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Chapter Text

1996, Philadelphia

Tony hid a grimace at the sight of the garish circus poster at the front of the park. 

He had never been to a circus before.  Senior wasn’t the type of father to think of fun activities for parent-child bonding, and what little they had done were usually rooted in a business deal his father was pursuing (civil war re-enactments, vacations to Hawaii, skiing…Tony shivered at the memories).  His mother had enjoyed time with Tony, but she preferred cinema to live action and had shared that love with her son.

Tony shook off the thought.  Officer Anthony DiNozzo of the Philadelphia Police Department might never have gone to the circus due to his parents’ lack of interest, but Antonio Bianchi was a different man.

Still, Bianchi, who had grown up in a series of foster homes back in Baltimore according to the backstory, probably hadn’t had too many trips to the circus either.  Maybe he’d sneaked out, played hooky; pitted himself against the rigged carnie games.  That seemed likely.

Of course, Tony wasn’t really at the circus to enjoy the performances; he was escorting Michael Macaluso and the rest of the family.  Mike had a property and security business which was a front for organised crime.  Not that there was a great deal of evidence that could be pinned on Mike: he was very good and hence the need for an undercover operation to take him down.

Tony had been recruited from Peoria after his stint undercover with a gang there had ended successfully with an entire drug ring getting dismantled.  Of course, staying with Peoria afterwards hadn’t really been an option.  The remnants of the gang had put a kill order on him and unfortunately his colleagues had turned out to be jealous assholes who felt it was okay to leave Tony without back-up.   

He’d had a lot of offers, but Detective Jonathan Baker had sold the undercover gig with the Macaluso family better than any of the others.  Baker was Tony’s handler; an old school cop who believed in law and order; Humphrey Bogart at the peak of his career with a dapper suit and dry, deadpan delivery.  One year into the Philadelphia op and Tony had no complaints.

He was slowly building a case against the Macaluso family.  The first six months had been sparse as Tony had joined as a security guard for the official Macaluso business, looking after the front door and charming the staff as they wandered through.  But then Francesca Macaluso had invited him on a date and within two months he was a trusted part of the family because Mike liked him.  Even after Tony and Frankie had decided they were better as friends, Mike had kept Tony close, jokingly calling him his long-lost son.

Weirdly, Tony figured that Mike liked Antonio because Antonio was a good Italian boy who went to Mass on Sunday and went to confession every Tuesday; an orphan trying to make something of himself.

Baker had questioned Tony’s choice of security guard in the legitimate side of the business as an entry point, but Tony had instinctively known trying to join as a low-level enforcer wouldn’t work.

Tony sighed inwardly at the tumult of mixed emotions.

There was no doubt that Mike Macaluso was a Mafia Don.  Underneath the legitimate businesses, the core of the family’s wealth came from criminal activity; buying and selling stolen goods, protection racketeering, white collar fraud, and bribery and corruption of city and state officials.

But setting aside his criminality, Mike had a firm set of morals that he upheld.  He adored his wife, Bettina, and outright revelled in being a father and grandfather.  He was absolutely devoted to keeping his city safe. 

If people paid the family for protection, they were protected.  The poor and disadvantaged were never targeted as marks, only the wealthy as though Mike was a modern day Robin Hood.  And most of the bribes and fraud were done in the pursuit of projects that helped people and their wider communities; the securing of a community garden, an office building that rented out brought jobs to a depressed part of town. 

Mike didn’t tolerate drugs in his city, and even the illegal gun trade of valuable Stark weapons wasn’t truly welcome.  Mike allowed it but he didn’t take part.  Weirdly, Philadelphia had a low crime rate partially because of Mike’s control on the criminal element in the city, and most of the city loved Mike as a result – even the police had turned a blind eye to the Macaluso family.

If a high-ranking city official hadn’t been killed in an assassination leaving a dinner meeting which had been specifically requested by Mike, and where there had been a clear threat to kill him overheard by multiple witnesses at the restaurant, Tony figured that Philadelphia PD would have continued turning a blind eye.

Murder and assassination were not usually in Mike’s wheelhouse.  Threats, intimidation, a brutal beat-down of other criminals and outsiders trying to muscle in on the Macaluso territory; they were typical in how Mike kept control, but not killing.  The murder of Simon Hatton had been a bizarre outlier. 

Not that anybody had actually been able to prove that Mike had organised his killing for all he’d been overheard threatening it.  The assassin, a very good sniper, remained at large and there was just no evidence.  The police had questioned Mike about the threat and he’d pointed them at a host of evidence that showed Hatton was corrupt and morally bankrupt; that Hatton had been neck-deep in the trafficking young women.

Frankly, his death was no loss.

However, the murder had provoked the police department into investigating the Macaluso family formally, ignoring their own complicity at the years of blindly ignoring them.  They’d started a taskforce to bring them down…and found themselves stuck. 

Any evidence they found was circumstantial at best, and more problematically, nobody was talking.  Two undercover attempts had been made before Tony. The agents had been quickly discovered and politely asked to leave, with a complaint lodged to the Mayor each time.  Finally, Baker had decided to get someone from out of town, and the rest, thought Tony with a hint of amusement, was history.

Tony cast a look around as their overly large group paused by the ticket desk.  Beside him, Bertie Hickson, one of the older security guards, stamped his feet and huffed a breath into the overcast sky. The weather was on the cusp of turning, the summer heat and humidity giving way to the sharper cold bite of winter. 

The old Pavillion parkland was located on the west side of Philadelphia, just at the tired edges of the city. Worn-out suburbs littered one side of the park while the start of a redevelopment of the old defunct industrial area framed the other. Tony had been to the derelict industrial park with Mike as part of his security before. The surrounding streets were committed to his memory to assist if they had to do a quick exit.

His gaze finished up on another larger version of the circus poster pinned to the desk.

“Stop glaring at the poster, kid,” Bertie said. “At least you’re not the poor fucks who have to wear the outfits.”

“Language, Bertie,” Tony snapped, darting a look over to the group of Macaluso grandkids hovering around Mike.

His expression softened a touch at the sight of the older man with his family.

Tony ducked his head.

The truth was the abandoned kid in Tony wanted to bask in Mike’s attention.  Mike was fatherly to Antonio; he was proud of Antonio, respected him. Tony knew that whatever the problem might be, if he went to him, Mike would help Antonio. It was the type of paternal affection that Tony had wished for every day of his childhood.

And Bettina, Betty, was the mother Tony had secretly wished he’d had in those moments when his mother was too drunk to be a mother. Betty’s Italian Mama roots were evocative of the dim memories he had of Nonna Bella, his paternal grandmother. She ran the family, an iron fist in a velvet glove.

It was dangerous the way that Tony soaked up the feeling of family, of warm parental regard for the first time in his life from the Macalusos; the way that he wished secretly that it was directed at Tony DiNozzo rather than his cover persona. 

He had been concerned at the start that Mike’s kids would have a problem with the way Mike had taken him under his wing and folded him into the family, but Francesca found the whole thing hilarious.

Tony would never regret the fast friendship he’d made with Frankie.  It helped that she wasn’t involved with the family business. She’d graduated with a law degree, eschewed getting involved with the business, and had plans to be the first female District Attorney in Philadelphia.   

The youngest Macaluso, Bono, was also not involved. He was in medical school. Twenty years old, passionate, and kind-hearted, Bono was already engaged to his high school sweetheart, Alison. She was training as a kindergarten teacher. They’d agreed to marry after they both graduated, and Betty was already elbows deep in planning the wedding.

The older sons of Mike and Betty, Mickey Junior and Bobby were both in the business along with their one and only cousin on the Macaluso side, Steffano.

It was Steffano, the oldest of the three, who ran the actual shady part of the business for Mike.  He was widowed and not a lot was said about his deceased wife. He had a teenage daughter, Laura, who was a riot.  Laura was fiercely intelligent, an accomplished gymnast, and she could already shoot better than her father.  

Mickey was divorced twice. He was on his third marriage and had four kids, all boys, by the three different women. 

Tony probably got on the least with Mickey, the eldest of Mike’s own sons.  Mickey reminded Tony too much of his own father – all talk and hot air.  The inner core of a conman was barely hidden by the sheen of a suited and booted businessman.  Mickey was nominally in charge of the legitimate security operation.  He tended to leave everything to his secretary, Maureen, who was nominally Tony’s boss. 

Antonio kind of adored the no-nonsense African-American former cop, and Tony lamented the injury which had forced Maureen out of the police force and into the waiting arms of organised crime.

Maureen’s daughter, Rebecca, was Bobby’s wife.  She and Bobby ran the property business.  They were both very successful realtors.  From everything Tony had heard, they’d had a hard time conceiving and so treasured their only daughter, Mary. The pretty dark-haired child was hanging off her grandfather’s hand as they headed past the desk and entered into the circus grounds.

Tony ignored the come-hither look from one of the ticket sellers.  Her companion, a buxom blonde, winked at Mickey in a knowing way that told Tony they were likely a regular hook-up when the circus was in town.  Mickey’s estranged wife had refused to come with them.  Tony was beginning to understand why.

“Tonio,” Steffano called out from where he was talking to his daughter, “can you escort, Laura?  Bertie and I are going to talk with Carson.” 

Tony nodded.  It didn’t surprise Tony that Steffano had been clear about where Antonio should be; Steffano was the least trusting of the family.  He wouldn’t invite Tony to a shakedown.  

Steffano kissed Laura’s cheek and nudged her in Tony’s direction. 

Tony signalled to the other security guards who had accompanied the family.  Two of them fell into step behind Steffano; the other two shuffled closer to the main family group.

Frankie slipped her arm through Tony’s.  “Don’t look so glum, tesoro.  This circus is one of the best of Papa’s traditional family outings.”

Tony shrugged and grinned at her.  “I’ve only sneaked into a circus before; didn’t really see much.”  He ignored the twinge of guilt at the lie. 

Frankie squeezed his arm.  “Well, you’ll have a prime seat this time with the family.”  She gestured towards the game alley.  “Want to go shoot things?”

Tony signalled the two security guards Steffano had left again, and jerked his head towards the side tents of small pre-shows where Mike and Betty were shepherding the kids.  He pretended not to see Mike’s pleased expression at the way Frankie had appropriated Tony.  Mike had made no secret that he hoped Frankie and Tony would resume their relationship.

Bobby and Rebecca followed after the gaggle of Macaluso children, leaving a loved-up Bono and Alison kissing in front of the ticket desk. 

Laura flung herself at Frankie who laughed and tucked her against her other side.  “I’m so glad I’m with you guys.”  She scowled at where Bono and Alison were still lip locked.  “I really can’t put up with that.”

“Just wait until you get your own guy,” Frankie said as she turned them in the direction of the alley.

“I’m thinking about becoming a lesbian,” Laura announced dryly.

Tony laughed.

“No, seriously, have you seen the guys my age?” Laura complained.  “They’re so childish.  Besides I just realised that I have a massive girl crush on Tracy Bell.”

“Seventeen is a difficult age for boys,” agreed Frankie.

They continued to chatter as they wandered around the games.

The shooting games were rigged and neither Tony nor Laura could hit the targets as much as they could at the range.

“Shame it is, girlie,” the young man who ran the game said, not sounding sorry at all as he slyly pocketed the money that they’d handed over rather than putting it in the tin.  He winked at Laura. 

Tony scowled at him.

Laura’s mouth twisted into a deep frown, her brow furrowing.  “I’m going to try again.”

