scanned the interior of the otherwise abandoned warehouse. Their suppliers weren't expected for thirty minutes, but they liked to get to the exchanges early to scope things out. Right now, if they were to be set upon by the local PC or the DEA, there was nothing that could be done about them; each of the men carrying a firearm had a concealed carry permit, courtesy of the government folks on the payroll; and $900,000 in two briefcases -- one each per vehicle -- was clean money that would bring up lots of questions but wasn't illegal at all, so ... fuck off, cops.

Stubs -- who'd gotten his name for losing a digit of each pinky finger after making mistakes -- gestured two men from his vehicle to take a walk around the building, looking for uninvited guests. Fat Lip -- who'd gotten his nickname as a tween due to his father punching him in the mouth every time he came home drunk and found his wife out on the town with friends, including other men -- sent two of his men on a tour of the warehouse's interior.

All four men returned fifteen minutes later to report that all seemed clear. Ironically, the suppliers arrived just a couple of minutes after that, early and eager to trade their cocaine, marijuana, and fentanyl for the cash.

Between the two sides of the deal, there were 18 men in all, some of them carrying semiautomatic pistols, but most of them packing automatic machine guns or shotguns.

 

[JackHemingway]

One of the constant problems Danny encountered as an undercover operative was that, no matter how hard you tried to keep things secret, someone always talked. It was seldom a corrupt agent or a mole within law enforcement, but often someone who spoke out of turn, shared a secret with a lover, or was simply careless. Every office had staff that didn’t take their job seriously, and when you shared information with a local agency, more people knew about it, so there was an even greater chance of something going wrong. So over time, he kept information isolated to a handful of people, and if the court system needed to be involved, you had to be very selective of who was involved, and you didn’t give them much time to blab about the whole thing. Those in organized crime had plenty of sources for information. People talked to escorts, people owed money, and, while rare, bribes did happen.

It was one of the reasons Danny had to move so often. Once you made a bust, even when they made every effort to keep your identity a secret, it had to come out in court, and once that happened, the criminal world knew who you were. He was sure when he arrived back in Springfield, a phone rang at some mob-controlled bar or somebody’s burner phone. Danny was sure people saw him meet with Anya, but they probably didn’t know why. She seemed to leave enough time, but not too much, before the deal was going down, and it didn’t give Danny long to check things out, but the street was talking about something, and that was enough time for him to convince the right people and put the resources in place.

One of the keys to the operation was the federal police force, but he didn’t use the local units; he used the "flying squad," which was designed for fast response. So nothing would leak, he had them call while they were in the air, flying to a training facility. They quickly rearmed and prepared during the flight, and vehicles met them at the airport, and they went straight to the location Anya had given him. So Danny found a building overlooking the scene and, with binoculars, a laptop, and a sniper rifle, watched the raid unfold in real time. He’d been ready to call the whole thing off, but he recononized the players and a few minor ones as well. They were there to make a deal, and soon it was confirmed.

Doors were kicked open, glass was broken, and soon all the parties were surrounded. It was followed by a few intense moments, but soon weapons went down, and those who thought they could run tried. The only thing that happened, though, was that everyone got arrested and all the evidence was booked. The few moments of intense excitement soon gave way to a mountain of paperwork, processing the suspects, dealing with lawyers' interrogations, and booking such a large amount of evidence; more staff had to be called in to help handle it all. There was a press release with the usual press conference with a group offficers on both sides of the FBI’s office, talking about the bust in front of a table with all the guns, money, and drugs laid out to see. After all that, it was late, but his superiors made it clear to Danny that they were happy but wanted to see more, so he had to talk to his informant. All Danny could do at that point, though, was go home, put on a pot of tea, play with his dog, and read a book while he glanced at his phone and computer terminal.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Hill House
North of Springfield
The next morning:

(OOC: Keep in mind that she doesn't always dress like this. It's the image I chose for her, though.)

Anya paced slowly down one side of the long conference table in silence while sitting at it, 14 men and 4 women -- her father's Lieutenants -- argued about who was responsible for the bust the previous night that had cost them $900,000 in cash, $3 million dollars in cocaine, fentanyl, and marijuana, and 8 men, all seized/arrested by a Federal Task Force of which none of them knew.

"Who the fuck were these guys?" one Lieutenant asked. "Why don't we own them?"

"They aren't locals," someone answered. "We got no fucking idea who they are. No one does."

Anya reached the end of the table, circled it, trekked down the other side, and finally ended up at the head of the table where her father normally sat. An argument started about what was to be done about the arrested men; should they be left be, bailed out, or eliminated by the Family's resources inside the Courts, the Sheriff's Department Jail, or -- assuming they were convicted -- in the State prison to which they'd be transferred.

"No blood," Anya finally spoke up; they were the first words she'd said since greeting each of the Lieutenants and saying We suffered a loss last night. "There will be no eliminations." Some of those at the table argued that that Family couldn't risk the detained men talking to get deals, but Anya stressed, "No ... blood." She looked to the faces of those who'd argued for the killings, then continued, "These are our people. If anyone is going to be eliminated, it's going to be the fucker or fuckers who leaked the time and place of the deal."

Immediately, the room erupted again in accusations and denials of responsibility. But one of Paul Parker's most senior Lieutenants, Rudy King, waved them all to silence, looked harshly to Anya, and asked, "I don't mean to sound disrespectful to you, Anya ... but ... are you under the impression that it is your responsibility or right to decide what we do about these men?"

Anya stared at him a long moment before asking, "What are you asking, Rudy?" He didn't immediately answer, so Anya inquired, "Are you asking if I believe I am in charge during my father's absence?"

He hesitated as well, then began, "Well ... since you bring it up--"

"No, you brought it up, Rudy," Anya cut in. "Am I under the impression that I am responsibility for what happens to these men? Isn't that what you asked."

