xp_logs | Operation: Black Hand

Gabe and Felicia pick up Margaret meeting with another member of the Maggia.

New York midweek, mid day in the summer. Full of tourists, business people, power lunchers and the usual chaotic mix of humanity that made their streets unique. Today, only one person mattered; a tall, severe-looking woman with a perpetual scowl and immaculately tailored outfit walking up 3rd Street.

"You know who it is?," Gabriel murmured from behind his phone, which he was using to snap a photo of a yarn store's surprisingly risqué window display. His eyes were not on his screen but were instead trailing their mark. "It's Miranda Priestly. She's giving Miranda Priestly." He blindly pinched his screen to zoom in. "But, like, not as a fashionista, exactly? If she had a mid-life crisis and became a principal."

Down and on the opposite side of the street, Felicia idly rummaged through her purse, already balancing an iced coffee and shopping bag, the eternal quest for a phone that was in fact going to be in her back pocket. "Right? And made the tight, slicked back bun her entire personality," she replied, stepping slightly to the side with an apologetic smile, and out of the direct walking path. "At least we know she won't be walking too much further in those shoes."

Gabriel made a vague noise of assent as he started to follow Margaret Rushman down the street. "Mmm," he said, shifting the communicator they'd disguised as an earbud. "Kind of surprised she's related to Sarah. Not that she's rough around the edges or anything but—" His eyes locked onto those of whose light sheen of perspiration and workout clothes betrayed he'd just been to the gym. The two made eye contact for a moment, before Gabriel looked down at the iced coffee in the man's hand. "Interesting," he murmured, smirking as he kept walking.

"Siri, remind me to come back here and fire up Grindr," he said. "Looks like she's crossing to your side of the street."

Making a soft, irritated noise, Felicia started pulling things out of her purse, balancing the items between her different fingers like the woman who had been denied functioning pockets most of her life that she was. It was when Rushman passed, heard more than seen, the strike of stilettos, that Felicia finally dumped everything back into her bag and did the triple body check for her phone - bust, front hips, ass - "finding" it in the back pocket of her jeans.

"You can say it," Felicia said, shifting her things around one last time, before blindly starting off down the street after her, typing a message on her new found life line. "They both look mean, but only one of them looks like they have a leather motorcycle jacket collection."

“I dunno,” Gabriel said, shrugging even though she couldn’t really see him. “This one might have a — dominatrix thing going on. Seems severe enough. Hold on.” He watched Margaret stop to check her phone, then purse her lips and scan the street for something. “She’s near where she — yup.”

The woman began walking again, then slipped into a nearby Italian restaurant that Gabriel knew as a fairly trendy place popular among rich tech workers and the neighborhood ladies who lunch. “You see her? That’s a glass of white, chicken Caesar salad to start with light dressing, a plate of pasta that barely gets touched kind of lunch.” He paused for a beat. “Think this one’s all you.”

"Damn my self typecasting. Yeah, I got it," Felicia said, still idly texting as she opened the restaurant door. She didn't bother popping up her sunglasses, but did throw her phone into her bag carelessly, giving the hostess a smile. "Hiiii I just wanted to check on a reservation my fiance, well, hopefully future fiance if you know what I mean, made for Friday, I was hoping we could get a spot by the window? But I'm actually having a bit of a bathroom emergency, can I just slip to the- amazing, thank you, be right back."

Over the earpiece there was the rattling of glasses on a tray, a sweet laugh, some murmured confusion as a door opened and something that sounded like steam filled Gabe's ears, cut only by Felicia quickly repeating apologies, another heavy sound and then finally silence. There were a couple beats, and Felicia slowly exhaled.

"Well, according to the reflection in the bar mirrors, Margaret Rushman has teamed up with the Nefaria family."

Gabriel was silent for a second. “Well, fuck.” Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he darted between passing cars to cross the street in a flash, then stood outside the restaurant peering through its windows to try to catch a glimpse.

“You sure?” he added somewhat lamely. “It’s too dark - I can’t see inside.”

"Very sure. Very, very sure. Even with her medical mask getup, Whitney sort of stands out," Felicia said, walking down the back alley as her thoughts jumbled, hand twisting in the strap of her bag. "Or maybe they're on a very poorly located secret date?"

Gabriel sighed. "Well." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, idly fiddling with the box before deciding not to light up after all. "That's bad," he said simply. "I mean, seems bad?" He tried to read Felicia's expression; there was something there he wasn't used to seeing, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.

“I’m leaning bad,” Felicia agreed, giving him a twist of her mouth, almost as if she was trying not to laugh, as they stood together. She dipped her head towards the subway. “I’ll head back and report. You have time for dinner or drinks tonight?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I can be free.” He hesitated, wanting to ask something but not entirely sure what. “I think I’ll stick around,” he added, nodding toward a coffee shop across the street where he fully intended to boot up location-based apps made for finding men you locked eyes with on the street. “See if they leave together or whatever. But I’ll catch you back at the office.”

She gave him a wink, walking backwards as she spoke. “Thanks. I won’t be crushed if you need to push it to later in the week."