Tony’s lips quirked upwards.  He’d pretty much figured how the targets were rigged but it would be interesting to see if Laura had worked out all the angles she’d need to adjust.

The guy shrugged.  “It’ll cost you another five dollars.”

Frankie handed over the money.  “Here.”  She stooped to whisper in Laura’s ear.  “You show him, cara.”

Laura carefully lined up the gun and the first target.  She fired and it hit the centre. 

Tony settled for a stoic nod even as Frankie whooped in delight.  Antonio wasn’t the type of person who whooped.

Laura took out two more, came close on the other four, leaving only the final one.  She only had to make the shot to win one of the stuffed animals which were the advertised prizes.

Tony held his breath as Frankie clutched onto his arm.

Laura re-aimed, took a breath and…

The shot missed, clipping the outer ring but nowhere near to score.

“Damn it!” Laura said. 

“You assumed the drift was in the same direction as the others and calculated for the offset in the wrong direction,” a young voice said from behind them.

Tony spun around to face a stocky teen dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a denim jacket which looked like it had seen better days.  The teen’s light brown hair was shaved at the sides, spiky at the top with purple tips.  His hands were pushed deep in his jacket pockets.  He looked about the same age as Laura.

“Clint!” The games attendant snapped angrily.  “Get the fuck outta here!”

“No can do, Barney,” drawled the teen – presumably Clint.  “Carson wanted eyes on our VIPs.”

The attendant, Barney, paled.  Tony saw the sweat starting to bead on Barney’s forehead. 

“VIPs?” Barney stuttered out.

Clint angled his head at Laura and gave a nod.  “Macaluso.”

“Barton,” stated Laura evenly.

Tony raised his eyebrows and looked at Frankie.

She gave a very Italian shrug, her dark eyes simmering with some emotion he couldn’t quite parse.  “Laura and Clint usually hang-out together when we visit.”

Right.

The circus was a yearly tradition.

“Your aim’s getting better,” Clint said, his attention on Laura.

Laura sniffed.  “Not even you can hit all of them.”

Tony figured she was right.  The calculations to account for the way each target and the gunsights were rigged were pretty complex.

Barney sniggered.  “He definitely can’t now! I changed them all up after our last stop!”

“Oh, we should definitely test that,” Frankie said loudly.  She held aloft another five-dollar bill.  “Are you game, Clint? I think Laura wants the purple bear.  I’d like her to have it.”

“I do not want the bear!” Laura growled, blushing.  She folded her arms over her coat and glared at Frankie.

Frankie ignored her, waving the money at Clint.

Clint gave a small smile, a hint of colour in his own cheeks.  “Anything for you, Miss Francesca.”

Frankie smirked and handed over the money.

Clint cast a curious look at Tony as he stepped up.  Frankie handed over the money and Barney handed Clint a gun.

Tony wasn’t altogether surprised when the teen examined the gun carefully before he began to aim. 

One target was shot dead centre.

Then another.

Then another.

Clint subtly adjusted his stance at the fourth target.

Another hit.

And another.

And another.

Six targets down; two to go.

Barney was scowling.

Clint shifted the gun minutely.

Seventh target was a centre hit.

Frankie clutched at Tony’s arm as they held their breath on the eighth.

Tony was rooting for the guy.  The teen was clearly a very good shot, but more than that, he had to have something of a brain underneath the weird hairdo to make the calculations.

Clint pulled the trigger.

Eight targets.  All centre hits.

Frankie gave a war cry, jumping up and down.  “Yes!”

A small smattering of applause broke out. 

Clint looked over his shoulder at the crowd which had gathered and gave a sheepish grin. 

A burly woman with a beard gave a booming laugh from behind the crowd gathering their attention.  “Ladies and gentlemen!  The Amazing Hawkeye!”  The seasoned circus performer waved at Clint.  “You can see him in the big top for the show performance later!  He never misses!”

People started to drift away, although a few hung back clearly intent on trying their hand at the shooting next.

Frankie turned to Barney with an arched eyebrow.  “Purple bear, please.”

Clint took the bear from Barney in exchange for the gun.  He leaned over the counter and whispered something in the guy’s ear.  Barney’s face went an ugly shade of red.  Clint stepped back following as Frankie ushered them away to the side.

Clint offered the bear to Laura.  “Here.”

Laura scowled furiously at him.  “I’m a lesbian!”

Bemusement blinked over Clint’s features.  “Uh, good for you?”

Tony choked down his laughter. 

Frankie didn’t bother.  “I’ll take it if you don’t want it, Laura.”

Laura snatched it out of Clint’s hands and started walking towards the cotton candy stall.  Frankie followed after her, catching her up and looping their arms together.

“You’re new,” Clint commented as they set off after the ladies.

“So I am,” Tony responded with Antonio’s terseness, hoping to discourage the kid from asking questions.

Clint hummed and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“You been with the circus long, kid?” Tony asked brusquely.

“Since I was seven,” Clint said in a tone which also spoke volumes.

Tony didn’t press it.  Baker would have info for him, or he’d find out himself what the story was without putting too much pressure on a teenage boy.  Maybe Antonio would have pressed, but Tony figured his cover was safe enough.  Mike might have wondered at the lapse and Steffano would definitely get suspicious, but neither of them were present.   

“You don’t seem to get on too well with Barney,” Tony commented.

Clint shrugged. 

“You tell him to keep his thieving fingers off the takings?” Tony asked dryly, a hint of Antonio’s wildness in his voice.

Clint’s gaze darted to his face and back to the ground.  He looked resigned whereas Tony had thought he’d see some teenage defiance, maybe a hot denial.  But then if Clint really didn’t get on with Barney it explained the lack of defence.  

“Are you going to tell Mister Macaluso?” Clint asked.

“Do I need to?” Tony shot back.

“Barney’s new,” Clint said.  “He’s still learning how things work around here.”

And, oh, wow was that a loaded comment.

But an interesting one.

Tony considered the teen with more interest.  How much did Clint know about the Macaluso operation?  Kids got into things they weren’t supposed to; eavesdropped on conversations they weren’t meant to hear.

The circus would be in town for two weeks and Tony knew that Mike came out with some of the family almost every day to the park when it was in town.  He had some time to cultivate a relationship with the kid and find out exactly what Clint knew.

“Make sure he learns fast,” Tony suggested sternly.

Clint nodded.

“You want some sugar, sugar?” Frankie asked as they joined them at the stand.  Laura was already juggling the bear and a stick of yellow cotton candy.

Tony shook his head and gave her a sharp smile.  “I’m sweet enough.”

“Clint?” Frankie offered him a stick of purple fluff.

His face lit up and he reached for the sugary snack.

“Barton!”

Clint’s hand dropped from the confectionary.

Tony stared at the garishly dressed performer who had shouted.  Tall, with black hair and an impeccably twirled evil moustache, he wore a pirate’s outfit, a sword belt looped around his waist with an actual sword in the sheath.  He remembered the name of the performer from the circus poster.

“Carson says to get ready,” the Swordsman ordered.

Clint gave a nod and turned back to their group.  He gave a nod to Frankie and darted a nervous glance towards Laura.  “Miss Francesca, Miss Macaluso.” His gaze drifted to Tony.

“Antonio Bianchi,” Frankie offered.  “I brought him home and Papa adopted him.”

Tony rolled his eyes at her.

Clint gave him a cautious nod.  “Mister Bianchi.”

“Good luck with the performance,” Tony offered briskly.

“Barton!” The Swordsman called out again.

“See you there,” Clint said and hurried away.

Tony watched Clint until he was out of sight.  He let himself be pulled away by Frankie towards a side-tent offering palm readings with Madame Mystery.

Laura made her way inside.

Frankie settled to wait in a nearby nook between side-tents with the entrance to the palm-reading in full view.  Tony stood beside her and waited for her to speak.

“You want to know about Clint,” Frankie stated, pulling apart her cotton candy with a forefinger and thumb.  Her eyes were sharp on his.

Tony nodded.

Frankie drew a breath as though fortifying herself.  “In ’eighty-six, Clint just appeared with the circus.  He was part of the Swordsman’s act with a little solo spot to himself.  Anyone with eyes could see even at that young age he was talented with a bow and arrow, and as a new teenager I was not really paying attention.”

Tony shifted to tuck an errant lock of dark hair behind her ear before it got tangled in sugar.  “Where did Carson pick him up?”

“Waverly, Iowa,” Frankie said. “His mother’s been in and out of the lock-up there since just before Clint joined the circus.”

“Father?”

Frankie grimaced. “The sperm donor drunkenly killed himself in a car accident when Clint was four. There was a track record of domestic abuse – mother in and out of the local clinic with black eyes and bruises. There was one medical record for Clint when he was two although the mother claimed he fell down the stairs. Common consensus was that Harold Barton was an abusive drunk and bully.”  She paused. “There was an older brother on the records, a Charles Barton. He was left with the father when the mother took Clint and split. After the Dad died, we think the brother went into the system and disappeared.”

“That’s a lot of information for someone not really paying attention,” Tony noted carefully.

“Last year, Clint stopped an abduction attempt on Laura,” Frankie said. “We all started paying attention.”

Tony shifted his weight to hide his consternation that the abduction hadn’t been in the briefing file he’d been given. “What happened?”

“On the last day of the circus, they made a grab for her here. Laura was practicing her shooting with Clint on a practice range out beyond the trailers. They always hung out together there; they’d been doing it since they were kids.” Frankie straightened as though she was bracing herself. “Clint managed to shoot two guys and Laura stabbed another with an arrow when he grabbed her.”

“Police get involved?” asked Tony evenly.  Maybe they didn’t even know...  

Frankie nodded eliminating that as an excuse for its omission. 

“Clint was initially arrested because one of the men he’d shot died, but Papa got William involved and his actions were ruled self-defence,” she said. “The other two men were charged and pleaded guilty. They’re in Graterford.”

And that was much quicker than justice usually worked, Tony mused. It looked like strings had been pulled; the abductors threatened.

Frankie took a breath. “I know I joke about Papa adopting you, but Papa seriously wanted to adopt Clint and bring him into the family as a thank you, but the circus left before he could make the offer.”  She shrugged. “Steffano followed them apparently, but he said when he came back that Clint was happy with the circus; that he has family here.”  She gestured out towards the tents.

Tony was beginning to draw a picture in his head of how things had gone down the year before.  He figured Simon Hatton had been part of the abduction attempt and that was the reason why he’d been sniped.

Sniped.

Single shot to the forehead.

Damn it.

Tony really hoped Steffano had engaged someone other than a teenage boy to do the hit. 

Steffano.

He hadn’t truly thought about who had been behind the hit, but thinking the thought…that fit.  Steffano ran the business; he was brutal and violent in a way Mike just wasn’t.

Tony breathed out, a puzzle piece clicking into place. He turned his attention back to Frankie.  “It explains why Steffano wanted us to stay with Laura.”

“You,” Frankie corrected, “Steffano wanted Laura with you.”

Tony met Frankie’s challenging gaze with an even look. “Well, I am technically on the books as a security guard even if Mike has co-opted me as his, Frankie.”

Frankie’s gaze swam with concern before she locked it down with a sigh.

Tony nudged her shoulder with his. “Are you worried there’ll be another attempt?”

“No,” Frankie shook her head, sending tendrils of her hair flying. “Just…Clint’s a friend of the family, same as you, capiche? Stop looking at him like he’s going to steal the family jewels.”

“Got it,” Tony said.

He wondered if Clint really had turned down the offer and if Steffano had actually made one. More concerning, he thought worriedly, was that the whole thing was missing in his briefing. It suggested that the Philadelphia PD knew full well that the abduction and Hatton’s death were connected but had obscured it from the asset they’d brought in to bring the Macaluso family down.