The tension around the table had been high during the previous argument, but now you could cut it with a knife. Anya asked, "Who do you think should be responsible for what happens to them ... or for that matter ... what happens to anyone who works for the Family ... anyone sitting at this table right now ... any of you?"

Rudy looked about himself for support, and while he seemed to get a few soft nods of support, most of those at the table didn't react in any way other than to maybe look away from him. He looked to Anya again, saying, "I have been with your Paul Parker longer than any other man or woman at this table. In your father's absence ... I believe that it should be me who sits at the head of the table."

Anya studied the man a moment, then looked down one side of the table and up the other, making eye contact with each and every Lieutenant. Then, she took a step to the side, pulled her father's chair out, and gestured the man to it. "You're right, Rudy. You have served my father longer than anyone else at this table. Please ... take your seat."

Rudy hesitated, looking around the table yet again. He got a couple of obvious nods and a couple of tentative ones; he also got a couple of harsh looks from people who thought he was making a mistake. But then he stood, paused, straightened his suit jacket, and turned to slowly walk to the offered seat.

"You're a good man," Anya told him when he reached her, offering her hand.

Rudy looked to it, smiled, took it, then looked her in the eyes and said, "Thank you, Anya."

She nodded to him, gestured him to the chair, and waited. Rudy looked out upon the men and women who were to be his Lieutenants now and sat. No sooner had his ass found wood then Anya let the ice pick up her sleeve slip down into her fingers, then stabbed it deep into his temple, sinking it all the way to the wooden hilt.

There was instant shock around the table, with gasps, cries, and even a scream from one of the women. Rudy's eyes had widened in a combination of shock and pain, but other than that he showed no reaction until he fell forward, his forehead smacking hard onto the hardwood.

"You may be my father's longest serving Lieutenant, Rudy," she said, reaching out a hand to smooth down his toupee, "but I ... am his daughter ... and heir."

Anya looked out at the table's occupants; they were becoming calmer with each passing second, but there were still expressions of shock and even fear. Anya looked to the assemblage and explained, "Last year, my father hired an out-of-state accounting firm to perform an audit of the Family's operations ... every operation ... going back a full decade. He discovered that our loyal friend here, Rudy, had been embezzling money for more than a decade."

She turned and began another slow walk around the table, continuing, "He planned on confronting Rudy about this, only ... he was shot down in the streets like a dog. People who are more loyal to me, my father, and the Family than Rudy here was located the shooter ... and questioned him ... to death. He claimed that Rudy hired him ... and further investigation proved that this information was in fact accurate--" Anya gestured back to the dead man, adding, "Thus...

"Rudy wasn't alone in these crimes against the Family, though," Anya continued. "I have the names of half a dozen of you who have also betrayed in one way or another ... the Family ... my father ... and now me, seeing as I am now going to be sitting at the head of the table."

Anya looked between the faces of the Lieutenants who she thought would dislike this idea the most, wondering whether their poker faces were any good or not. "I could simply have you all killed here and now, just as I did Rudy. However ... I am instead going to give you a choice: you can fess up now and make things right ... return the money you've stolen ... beg forgiveness for your betrayals ... and I will give you 24 hours to pack up your families ... and go wherever you wish ... so long as it's at least 10,000 miles from me."

Anya looked to some of the faces, "You will not be punished ... if you do the right thing. If you don't do the right thing ... well..." Standing near Rudy once again, she reached out to pat him on the bloodless portion of his toupee. Looking to the table's occupants and smiling politely, she asked, "Who's first?"

For a long thirty or forty seconds, the Lieutenants simply looked around at each other, wondering who would be the first to confess and test Anya on her vow to let them live. Finally, though, Anya said, "Well ... okay ... so be it. Charlie!"

Quickly and quietly, eight men with silenced pistols -- led by Anya's bodyguard, Charlie Young -- emerged from the hallways beyond the room's four open doors. Less than four seconds later, the ten -- not just a half dozen as Anya had said -- were dead from bullets in the backs of the heads. There was a measure of panic amongst the others, but most of the Lieutenants remained in their seats, afraid that flight might be seen as guilt.

"Thank you, Charlie," Anya said to one of the gunmen. He nodded confirmation, gestured his fellow executioners to depart, and then took up station near his boss. Anya retrieved a large briefcase from a table in the corner, brought it to the table, and spilled it out before her; hundreds of bundles of hundred-dollar bills -- $10,000 per bundle -- spilled out across the nearest half of the table. "I want each of you to take five bundles each, please."

No one reached for the cash, but Anya repeated, "Now! Five bundles each ... fifty grand ... do it." Hesitantly, some of the closest men took money and/or pushed bundles down the table. Anya repeated her request again, telling them, "It's okay. Take it." Some of the money became bloody when the red stuff of three of the dead men and one woman spread to it. Anya playfully said, "Sorry about that, but ... it'll wash out, so..."

Once each of them had five bundles of cash, Anya said, "I want each of you to leave here ... go home ... decide whether you can serve this Family with me at the head of the table ... and if you decide that you can't ... don't come back." She waggled an extended finger at the remains of the pile of cash, saying, "Consider this ... severance pay."

She looked them all over one last time, then turned and left the room.


Three days later:

The day before, using the encrypted phone that he'd gotten to her, Anya sent the Daniel a text: Remember that place where I punch that kid in the nose for touching my tit, and then when his father got pissy, you broke his nose, too? Noon tomorrow. I'll bring a picnic basket.

Just before noon, Charlie pulled the blacked-out SUV into Springfield Memorial Park, finding a parking space near the old, abandoned Alice in Wonderland fountain that had once been Anya's favorite place to play frisbee. She crossed to a patch of shade under a huge oak, laid out the blanket, opened the basket, and waited.