Corruption or a test?

Tony wasn’t certain, but if it was the former, his cover was likely already blown and had been from day one. He took a steadying breath.

Laura barrelled out from the tent. She had lost the candy stick, and the bear was tucked under her arm. She hurried over to them.

“So,” asked Frankie, her voice bright with mirth, “did Madame Mystery confirm you’re going to be a lesbian?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “She gets more cryptic every year, I swear,” she complained.  “Apparently, she thinks I’m going to marry Barton.”

Tony smirked at the amount of disgust in her voice.

“He is cute,” Frankie said teasingly, “and he did save your life.”

“I saved my life,” Laura protested, darting a glance at Tony, “he just helped a little.”

“Right, cara,” Frankie said dryly.

Laura blew out a huffy breath. “I don’t suppose Dad will let me go to the range this year.”

“Unlikely,” Frankie agreed.

“Maybe not here,” Tony said, wanting to ease the disappointment on Laura’s face, “but we could probably take Barton out to our usual range instead.”  It would be a good excuse to spend time with the kid.

Laura’s face brightened.  “Yeah, that might work.”  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Antonio.” 

Tony shrugged.  “What’s the next stop?”

Laura and Frankie exchanged a mischievous look. Frankie looped her arm around his left, Laura did the same on his right.

“You’re going to love The Charmer,” Laura proclaimed.

Tony doubted it but he let the two women escort him off to the snake charming tent. 

An hour later, Tony followed Frankie as she clambered up to their seats in the main tent. They had the best view of the action in the arena. One row was already filled with family; Bobby, Rebecca and Mary sat one end; Mike, Betty and Mickey’s kids at the other.  Mickey was nowhere in sight. 

Frankie tutted under her breath as she sat down beside Bono. “Where’s Mickey?” She whispered to her brother.

“Banging the ticket lady like usual,” Bono whispered back.

Frankie grimaced.

Tony ushered Laura into the seat by Frankie and handed out the food he’d been carrying for them all. He settled into his own seat, curious about the performances he was about to watch as an elegantly dressed man entered the circle in a top hat and tails.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Carson’s Carnival!” The ringmaster declared.

Twenty minutes in, Tony was bemused at why Mike was so enamoured with the circus.  The performances were fine in the main – some good horse-riding and tricks, some decent juggling. The clowns were slapstick and pitched for kids, but they did have the kids laughing loudly.  The big cats had drawn the most ooh’s and aah’s, but Tony couldn’t help but notice how thin they were. He had to stop himself wincing at every whip crack.

“Swordsman’s next,” Laura said, slurping on the large soda she’d ordered. 

It didn’t take Tony long into the performance to realise that Clint Barton was the best performer Carson had.  The boy had a natural physical agility, making his acrobatics look easy and graceful.  His skill with the sword was brilliant and Tony figured the staged choreography was the only reason why the Swordsman came across as better.

The act came to an end with the crowd clapping enthusiastically.

The Swordsman bowed out and Barton began his own solo performance as the Amazing Hawkeye.

Tony was legitimately blown away. The kid had mad skills, Tony mused as Clint rode a horse around the arena, shooting arrows random targets.

A sense of something pulled Tony’s attention from Clint. He took a glance around the tent and took in the crowd. Nobody looked out of place.  Just a normal circus audience, their attention on the action in front of them, clapping and gasping with excitement.

The performance ended.

Tony clapped along with everyone else. They began gathering their things and made their way out of the tent.

Laura dashed to the nearby porta-loo and Tony waited for her, waving Frankie away with the rest of the Macaluso brood. It seemed to take forever before she was done and ready to leave.

Steffano waited for them by the park exit. He threw down a cigarette, stamping it out. 

Laura wrinkled her nose at him. “Dad!”

“Let’s get you home, Laurie,” Steffano said, ignoring her distaste at his smoking. He nodded at Tony.  “Thank you for looking after her, ‘Tonio.”

Tony nodded, taking in the protective arm Steffano had thrown around his daughter’s shoulders, the way he looked at her as though she was his most precious treasure. If there was one thing Tony was certain of with Steffano, it was that Steffano truly loved his daughter.

Tony watched them head for Steffano’s car, the driver scrambling to get the door open.

Mike came to stand beside him. His stocky frame was wrapped up in a black wool coat and he wore black leather gloves. His bald head was uncovered though. Tony noted that his cold blue gaze had followed Tony’s gaze to Steffano’s car.

“How did you enjoy the circus, Antonio?” asked Mike, too much seriousness in his voice for Tony’s liking.

“It’s been interesting,” Tony said diplomatically.

“My Pops used to bring me,” Mike said. “He and Old Man Carson had business together.” He glanced around. “A lot has changed since those days.” 

Steffano’s car drove off.

Tony shivered in the cold Philadelphia air.

“I don’t do business with the circus beyond the rent for the grounds these days and a security fee,” Mike said conversationally. “Carson is not the businessman his father was.”

Tony hummed. “Steffano’s business with Carson took up a lot of time for payment discussions.”

“Yes, I thought you might notice that,” Mike said dryly.  “I noticed too.”  His head glinted orange under the artificial light of the parking lot. “Something is not right here.” He glanced back to where his own driver and car were waiting. Betty was already tucked away inside. “Frankie was going to wait for you, I told her to go home.”

Tony raised his eyebrows because usually Mike did everything that he could to throw them together.

“Frankie says she told you about last year.”

“She said Barton saved Laura’s life; that there was an abduction attempt,” Tony said.

Mike nodded. “When we went to research Barton, we ran into wall after wall. Walls a clown like Carson shouldn’t have. Walls that make me nervous.”

Tony frowned.

“I need someone I trust to find out what’s going on here with Steffano and Carson.” Mike grimaced. “And I need to know if Steffano truly gave my offer to young Barton.”

Tony turned to Mike with a frown even though he’d had the same thought himself. “You really think he ignored your wishes?”

“I think my nephew might have gotten himself into something I deliberately ensured that we don’t get involved in,” Mike said firmly. “If he has, he’s in trouble and he’s bringing trouble to the family.”

Tony looked at Mike and gave a nod. “I’ll get on it, sir.”

Mike patted his shoulder. “I’ll send you what little information I have already. You’re a good boy, Antonio.”  He walked away, sliding into the backseat of his car.

Tony waited until he lost sight of the taillights before he moved, heading back into the park grounds. Mike might have ordered the investigation, but Tony’s cop instincts were screaming at him.

Something was very rotten at Carson’s carnival.

o-O-o

Tony slid into the confessional booth and knocked a specific pattern on the frame. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Be at peace with God and unburden yourself, my son,” Baker said, too much amusement in his voice for Tony’s liking.

It had been Baker’s idea to use the church as their point of contact. Baker was already part of the congregation and since Antonio Bianchi was a good Catholic boy, it made perfect sense.

Tony sighed and rubbed his head. “Carson’s Carnival.” He tapped his fingers along his jean-clad thigh. “When were you going to tell me what happened there last year?”

There was a moment of tense silence.

“It was in the file.”

“It wasn’t,” Tony said. 

“Fuck,” Baker said.

Hidden by the confessional booth, Tony allowed his own dismay to drift over his expression. He wished he could see Baker’s expression. Sure, the older cop sounded surprised and horrified at the omission, but tone of voice could be faked.

“Someone must have removed it,” Baker concluded with a huff. “Do you think you’re compromised?”

Tony had given the topic some serious consideration in the past week after his own discovery of the info. “If Mike knows, he’s leaving me in place for a reason.  Maybe he figures it’s better the devil he knows?” He shook his head. “Even then, he has to know I have access to information.”

“Circumstantial,” Baker fired back. “Hearsay from conversations of conversations. Not saying you’re not doing a good job, and as a case it’s good context, but you and I know…”

“Unless I find solid evidence tying Mike to the related crimes, it’s not enough for a conviction,” concluded Tony tersely.

“Maybe good enough for an indictment,” Baker replied clearly trying to ease the tension.

“I don’t think Mike knows,” Tony said slowly, “he’s just asked me to look into Steffano’s dealings with the circus. If he knew I was a cop…”

“He knows if you find something you won’t sit on it,” Baker said, a note of shock in his voice. “So maybe he really doesn’t know.”

“If someone took the incident out of the briefing file, maybe they didn’t tell Mike about my going under, but maybe they’re hiding something,” Tony mused out loud.

“It’s a good theory,” Baker said. “I thought we’d checked everyone on the task force for their connections to Macaluso but maybe we missed someone or something.”

“Did you look at connections to Steffano Macaluso or just Mike?” asked Tony.

There was another taut silence.

“We focused on Mike,” Baker sighed. “Damn it.  I’m going to have to revisit all the backgrounds.”  He cleared his throat. “Why Steffano?”

“The hit on Hatton,” Tony said bluntly. “I believe Hatton was behind the abduction attempt on Laura. He was a trafficker and he had the contacts and the know-how to grab her. I think he intended to maybe use her for leverage, force Mike or Steffano to do something that Mike wouldn’t usually agree to doing.”

“Makes sense,” Baker agreed, grudgingly.

“I think the dinner was Mike warning Hatton off from making any future attempts,” Tony said. “I think Steffano figured threats weren’t enough.”

“You think Mike didn’t know?” asked Baker brusquely.

“I think Mike thinks Steffano is doing things Mike doesn’t know about and wouldn’t sanction,” Tony said. “It’s why he’s got me looking into the circus.  I’ve been digging since Saturday and I have a lot of suspicious activity and no evidence.” 

“Jesus, if Steffano ordered that hit without his uncle’s knowledge, he’s off his leash,” Baker sighed heavily. “I’ll see what I can dig up my end on the circus.” He clucked his tongue. “And on who took the connection out of the file.  You just do what you do and keep yourself safe; bail if you think your cover is blown.”

“Well, I’m on my way to pick up Barton for a session at the range with Laura so I think I’m relatively safe today,” Tony quipped. “Thank you for your guidance, Father.”

“Go in peace, son,” Baker replied dryly.

Tony exited the confessional, leaving a bible with notes inside. It was all the information he’d been able to gather about the circus along with his own observations. It also asked some specific things for Baker to follow up on.

He stopped in a pew and took a moment to go to his knees in prayer. It was a ruse to check out who else was around and if there was anything suspicious. The only person he caught sight of was old Maria Sanchez who did the flowers, bustling about at the back of the church.

Tony rose, absently made the sign of the cross and departed with a small grin at Maria. The sun was shining when he stepped out, breaking through the typical cloud cover. The air was cold again and Tony huddled in his black woollen coat.

He headed for his car. Antonio’s non-descript sedan made him glum, but Tony couldn’t take the risk of indulging his own love of classic cars. He pulled out of the church parking lot and headed for the main road which would take him back towards the circus.

Tony tuned the radio to a pop channel and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the latest tune by Hootie and the Blowfish. He considered everything he had learned about the circus since Mike had asked him to dig on Saturday.

The first thing he’d done was scout the grounds that night and he’d returned in the morning to do the same. The layout was efficient. The tents, stalls and games were set out at the front of the park near to the parking lot and two of the pedestrian entrances. Ticket desks were set out at performance times, but security was lax otherwise, despite the bouncers Carson had on staff.

Beyond the tents, to the right there was a holding space for the animals, hemmed in by the home trailers and RVs of the travelling performers who looked after the animals. 

Clint was apparently in this group as his home was the caravan belonging to the horse riders, Gregor and Gigi Kospov. From what he’d observed, it was a barter arrangement. Clint helped with chores every night and for that he got their sofa and a meal.

The file Mike had sent him had revealed that Edith Barton had handed over all parental rights to Carson back in ‘eighty-six when Clint had become part of the circus line-up. According to the circus gossip Tony had picked up over the last few days, Clint had originally stayed with the Swordsman, Jacques Duquesne. 

Duquesne was a stolen identity. The real Jacques was a pampered socialite living on his uncle’s dime back in New York, although weirdly also into swords. Still, Tony guessed that there was little chance of the guy wandering into the circus and discovering the identity theft.

He shook his head and returned to the matter of Clint’s living arrangement. Apparently, the Swordsman had thrown Clint out of his trailer when the kid took the top billing. Twelve years of age and abandoned again by a guardian. 

Tony could relate.

Initially, Clint had been taken in by the acrobatic family who’d been part of the line-up at the time since he’d help them train and stood in if any of them were ill. When they’d moved on, Gigi had apparently offered the barter deal.

Tony figured someone was paying the authorities to look the other way on Clint’s situation or maybe just to look the other way. 

Mike’s research had found that most of the circus performers were living under aliases or had stolen identities.

It played into the mythos, Tony mused. Runaway and join the circus, leave the old life behind. 

Tony had noted that the performers had created a little village of their trailers with a central hub where they would gather after the performances to let off steam, drinking and chatting into the early hours of the morning.

Beyond the trailer village a whole set of practice tents had been erected, along with outdoor circles of hay for the acts which needed the big top. 

It was beyond this area that the practice range for Clint existed.    

There was no doubt in Tony’s mind that the abduction attempt had been sourced with inside information. 

The circus was a closed group. They noticed outsiders. Tony had the excuse of being Macaluso security for his presence on the park. It had been the reason he’d given the first night when one of the clowns had called him on his presence. It had helped that Mickey had still been on site in a trailer with his hook-up. 

Tony grimaced.

Mickey paid his ticket lady friend a visit every night, arriving before the performance, dumping his kids on his parents or siblings, and heading for Candy Bee’s trailer with blatant disregard for the fact that his infidelity was out in the open for anybody to see.

Or exploit.

That thought arrested Tony’s musings.

He doubted that Mickey would have sold out his niece but…

But.

It was a weakness, a crack to push on for someone to look at hurting the Macaluso family. Tony sighed. Antonio would talk to Mike about it. He figured the Don already knew Mickey’s failings, but if not, Mike was better placed to question his son than Tony.

Of course, Tony the cop, probably shouldn’t have Antonio talk with Mike; Tony the cop should use Mickey’s weakness to break open the whole family.

Tony grimaced and parked the debate in his head to revisit.

Back to the thought that someone in the circus had provided information to help the abduction attempt.

The obvious suspects, Tony thought with grim amusement, were the small bunch of circus people who kept themselves separated from the main troupe. Tony had done passive surveillance for a couple of nights.

Carson had an old RV he shared with his son and daughter-in-law. He parked it on the far side of the circus away, close to the service entrance to the grounds. A second caravan parked nearby acted as Carson’s office. 

The Swordsman was parked right next to Carson. He had the dodgy Barney staying with him.  Tony figured both of them were as crooked as they came.  Duquesne wasn’t discreet about meeting up in the small hours at his trailer with locals that Tony suspected were the members of a gang who ran guns.

The clowns were parked a bit further away from Carson and the Swordsman. A small trio of caravans that formed their own tribe. Tony figured the weed they fenced and used was the reason for the distance from others. He had to encounter a clown at the circus who wasn’t stoned.

The final performer had valid reasons to stay away from the main crowd.

Indiran Kumar was the snake charmer. He and his trailer of venomous reptiles was parked well away from anyone else. The snakes might have been the main reason, but they also provided a good cover. Kumar was using them to hide his prostitution. Both nights, the snake charmer had brought a local man back to the trailer, set the trailer rocking, and exchanged money with them when he waved them goodbye. It all looked consensual, and both the men Tony had seen had seemed satisfied with their experience.

Tony figured Kumar wasn’t the criminal that he was looking for.

Carson rarely left the trailer, but his son went into town every night. Tony had asked Maureen to recommend someone to tail the guy and her pick, a solid old timer called Paddy had reported back that Wilbur Carson the Third was dining every night with a city councillor, David Blake.

Blake had worked for Hatton.

The whole thing stank.

Tony pulled into the parking lot and wasn’t altogether surprised to find Clint already waiting for him. The teenager bounded over and got into the car.

Tony frowned at the bruise on Clint’s cheek. “Whose fist did you run into?”

Clint shrugged awkwardly. “Can we just go?”

Tony set the car back into gear and drove out back onto the main road. “Have you been to the range in town before?”

Clint shook his head. “Too expensive.” He fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “It’s why Carson agreed to my setting up the one at the back.”

“I take it you didn’t have it when you started,” commented Tony, trying to obliquely establish when the practice site had been established.

“No,” Clint said, laughing, “not when I was seven!”  He looked out of the window. “I got it when I was twelve.”

“When you took top billing,” Tony stated.

Clint darted a guarded look at him.  “You look me up?”

Tony shook his head.  “You think Mike didn’t find out everything about you after you saved Laura last year?”

Clint huffed. “Didn’t think you knew about that.”

“I didn’t,” Tony said. “Frankie filled me in.”

“Explains why you stopped glaring at me,” Clint muttered. He darted another look at him. “You don’t think I was in on it?”

“Were you?” asked Tony surprised by the question.

“No!” Clint immediately denied, enough sincere passion in his voice that Tony would have been convinced even if he hadn’t ruled Clint out as a suspect. “The cops thought I’d help set it up.”  He looked down at his hands. “Even though I killed someone.”

“Ballistics say that the bullet wasn’t the cause of death,” Tony said. “According to the autopsy, the guy had a heart attack.”

“Because I shot him,” Clint muttered.

“Because he was in a high stress situation and got injured,” Tony countered. 

He stopped at a set of lights and took in Clint’s bowed head. He wondered if anyone had talked to the teen about what had happened outside of an interrogation room.

The lights changed. He set back off.

“How did you manage to shoot them?” asked Tony conversationally. “Police report was light on details.”

Clint shrugged again. He was staring out of the window. “It was getting dark. We were picking up arrows near the targets. Laura was still picking up hers when I started back towards the line. She yelled and…”

Tony glanced at him.

“…when I turned around, she’d been grabbed by a guy and was trying to free herself,” Clint intoned. “Two more guys were coming from the trees.” He shifted in his seat. “I dropped the arrows and tackled them before they could get to her. One of them wrestled me to the ground but he dropped a gun, and I picked it up.”

Tony remained silent.

“I…I shot him without thinking about it,” Clint intoned dully. “When I got up, the other guy had reached Laura and she was on the ground, pinned. I shot him in the leg and she managed to knock him out with a rock.” He rubbed his head. “She was pretty awesome.”

“Sounds like you were both awesome,” Tony said.

“I shot people,” Clint pointed out dryly.

“To save her,” Tony said firmly. “I’m not saying shooting people is a good thing, but you saw Laura was in trouble and you acted to save her and yourself. You think that guy wouldn’t have shot you if he could have gotten to the gun before you?”

Clint swallowed hard.

“It’s hard shooting someone,” Tony offered. “It never feels good, or it shouldn’t.” He sighed. “It’s when it starts to not matter that there’s a problem.”

“I’d only ever hit targets before and sparred in a ring,” Clint murmured, fingers rubbing on the edge of his jacket again. “It’s only fake fighting, you know, in the show.” He gave a dry laugh. “Laura was great.  She said she took lessons.”

“What about you?” Tony asked. “Who taught you?”

Clint looked at him. “Your info not tell you that?”

“There’s plenty about you I’m sure isn’t in a file,” Tony said.

Clint huffed. “Buck taught me some stuff and even Jack did before he threw me out. I spar with Gregor now.”

“Buck?” Tony asked.

“Jack’s old show partner,” Clint said. “He used to do my role in Jack’s show.  He was the one who trained me with the bow and arrow.”

“What happened to him?” asked Tony.

“I got up one day and he was gone. Carson said he got cancer and left,” Clint said matter-of-factly.

Tony indicated to head down the side road to the range. Something else to track down. He didn’t need Clint to tell him the rest of it – he’d already gotten the story from the other security guards and the Macaluso family members who had been there.

It had been the Kospovs who’d heard the shots and raised the alarm. Laura had also triggered her emergency signal that Maureen had stashed on her. Macaluso security had been on the scene within minutes; Clint and Laura already running back to the safety of the practice tents.

The police had turned up ten minutes later. A bored father had wandered to the back of the circus for a smoke and seen the whole thing; he’d called it in on a fancy mobile phone he had for his job. With the police involved Mike had allowed them to take over the official investigation, only stepping in when it became clear they were targeting Clint as a suspect.

“So, what’s your story?” asked Clint brusquely.

Tony didn’t react to the undercurrent of anger in Clint’s voice. He’d made the kid relive trauma and remember someone else who had abandoned him.

“Not much to tell,” Tony said, “ran out of luck where I was, decided to try Philadelphia.”

Which was a truth even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“I got a job with Macaluso Security, manned the office front for a while,” Tony recounted. “Met Frankie and, well, Mike liked me so I kind of work security for him now.”

Clint looked away. 

Tony pulled into the range parking lot, empty except for the Macaluso car which would have brought Laura. 

“Where is everyone?” asked Clint, visibly perplexed.

“Mike bought out the range for the day,” Tony said simply. He killed the engine. “Come on, kid.  The range waits for no-one.”

The next hour flew by.

Watching Clint shoot was entertaining. Watching him shoot with Laura was hilarious. He figured that Madame Mystery might have been subtly match-making in her predictions but maybe she had a point. They made for a cute couple. They were competitive yet Laura always managed to inveigle Clint into teaching her how to shoot better. Tony stepped in a couple of times to help. 

Lunch was a picnic that Mike’s cook had put together. There was homemade fried chicken, rice salad and coleslaw along with wedges of steak pie. For dessert she’d packed them a blueberry cheesecake. 

Tony enjoyed the food. He watched carefully as Clint ate hungrily and efficiently, cleaning his plate twice, before he finished up the cheesecake when both Laura and Tony admitted defeat.

He left the kids sitting at the small desk outside the shooting gallery while he went to put their rubbish away. He made his way silently back to them and slowed when he heard them talking.  He stopped just at the corner of the corridors and shamelessly listened.

“…and then he reveals that he’s my brother!”

“You mean that asshole Barney is related to you?!” Laura sounded scandalised.

“I know, right?” Clint said. “I mean, I kind of remember him? My Mom called him Charlie. We’d would stop by sometimes and take him out of school. We’d spend the day with him.” He sighed. “But it’s all pretty vague.”

“It has to mean something that he tracked you down though?” Laura said kindly.

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “He was all smiles the first day. Then it was like I blinked, and he was being an asshole, cosying up to Jack and taking lessons from him. He keeps saying that he’s going to take my spot.”

There was a rude noise which adequately demonstrated what Laura thought about that.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad?” Laura said almost too low for Tony to hear. “Then you could take up Uncle Mike’s offer to come and live with us.”

“I’m not going to work for your Dad,” Clint said immediately. “I told him that.”

Tony assimilated that for a moment.  It sounded like Steffano had made an offer but not the one Mike had wanted presented. Tony got it. Steffano was a top dog in a mob family. He had to appreciate the idea of having a kid on hand who knew how to shoot and was an outstanding sniper. 

But Tony couldn’t blame the kid for turning it down. At least that probably meant Clint wasn’t the sniper who’d killed Hatton.

“Maybe Uncle Mike could just pay off your debt with Carson if we told him about it,” Laura suggested. “I really don’t think he knows.”

“What? He didn’t stick it in whatever file he’s got on me?” Clint said bitterly. 

“If he knew he would have already paid it!” Laura insisted. “He hates kids being treated badly, and it’s not right that Carson made you agree to pay a fee for being allowed to stay with the circus when you just were a kid.”

Anger stirred in Tony’s gut.  f Carson had been making Clint pay for staying with the circus and likely giving him a pittance in wage if anything…it was a cruel trap to keep Clint in his place.

“I’ll be OK,” Clint paused. “Gigi helped me get my GED last month.” 

Laura squealed and there was a soft ‘oof’ which gave away she was likely hugging him.  “I’m so proud of you!”

Clint hummed. 

Tony could imagine him shrugging dismissively.

“It’s not so bad. Gigi and Gregor are great, and I figure another couple of years and I’ll be able to disappear into the Army,” Clint said.

“You’ll stay in touch with me,” Laura announced.

Clint sighed heavily. “You know your Dad warned me off.”

“But he knows we’re not like that,” Laura protested.

“Doesn’t matter,” Clint said, “the way he was speaking, I don’t think he even wants us to be friends anymore.”

Laura blew out another raspberry. “I love my Dad but he’s such a tool, sometimes.” She sighed. “It’s not just you, you know? He hates Antonio.”

“What’s his deal? Antonio?  He was pretty vague about he ended up working for your Uncle,” said Clint.

“I don’t really know.  He joined security and was just…a good guy. Charmed Maureen who doesn’t like anybody usually.  Frankie asked him out,” Laura began, “and then Uncle Mike just loved him. Frankie thinks Uncle Mike trusts him because Tonio didn’t just fuck her.”

“I regret asking,” Clint said, deadpan.

Laura giggled. “Personally, I think Uncle Mike knows more about Antonio than we do and whatever he knows, it’s made him trust him with the family. Like he knows that he’d never hurt us.”

Tony frowned. What Laura said made sense, but Tony was beginning to wonder if all Mike knew was Antonio’s backstory. The missing information in the Macaluso file lingered on his mind. He yanked his attention back to the talking teenagers.

“Makes sense,” Clint said slowly.

“Mom’s worried that Mike wants Antonio to take over the business rather than my Dad,” Laura said.

Tony blinked. He hadn’t heard that rumour before. He doubted it was true.

“Are you worried about it?” asked Clint.

“Not really,” Laura sighed. “I mean, I’m worried about Dad and I think he might be making some bad choices which might make Uncle Mike rethink things.”

“Like what?”

Good question, Tony thought.

“Dad, he’s…look, I know my family’s reputation, alright? I know there’s stuff which my Dad does which is…bad.”

Clint coughed.  “You talk like I don’t live with a whole circus full of criminals and hustlers, Laura.”

Laura laughed briefly, but Tony detected the note of shame that rang through it.

“You’re worried about your Dad?” prompted Clint.

“He has this new ‘business associate…’”

Tony could imagine the quotation marks.

“…and they’re weird, scary,” Laura said. 

There was a long pause.

“I don’t think they usually meet up when I am at my Dad’s, but…I was there a couple of months ago and…” her voice dropped. “It was scary.”

“Did they hurt you?” demanded Clint.

“No, just…” Laura cleared her throat. “They turned up late at night. I’d already gone to bed, but I heard the car outside and got up to take a look. The guy was blond, in a suit. One stayed with the car, the other two were muscle, big guys in military type clothing. They were armed.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I sneaked down the back stairs to listen in.”

“Laura!”

“I was worried!”

“You have the self-preservation skills of a gnat,” Clint muttered.

“Like you can talk,” Laura said tartly. “How many times have you almost got caught sneaking around Carson’s office?”

Clint sighed. “What did you hear?”

“Well, I couldn’t really hear anything because I couldn’t get into a good position without making a noise but the door to my Dad’s office was open a crack and…Dad looked scared the whole time,” Laura said.

It had scared her too. Tony could hear the fear in her voice.

“They made to leave so I hid in the hall closet, that’s when I heard them clearly,” Laura said.  “The guy said that they expected my Dad to do more to help them, that he had a lovely daughter and maybe the next time the circus wouldn’t be in town to stop them.” Her voice trembled. “I think they were behind trying to grab me.”

“I thought that Hatton guy was behind it,” Clint said.

“How do you know about that?” asked Laura, surprise clear in her voice.

“Your Dad told me when he offered me the job.”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Then you know someone shot him right after Uncle Mike warned him off?”

“No, but let me express how so very shocked I am to hear that,” Clint said dryly.

Laura sighed. “My family’s not like that, Clint.  We don’t kill people!”

“Maybe it wasn’t your family,” Clint said with a hint of apology, “you said you thought this new business associate of your Dad’s was ultimately behind the grab? Maybe he pulled the plug because Hatton failed.”

That was a good theory, Tony mused.

“Maybe.” She paused again as though considering how much to say. “Dad found me after they left.  He made me promise not to tell anyone, he said they’d kill him if I said anything.”

“Jesus, Laura,” Clint said. “I know what he said but I think you really need to talk to your Uncle Mike. It sounds like you have a rival group trying to muscle in and your Dad’s way in over his head.”

“Maybe,” Laura muttered. 

There was a sound of a chair being pushed back, the legs screeching over the linoleum. 

“Come on,” Laura demanded, “I want to shoot more things!”

Tony heard the door to the shooting gallery bang shut. He blew out a breath. Clint had been right in his summary of the situation and his advice, Tony mused.

He could see how it might have all unravelled.

It was telling that the rival boss had decided to put pressure on Steffano when most of the criminal element knew that Mike Macaluso ran Philadelphia. They’d clearly pegged that Steffano was the one running that side of the business for Mike, but that they hadn’t approached Mike himself meant nothing good for Mike. Maybe they’d deemed him too stubborn to negotiate with, or more likely they wanted him out of the way so they could take over.

Steffano would have laughed at them initially, Tony mused. Steffano was used to being the big fish under the protection of the Macaluso name. He would have brushed them off. They were definitely not the first to try something, and Steffano probably thought he’d be able to deal with them, the same way he’d dealt with other rivals. His refusal had led to their attempt to grab Laura to apply pressure to Steffano and Steffano had buckled with the threat to his daughter.

And the assassination of Hatton, Tony considered sharply. 

He could believe that Steffano was capable of ordering the hit, and he suspected Steffano had dangled the job in front of Clint, but his eavesdropping on the kids had revised his belief that Steffano actually had arranged Hatton’s death. He figured the theory that the rival boss had eliminated Hatton for failing was right – and it served a second purpose; it had shown Steffano what happened to people who didn’t comply.

But, how did the circus play into it? Someone had definitely told the bad guys where to find Laura and was it the same bad guys who’d taken the information connecting Hatton to the circus abduction attempt from Tony’s file, or someone loyal to the Macaluso family?

Tony shook his head. He had a lot more questions and not enough answers. He put the tangle out of his mind and went to check on Laura and Clint. 

Another hour of shooting went by before Tony called a halt; Clint had the muscle and stamina from long hours of practice for his performance to keep going, but Tony could see Laura was tiring. He herded the kids from the range building and toward their various vehicles.

Laura and Clint hovered awkwardly in front of her car before Laura sprang forward to hug him.

“I never said before, but…thank you,” Laura whispered, “for saving my life.”

Clint went bright red even as he raised his hands and hugged her back. “You saved yourself.”

Laura eased back and smiled brightly. “Damn right, I did.” She skipped into her car.

Tony nodded at Eli, her driver. He bustled Clint back into his own car. Clint was silent and Tony didn’t chatter, swallowing his own tendency to fill the empty air with stories and theories underneath Antonio’s calm stoicism.

Clint waited until they were parked before he released his seatbelt, his hand on the door lever, and turned to Tony. “Did you hear enough?”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “What…”

“I could see your reflection in the picture opposite where you were stood; it was right in my eyeline,” Clint said. He shrugged. “I see things.”

Tony sighed his dismay at being caught by a kid, although he guessed tracking his surroundings was second nature to Clint who had never known real safety. He caught Clint’s eyes, holding his gaze firmly. “What do you think?  Did I hear enough?”

Clint’s mouth twisted. He took a breath, his eyes guarded yet swimming with uncertainty. “Meet me at the practice range Thursday night after the performance.”

“Why Thursday?” asked Tony.

“Because that’s when they come,” said Clint. He bolted out of the car before Tony could ask him anything more.

Tony tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. 

Too many questions and not enough answers. 

He wasn’t waiting until Thursday to get them.

Chapter Text

Graterford was like all penitentiaries; sterile yet soaked in a particular stench of bodies, anger and fear; hardlines decorated with barbed wire; a cacophony of voices underpinned by those who stewed in silence.

Tony had thrown the Macaluso name around with the warden to secure a visit with the men who had tried to abduct Laura.

His first interview was with Liam Kilpatrick, the man Laura had stabbed with an arrow. He’d chosen Kilpatrick rather than the older Kieran Bates, the other man arrested, since Kilpatrick was young and of an age with Tony. According to the file Mike had handed over, Liam had lived the backstory of foster homes Tony had constructed for Antonio. Unfortunately for Liam, there had been no interested Catholic priest who’d helped him into a community college and helped him secure him his first gig as a security guard. Tony was hoping he could get the information he wanted out of Liam without having to tackle Bates who was likely the tougher customer.

Liam shuffled into the room, his tall lanky body chained at both his hands and feet. The orange jumpsuit covered a long-sleeved top in institution black. The long blond hair that Liam had sported in his arrest photo had been exchanged for a buzz cut. He looked wan; tired and fearful. 

The chains were secured to the floor and the prison guard gave Tony a respectful nod, eyes full of curiosity before he left. Tony checked the camera bolted to the corner of the room and was pleased that the light was off.

“Good morning, Liam,” Tony began quietly, “my name is Antonio Bianchi, I work for Michael Macaluso.”

He hadn’t thought Liam could get any paler, but he did.

“A year ago, you took part in an abduction attempt on Mister Macaluso’s niece,” Tony continued. “You declared yourself guilty, were sentenced swiftly and you’re currently serving a ten-year sentence for attempted abduction, no chance of parole.”

Liam ducked his head, eyes pinned to the table.

“What is interesting is that nobody truly questioned you beyond your first arrest,” Tony said. 

Hatton’s involvement had come out of the investigation that Maureen had done on Mike’s instruction. 

He clasped his hands on the table. “I’m here to correct that inattention.  Do you understand?”

Liam nodded, not raising his gaze.

“Who approached you to take part?” asked Tony.

“Kee.”

The muffled response was barely audible.

“Kee being Kieran Bates,” Tony clarified. 

“Yes,” Liam mumbled, still not looking up.

Tony considered Liam thoughtfully. “Kee’s your foster brother, right? You were in the system together, same group home there at the end?”

Liam nodded slowly.

Tony hummed. “I had a brother like Kee. Steve looked out for me as much as he could.” He wasn’t sure Adler would appreciate their fraternity brotherhood being used to build rapport with a criminal, but it served its purpose.

Liam’s eyes flickered up and down.

Tony was beginning to doubt his approach though. Liam looked entirely too cowed. Maybe he should have talked to Kieran instead. He leaned back, regarding Liam evenly.

“Kee’s warned you not to talk,” Tony said confidently. “He told you that if you talk, you’re both dead.”

Liam’s head shot up, his frantic gaze meeting Tony’s before careening away to stare at the wall.

“So,” Tony said dryly, “I’ll talk and you just sit there.” He leaned forward again, clasping his hands back on the table. “Kee worked for Hatton. Bank records show Hatton was paying him for years, back to your foster brother days even. Hatton didn’t even hide it well.”

That was how Mike had traced Hatton’s involvement.

“I’m guessing Kee got you involved in the small stuff first,” Tony said. “Errands, message delivery, pick-up boy. Nothing too important, nothing that put you at risk, but it put money in your pocket.”

Liam’s lips trembled.

“Then maybe it was a grab,” Tony continued. “Someone else didn’t show for a job, Kee needed someone he could trust.” He waited a beat. “That was you.”

The pride that flickered across Liam’s face told Tony he was right.

“Hatton usually stuck to grabbing prostitutes and vagrants for his trafficking operation,” Tony said. “Maybe Kee told you Hatton was doing a community service, cleaning up the streets, giving them a new life.”

Liam’s gaze darted to him and away again.

“You know what I think?  I think you thought you were grabbing a circus performer,” Tony guessed. “I think you didn’t know it was Laura Macaluso.”

“We didn’t!” The words burst from Liam’s mouth as though he couldn’t contain them. He slammed his lips back together and defiantly looked at the table.

We.

Keiran Bates hadn’t known or had told Liam he hadn’t known. Maybe, Tony mused, he really hadn’t known. If Bates truly was protective of Kilpatrick, if he’d known they were about to kidnap a Macaluso, it was probable that Bates would have tried to keep his foster brother out of it.

Tony got to his feet. Kilpatrick wasn’t going to tell him anything more. He knocked on the door and returned to his seat.

The guard came in. “That was fast.”

Tony took in the too interested dark gaze and glanced at the badge name and noted it: J. Hendricks. He shrugged. “He’s too scared of his own shadow.  Let’s see if his buddy is more talkative.”

Hendricks grinned. He loosened the chains from the floor and tugged Liam to his feet.

Alarm was written all over Kilpatrick’s face, but he didn’t say a word as Hendricks dragged him out of the room.

Tony took the time it would take Hendricks to recover Bates to order up his thoughts and consider his approach.

Hendricks escorted Bates in, pushing him into the chair and tying up the chains. He gave another nod to Tony and left.

Bates was Kilpatrick’s physical opposite; small, compact, dark hair buzzed short. A gang tattoo covered half his neck.

Bates looked at him defiantly.  “I’m not telling you anything, pig.”

Bates lost points for his lack of originality.

Tony grinned sharply. “I work for Michael Macaluso.”

Bates flinched but rallied. “Still not telling you anything.”

Tony’s smile turned grim. “Then I’ll talk.” He got to his feet and walked over to the small-barred window. He turned around to look at Bates. “Hatton was a trafficker and you were one of his crew.”    

Bates huffed. “I did jobs for him, doesn’t make me a member of his crew.”

Downplaying his involvement. Wise.

Tony shrugged. “Hatton had a meeting shortly before the circus job,” he flicked imaginary lint from his sleeve, his eyes still intent on Bates. “You weren’t there, but you knew of it.  A meeting between Hatton and a well-dressed man who was escorted by military types. You pegged them as trouble.”

Bates glared at him, but there was no hint of smug denial that Tony was wrong.

“Good instincts,” Tony commented.

He walked around the cell to behind Bates, forcing him to swivel to keep eyes on him. 

“Hatton didn’t tell you the girl you were grabbing was Laura Macaluso,” Tony said bluntly, facing Bates. “He didn’t tell you that it wasn’t a job for him but for his new friends.”

Bates was silent but there wasn’t a hint of objection his face just defiance.

“You know how I know? You wouldn’t have brought Liam into it if he had,” Tony commented softly.

Bates pressed his lips together, a furious expression on his face as though he hated being caught in the act of caring for someone.

“Coming after a member of the Macaluso family so blatantly? You had to know that would cop you nothing but trouble,” Tony waved at the room. “Quickly confessing your sins and doing your time? Why? Because you think jail is safer.”

Bates’ eyes glanced toward the door and back so fast Tony almost missed it.

“Or rather you thought jail was going to be safer,” Tony surmised as he paced to the door and stared at it rather than Bates. “Until someone got a message to you.” He spun back around, catching the surprise on Bates’ face that Tony had worked out so much.

“You think you’re a clever guy?” Bates snarled, jabbing a finger at him. “You know nothing.”

“I know you’re not scared of me and so you’re not scared of Mike,” Tony said walking back to the table and sliding back into his chair. “But then Mike has a reputation for running people out of town, he doesn’t kill them like his old man used to do.” He held Bates’ eyes. “Yet Hatton ended up with his brains splattered on a pavement and someone told you if you talked, if you said anything, you and Kilpatrick are next.”

Bates almost growled, turning his whole body away to face the window.

“I’ve already told Hendricks that Liam didn’t tell me anything because he was too scared,” Tony said quietly, taking in the way Bates’ shoulders dropped minutely. “I’ll tell him you didn’t talk either if you answer three questions for me.”

Bates looked back at him, his unsaid ‘what?!’ screaming out of his face.

“Did Hatton know who the target was?” asked Tony.

Bates sighed. He rubbed his chin, closed his eyes and nodded quickly.

“Was Hatton happily signing up to try and take over Philadelphia with these guys?”

Another nod.

“Were they known to him?”

A quick shake of the head.

Tony hummed. “Go back to glaring at me.”

Bates scowled.

Tony got up and banged on the door. 

Hendricks came in.

Tony waved a hand at Bates, letting frustration, anger and derision show on his face. “This one’s too stubborn to talk it seems.” He met Bates’ gaze. “Last chance to change your mind? Mister Macaluso won’t make this offer again.”

Bates flipped him off.

Hendricks rolled his eyes in apparent solidarity with Tony. “I hope you’ll convey my cooperation to Mister Macaluso.”

“Of course,” Tony said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to show his appreciation.”

Hendricks smiled darkly and yanked Bates out of the room.

Tony followed him out. There was a courtesy visit to the warden who was assured of an anonymous donation to his pension fund before Tony escaped.

He drove away from the prison and was back in Philadelphia city limits before he parked up in a deserted alley and picked up the car phone.

“Macaluso Security,” Maureen barked.

“Hey,” Tony greeted her. “I need a priority background check.”

“Who?”

“A prison guard named Hendricks,” Tony answered. “Initial J.”

“Threat?” asked Maureen tersely.

“He’s working for the opposition,” Tony said simply.

“Opposition?” Maureen snapped the word out.

“Opposition,” confirmed Tony grimly.

Maureen swore. “Does Mike know?”

“It’s why he’s got me looking at it,” Tony said.

Because he figured Mike had worked it out when Hatton had tried to grab Laura; when Hatton had ended up dead; when his nephew began doing things Mike didn’t know about and there were walls around Carson’s Carnival that shouldn’t have been there.

Maureen sighed. 

He heard her light a cigarette and grimaced. The office always stank of cigarettes. 

“If it’s the same guy, Jan Hendricks used to work for Macaluso Security. I fired him just over a year ago,” Maureen said. “Was he in his forties? Dark hair, pock-faced? Beady little eyes?”

“Sounds like him,” Tony said, amused at the description. “Why’d you fire him?”

“He assaulted Bobby’s new admin,” Maureen said. “He tried to shrug it off as a misunderstanding but there was nothing misunderstood about the way he’d trapped her in the building and forced her to agree to a date as payment for him opening the door,” she cut herself off with a disgusted snort. “She called Rebecca when she got home, reported the incident in the same breath as resigning.”

“She didn’t want to press charges?”

“She just wanted out,” Maureen sighed. “Mike arranged for her to go home to Iowa and set her up with a nest egg while she found another job.”

“And Hendricks?”

“Steffano was sent to round to fire him and tell him to get out of town,” Maureen noted dispassionately. “He got.” She blew out a breath. “Personally I voted for castrating the guy.”

“Was that his first incident?” asked Tony seriously.

“I couldn’t find anything before that,” Maureen said, “although a couple of the girls did come forward to say he had tried to pressure them into dates, got a little too into their personal space.  They said he’d back off though when they said no. Not sure why he thought he’d get away with it; he knew we had cameras on.”

“Hmmm.”

Maybe he was approached back then, Tony mused. The idea that Mike had some competition and Hendricks was going to be on the other side might have given the man a false sense of confidence. He looked at the clock on the dash. Hendricks’ shift had just finished.

“You have a current address for him?  Bar he liked to hang out in?”

“No address, but he favoured The River D Bar off the ‘ninety-five,” Maureen said. “Watch yourself, Tonio. Call if you need back-up and call me once you’re home safe.”

“Roger, that,” Tony murmured. 

He changed coats in the parking lot, swapping out his smart woollen coat for an old sports jacket he’d kept in the boot. He wriggled out of his suit pants and into worn jeans. He stuck an old Baltimore Ravens cap on his head and slid on a pair of tinted glasses. He checked nobody was watching and changed out the plates for Baltimore ones.   

He headed to the bar. 

Inside, he bought himself a beer, ordered some wings, and tucked himself into a corner to watch the game playing on the big screen.

Over the next hour, Tony poured the majority of his first beer into the dying plant he’d sat beside. He’d just ordered another when two men entered. They screamed former military; Marine haircuts, dog-chains, and old surplus fatigues. Tony noted bulges under their jackets which gave away that they were definitely carrying. They went straight to a booth at the back.

Tony stayed where he was. His position gave him a good view. He focused on his chicken wings ostensibly ignoring the men. 

Ten minutes later, Hendricks entered and paid Tony no attention. He sauntered into the bar, ordered a beer, and headed for the back booth. He watched as Hendricks greeted the two men cheekily. He accepted a fat envelope from them but seemed to be arguing. One of the burly guys finally gave in, shrugging at his companion’s appalled expression.

The two men stood, striding out of the bar as efficiently as they came in. Hendricks scrambled to follow them.

Tony drank down a gulp of beer, pushing his empty wing plate aside. He headed out just in time to see the large SUV with the men and Hendricks leaving the parking lot. Tony got into his car unhurriedly and followed them, taking the ‘ninety-five towards the airport. 

Following a car was never easy when it was a lone job. With other cops, cars could trade off and reduce the risk of being spotted as a tail. 

Tony was very careful not to be seen by the SUV, staying behind other vehicles for the most part and only just keeping it in sight. When the SUV turned off and headed into an industrial area by the airport, Tony swore under his breath knowing it was going to be more difficult not to be seen. He made the decision to keep driving as though his destination was the airport rather than following them immediately onto the industrial park.     

The airport turn came up and Tony circled back. Even in the dark, it didn’t take him long to find the SUV parked in front of a well-lit warehouse.

Tony drove past and took an old service road to give himself a vantage point on a small hill overlooking the warehouse front. He parked the car behind a closed small airline office building and moved out, discarding the hat and glasses, but taking the camera that he had stashed in the glovebox. 

A short walk took him to a group of trees he could hide behind and still have a good view. He settled behind one of the trees and frowned as he took in the neat row of black SUVs and two sedans. Ten cars in total. If he factored on all cars being full, he was looking at an operation of around forty people.

And this was a single location.

There could be others.

There would be others, Tony thought coldly logical as he took pictures. This was a well-organised strike to take out Mike Macaluso as the power in Philadelphia.

Tony questioned himself on how he would plan it. How would he take Philadelphia from Mike if that was the mission?

He'd have four teams. One located in each quadrant of the city. Consolidate control over the crime that Mike had either withdrawn from or never pursued like prostitution, drugs, and guns. 

Maybe that explained the circus. Mike had stopped doing the kind of business with Carson that Mike’s father had done with the circus. Carson had scrabbled to find others to fill the gap.

Clowns took point on the drugs and Duquesne on guns. Kumar looked like an independent hooker but maybe there was a connection into the city’s prostitution…no.  Hatton had been that connection. He’d had an arrangement with Carson, not for prostitution but for human trafficking. 

Tony wondered how many people Hatton had ordered his team grab from the circus; vagrants wanting to sneak into the tents for the night for shelter, hookers looking to make a quick buck, and neglected kids of all kinds sneaking in for some fun. God. He should probably get Baker to investigate missing people around the time the circus was in town.

Previous grabs.

That’s how Hatton’s team had known the layout when they’d gone in for Laura.

And this new gang, they were consolidating control over the crime the circus participated in and Carson had acquiesced. It explained the walls Mike had ran into because he wasn’t the one ‘protecting’ the circus, Mike’s rivals were the real protectors.   

OK, Tony thought, content that he’d connected the circus to the rival operation. 

“Because that’s when they come.”   

Clint’s words echoed in Tony’s head. Clint had seen them. Damn it. 

Tony sighed. If he was right, Clint was in grave danger. There was no doubt in his mind that if the gang below knew of Clint’s knowledge. they would move to eliminate him. Or force him to work for them because a kid with his skills had value. It was a surprise they hadn’t already tried to inveigle him into their op. But maybe, Tony considered, while the kid was pulling in money for the circus and not a threat to them, he was probably protected under whatever arrangement existed with Carson. 

But possibly not for much longer, Tony deduced. They’d already circumvented Mike’s offer of protection to Clint; already tried to get him to work for Steffano. It was all too probable that they were just waiting on Clint being a little older before making their move on him.    

Tony stilled his need to go check on the kid.

Clint was safe enough right at that moment. Given the hour, he would be finishing up his Wednesday night performance. Tony would check on him the next day, call off whatever Clint had decided to show him for Clint telling him and giving the kid an exit plan.

Back to the problem in front of him, Tony mused. Consolidating power was one step in removing Mike from power, the next step would be to start bribing the authorities; pay them better than Mike and the preferred option there. That was likely in progress.

Step three: push on a weak spot to take over the family from within. Mickey might be the weakest spot, but it was Steffano who ran the business which mattered. Steffano’s compliance was part carrot (the offer to put him in Mike’s place), part stick (the safety of his daughter only guaranteed by Steffano’s good behaviour).

Step four had to be a decisive move of some kind and snap – Mike would be gone.

Tony closed his eyes briefly.

The gang had to be on ‘step four.’

Tony sighed. He liked Mike. And for all Mike’s criminality, the man did a lot of good with his power. Is good done in the name of evil still good?

A question Antonio should take to a real priest, Tony thought with a touch of hysteria.

There was no doubt in his mind though that Mike was better than the alternative the gang in the warehouse below represented.

Tony wondered what else they were waiting for in order to oust Mike. 

Maybe, he considered, maybe it wasn’t just a linear plan. Maybe it was a two-pronged attack because relying on a family member to betray Mike was a risky move, even with the threat against a loved one.

Tony tapped the camera against his leg as he considered the options.

Killing Hatton had given the gang a different type of an opening. The police had decided to stop looking the other way where Mike and the Macaluso family were concerned. If the gang were wise, they would have used the police operation to take-out Mike for them. But Mike had then identified and politely fired the two undercovers who’d tried to infiltrate his organisation.

Tony frowned. 

Knowledge of his own undercover situation, his exact identity and position, was limited to Baker and the Chief of Police even if there was a wider taskforce providing support. Ostensibly they had wanted to keep the operational security tight to prevent Mike learning about it from another source. But Baker had let slip about a month into Tony’s op that his Captain had sent in another undercover operative. Baker had informed him as a courtesy in case Tony identified them or if he was with Mike when Mike found out.

Was that gambit part of the gang’s plan or was his own the gang’s gambit? The question made his stomach turn. 

He liked Baker. From his own research, Baker was a dutiful cop with commendations and a solid arrest record as a Detective. He really didn’t want to think the man was dirty.

Tony grimaced. 

Someone hadn’t put Laura’s abduction into his file.

He shifted back as a flash of movement at the warehouse caught his eyes. He raised the camera and zoomed in for a better look.

Hendricks was dragged outside by the two men he’d arrived with. His arms were secured behind his back, struggling wildly.

Tony snapped a picture.

Another man emerged from the warehouse.

A shiver went down Tony’s spine.

The man was dressed similarly in old Army fatigues as the two dragging Hendricks, but he also had a tac-vest strapped over his jacket and was very visibly armed. Unlike them his dark hair was a non-military length, falling in a choppy cut to his shoulders.

He was a good-looking man, Tony mused, with delicate features which somehow added up to an attractive manly visage. He reminded Tony of someone, but he couldn’t quite remember who. He frowned at the glove the man was wearing on his left hand since there was no glove on his right. He didn’t think the oddity was because the guy was a Michael Jackson fan.

Tony stilled as Hendricks was forced to his knees, frantically talking – begging, Tony realised.  Henricks was begging for his life.

It was going to be an execution.

And he was in no position to stop it, Tony told himself sternly, fighting the urge to intervene. If he tried to save Hendricks, they’d both end up dead. Being a witness and making sure the guilty went down for the crime was the best he could do. 

The gloved man drew a gun and fired it.

Hendricks’ body slumped to the ground.

Tony blew out a breath and lowered the camera.

The two men who’d dragged Hendricks into the open, picked up his body and carried him to a car. They dumped him inside the trunk and went back inside.

The gloved man stayed out for a long moment, staring at the spot where Hendricks had fallen. Suddenly he raised his head and looked towards the hill where Tony was hidden.

Tony froze, even holding his breath. He was glad the camera was pointed at the ground and couldn’t catch the moonlight. He was beyond grateful for the dark which concealed him from view.

Glove Man stared for two beats of Tony’s heart before he turned around and headed back inside.

Tony counted to a thousand and slowly moved back to his car. He gunned the engine and left. It was definitely time to leave.

His head was a mess when he got back to Antonio’s apartment. 

He stripped and dove under the shower, letting the water wash away his guilt and shame. It wasn’t the first time that he’d witnessed an execution undercover. He’d seen two gang executions in his time at Peoria. It had been a minor miracle that he hadn’t been asked to perform one of them. He’d become Antonio Bianchi thinking that he might have to do things that were morally questionable, maybe even kill someone to establish his credentials. It had been a relief to read through the Macaluso file and realise Mike generally eschewed violence.

He washed himself clean and stepped out of the shower, reaching for his towels.

Things had become very complicated.

He was certain that Mike and the Macaluso family were in danger from the violent rivals who had clearly started an incursion of Philadelphia long enough ago to feel comfortable in leaning on Steffano, and potentially orchestrating a police operation.

The sensible thing to do would be to ask for an extraction yet Tony was also certain his position was compromised. He wasn’t sure extraction wouldn’t lead to a bullet in his own head.

Tony sighed.

The gang needed to be taken down. If Tony left without stopping them, they’d overrun Philadelphia and hurt a lot of innocent people. Which meant contemplating a move that Tony really didn’t want to contemplate but then…

Mike had to know he was under threat. Hadn’t Tony said as much to Maureen? And if Mike knew he had to have a plan. Tony had planned out how he’d take Philadelphia from Mike, but maybe he should consider how Mike would counter-attack…

A knock on his door had him tensing.

It was late and very few people knew of his address. He hurried over to the apartment door and sneaked a peek through the spyhole.

Maureen stared back at him with an arched eyebrow.

Think of the Devil, Tony thought half-hysterically. At least it wasn’t Mike.

Tony opened the door. “Maureen, what are doing here?”

“I distinctly remember telling you to call me when you were done,” Maureen said, pushing inside. She dumped her large handbag on the sofa and waved at him. “Go and put some clothes on, Antonio.  I’m not Francesca.”

Tony fought the urge to blush and headed into his bedroom. He hurriedly towelled himself dry enough and yanked on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He slid his back-up pistol into the kangaroo pouch. He liked Maureen but he was beginning to question whether he could trust anyone.

Maureen was at the tiny island which separated his kitchen from his living space.  She was puffing on a cigarette, tapping the ash into a saucer she’d liberated from his open shelving.

Tony grimaced. “This is a non-smoking apartment, Maureen.”

She waved a hand at him. “Give me a break, Tonio.” She dragged a hand through her hair.

Tony leaned back on the back of his sofa and stuffed his hands in the kangaroo pocket. “This feels like more than you just checking in on me.”

“That’s because it is,” Maureen said with a harsh laugh. She stabbed her cigarette out and turned to him, almost vibrating. “Mike has you looking at a rival operation moving into town.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed on her lowered gaze. He nodded. “He has.”

“And you’re sure Hendricks is in their pocket?” Maureen asked sharply.

Tony’s lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. “He was.”

Her gaze flew up to meet his frantically. “Was?”

Tony nodded. “They executed him.” He shrugged. “I figure he was trying to leverage my visit to the jail into better terms for himself.” He waited a beat. “They killed him for overstepping.”

Maureen blew out a breath. She raised her hands to her face, trembling. “God.”

“Tell me why you’re here, Maureen,” Tony ordered.

Maureen reached for the pack of cigarettes she’d discarded and hurriedly lit one. She took a large drag. 

Tony didn’t say a word.

“After Laura’s abduction, I found the link between Hatton and the men involved,” she began, “and two days later the man steps out of a restaurant after meeting with Mike and ends up dead on the pavement.” She gave another harsh laugh. “I marched myself over to Mike, demanded to know if he’d done it.  He denied it.”

“It definitely wasn’t him,” Tony said.

Maureen deflated. She took another puff of her cigarette, tapped the ash away. “I thought so until Steffano came round the same night, told me to mind my business, that Hatton had gotten what he deserved.”

“You thought Steffano had done it with Mike’s blessing,” Tony realised.

“A federal agent approached me about week after that,” Maureen said. “Blonde, smart. His partner was in a knock-off suit, former military, didn’t say much. He said that they were working jointly with the Philadelphia PD to stop organised crime in the city. They needed someone on the inside of the family.”

Tony kept one hand on his gun and used the other to rub at his forehead. “You agreed to be their insider on Mike.”

The other undercover.

He could understand her thinking. He could guess where her confession was going too. He tightened his grip on his own gun.

“Look, Tonio, I’m a former cop,” Maureen stabbed the cigarette out. “I’ve always known Mike’s business wasn’t fully on the up, but he seemed to be doing a lot of good and I needed the job.  He guaranteed me I would never have to do anything which compromised me.” She sighed.  “And then Becca went and fell for Bobby, and I knew we were too entangled to escape the net if it ever came to it.”

“You made a deal,” stated Tony. “You, Becca and Mary out in one piece when they finally brought the net down on Mike and the rest of the family.”

Maureen hugged herself tightly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Agent Stand called me after you did.”  Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “They asked me what your interest was in going to the jail and talking with Bates and Kilpatrick…and after what you had said on the phone, I just knew.”

“They’re part of the opposition not agents,” Tony concluded.

Maureen nodded unhappily. Her hands dropped down, one disappearing behind the island.  “Although maybe Stand really is an agent, his badge looked real enough, even if the agency isn’t well-known.” She grimaced. “Maybe he’s not, but I figure I’ve made a deal with the Devil and if my babies are to be safe…” Her hand came back up with a gun. She was shaking as she pointed it at him.

Tony kept still. “They tell you to take me out?”

She shook her head. “They just want me to convince you to leave, to drop looking into things.”  She looked at him imploringly. “You don’t owe Mike Macaluso anything, Tonio. Mike might have given you the assignment, but I was the one who hired you in the first place. Go back to Baltimore and forget about Philadelphia.”

“I can’t do that,” Tony said softly. “These guys are bad news, Maureen. They’re going to hurt people. You think they’ll leave you alive once they get what they want? Or Becca? Mary?”

His hand gripped his gun tightly as Maureen breathed in sharply.

“They shot Hatton to show what happened to someone who failed them,” Tony continued.  “They shot Hendricks because he was nothing but a pawn to them. They probably have someone already lined up to take his place in ensuring Kilpatrick and Bates keep their mouths shut.” He kept his gaze locked on her. “They do not value the people who help them, Maureen.  They do not honour their deals.”

Her lips trembled but she didn’t deny his words.

“Mike’s a lot of things, Maureen,” Tony continued, “he’s a mob boss and he’s dangerous, but he’s not them.”

Maureen’s hand wavered at that and…she set the gun down on the island with a clatter. She dropped her head into her hands. 

Tony breathed out. He slowly got to his feet and took hold of the gun, placing it out of Maureen’s reach.

She sobbed brokenly into her hands. “What the fuck do I do now?”

And maybe Tony considered as he tentatively pulled her into a hug, he’d be able to answer her once he’d answered that damn same question for himself.

o-O-o

The Macaluso estate was up by Chestnut Hill.

Tony had kept his entry quiet, coming in through the family entrance to the West rather than the front gate. The sun was barely up, a thin yellow light splitting the earth from the grey and lilac sky as he made his way to the guest cottage Mike had built out by far side of the estate with the view of Wissahickon Creek.

The spare key was under a rock in the pretty front garden. Tony used it, made a call on the internal phone sitting in the hall and ignored the sheet covered furniture and stale air as he headed into the kitchen. He set the coffee machine running because God knew he needed it after the night he’d had.

He headed back outside with a mug and sat at the wrought iron garden table with his face lifted to the weak sunlight. 

He was just done with his drink when Mike turned up…with Betty.

Who bustled over with a basket of muffins, fresh apple juice and a thermos of better coffee.

Which OK, Tony could roll with that.

Mike settled Betty into one chair and took the other. They looked like any other mature couple enjoying a breakfast together. They were dressed comfortably in navy pants combined with shirts under matching blue sweaters.

“This is all very clandestine,” Betty commented cheerfully, her white hair pulled back into its usual bun and her large blue-eyes giving her a harmless look that only an idiot would fall for.  She nudged a fresh mug of coffee in Tony’s direction. “I haven’t been to a secret rendezvous since Mike courted me.”

Tony cracked a smile. “You and Mike had a secret rendezvous?”

“Many,” Betty confided ignoring her husband’s sheepish expression, “my father really didn’t approve, you know.” She patted Tony’s hand. “Now you said you had news?  Mike said you sounded very serious.”

Tony wrapped his hands around his mug of coffee and looked over at Mike. He took a deep breath and took the biggest risk of his life. “Was it your idea to hire me from Peoria?”

There was a beat of silence.

Betty smiled. “It was mine.”

“It was your idea to bring in an undercover cop,” Mike sighed, picking up his own coffee, “I was the one who had William choose Officer DiNozzo.” 

William being William Hanlon, the Chief of Police.

He raised his mug. “How did you work it out?”

“I figured out that you had to know about the threat you were under, and then I considered how you might have planned your counter-attack,” Tony said bluntly. “You brought me in to take them down.”

Mike nodded, his blue eyes glinting with satisfaction. “The Philadelphia cops were too hung up on me as a suspect.”

“We needed fresh eyes,” Betty said. She nudged the muffins closer to him.

Tony took one of the banana ones and placed it in front of him. “They have cops in their pockets.”

Mike nodded. “The Chief is mine and Baker’s straight as an arrow for the record. Man really thinks that you’re undercover to dismantle the Macaluso family business.”

Tony felt a flicker of relief at that. 

“But there are a lot of cops who are no longer in our pockets,” Mike finished. “Baker’s former partner included. Baker trusts him too much even if he hasn’t shared your identity with him He thinks Barry is the undercover.”

Barry was a security guard who’d joined at the same time as Tony. He was part of Steffano’s usual mob and the kind of low level enforcer the cops had placed as undercovers before.

“Realising from Francesca that you were missing the information on Laura’s abduction rather explained why your approach to gaining a position inside the family was so slow,” Betty said with a hint of reproach in her voice. “We had to throw Francesca at you to pull you into the inner circle.”

Tony’s eyes widened at the realisation that Frankie was in on it. He’d pegged her as being honest in her desire to go into law. It was disturbing to realise he might have badly misread her.

“Not that she minded,” Mike commented plucking a chocolate muffin from the basket and huffing when Betty replaced it with blueberry.

“Not that we minded,” Betty said. “You and Francesca make a lovely couple. The grandchildren would be gorgeous.”

So, they suspected Baker’s partner of screwing with the file, Tony deduced, firmly ignoring the heated blush crawling over his skin. He shoved his angst about Frankie away and took a bite of muffin to cover himself. He sipped his coffee and made a deliberate change of subject. 

“I put Maureen on a bus out of town this morning.”

Mike froze in the act of tearing up his muffin. “Maureen?”

Betty tutted under her breath. “I would never have thought her part of it.  We’ve always treated her well.”

“They spooked her with the Hatton kill,” Tony explained. “Made her think through Steffano that you had ordered it. Turning a blind eye to the criminal part of your business was easy until she thought you’d returned to your father’s way of running it.”

“I told you hiring a former cop with a pristine record to run security would bite you on the ass,” Betty said tartly.

“You did,” Mike sighed. 

“That and they promised to keep Rebecca and Mary out of the net when it fell.  She didn’t feel like she could say no,” Tony offered in mitigation.

“I guess we can understand and forgive her for that,” Betty said sharply. “We want to protect the family too.”

Mike stared at Tony. “You put her on a bus already?”

“They like killing off their pawns when they become liabilities or less useful,” Tony said bluntly.  “It wouldn’t surprise me if Steffano was next.”

Mike exchanged a knowing look with Betty and sighed. “Steffano is with them then.”

“They threatened Laura, offered him power,” Tony said.

Betty sipped her coffee, a cold look in her eyes. “Steffano has always wanted more power.”  She softened. “And he isn’t a good man, but he is a good father.”

“She’s the only good thing which came out of his marriage to Gabrielle,” Mike agreed. He turned to Tony. “Is it only Steffano and Maureen in the family?”

Tony shrugged. “Mickey’s a weak spot, but you knew that. He has no head for business. He let Maureen run everything and I think they likely have the circus lady keeping him distracted.”

“Carson’s their man, I take it,” Mike said.

Tony pointed at him, pinning him with a frank stare. “You knew that already.”

Mike nodded. “The others?”

Tony shook his head.  “Maureen claimed that Bobby, Rebecca and Mary were left alone under the deal she made.” He held up a hand when Mike went to say something. “I haven’t had time to validate that. I would be surprised if someone around them isn’t tied to the people trying to oust you.”  He rather figured it was the replacement admin who’d taken over from the girl Hendricks had pressured into resigning. “I’d be surprised if Bono or Frankie don’t have someone shadowing them.”

Betty looked furious.

Tony sighed. “What was your plan, Mike?” He couldn’t quite keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Because it had to be more than just hire an undercover cop who’ll take them down.”

Mike and Betty exchanged another look.

Betty cleared her throat. “Tell him.”

Mike set his mug down. “Two years ago, I knew someone was starting to move into the city. The drug rings and gunrunners started to get organised, started meeting way out of where we operated.” He got up and paced over to look out towards the main house. “A couple of the officials started smirking when we met, like they knew something I didn’t. Then at the circus that year, Carson went completely squirrelly when he rolled into town.”

“They operated mainly from out of town back then,” Betty recounted. “No overt moves.”

Mike pushed his hands into his pants’ pockets and rocked back on his heels as he turned to the table. “I pulled in a few trusted people and began to investigate thinking they were just another New Jersey mob getting too many ambitions.” He grimaced. “These guys are not the usual run-of-the-mill mob outfit, Antonio.”

“Tony,” Tony corrected. “What do you mean?”

“Shell companies within shell companies,” Mike said. “My old PI before they killed him traced some of the money back to Germany and some group called Thule, although they supposedly got eaten up into Hitler’s Nazi Germany.” 

“They’re coordinated like a militia,” Betty added.

“Or a cult terrorist group,” Tony said. Thule rang a bell; why did it ring a bell?

Mike pointed at him. “Exactly.” He sat back down. “Just after the circus left that time, they finally bought up an industrial building near the river. Moved in and paid me a visit.” He picked up his cup. “Either I was with them, or I would be killed. I told them that I was Macaluso and Philadelphia was mine. I told them if they wanted a war, they had a war.”

“They tried to run us off the road two days later,” Betty said.

“Our security contained the situation,” Mike replied reaching for her hand. “They lost all four of the men involved in the attempt.” He paused and held Tony’s gaze. “We blew up their operation not twenty-four hours later.” He smiled sharply. “The authorities ruled that there had been an unfortunate gas leak.”

“They went back underground, rebuilt from the outside,” Tony said, his mind racing. “Manoeuvred so you didn’t know when they established new bases inside the city.”

Mike nodded, grimacing. “For at least six months I thought I’d run them off.”

“Until Laura,” Tony realised.

“Realised it had their fingerprints when we connected the two men to Hatton. Then they sniped Hatton,” Mike said, “and I figured war was still on.”

Tony frowned. “Why didn’t they snipe you?” He waved away Mike’s answer as he realised it for himself. “You hurt them. They want you to watch the destruction of your empire, of your family. They don’t want you dead now; they want you to suffer.”

“That’s our theory,” Betty said quietly.

Mike squeezed her hand lightly. “I need to protect my family.” He shifted to hold Tony’s gaze. “I want to make sure they survive this.”

Even if Mike didn’t, Tony realised.

“I figured I needed better weaponry to take them down,” Mike said.

“Clint Barton part of that?” asked Tony caustically.

Mike sent him a chiding look. “More like I was trying to keep a weapon out of their hands. That kid is already lethal.” He gestured at Tony. “You’re the weapon I wanted. You are my ace in the hole. The way you took down that operation in Peoria was a thing of beauty.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow at the compliment. “I’m not sure how effective I’ve been since I thought I was coming in to take you down.”

“You’ve definitely gotten closer than anyone else,” Mike said dryly. 

Tony shrugged. “You let me get close.”

Mike leaned back. “I’m not going to lie, Tony. I like you. A part of me was hoping I could win you away from your chosen profession. You’re the person I’d choose to run the family business when I’m gone. You’re smart, dedicated. I’d happily adopt you as a son, welcome you as Francesca’s husband.”

Betty arched her eyebrows and mouthed the word ‘grandbabies’ at Tony.

“But I knew your lines when I told the Chief he could tell Baker he could appoint you,” Mike shrugged. “If we take them out and I go with them? As long as the family survives, I’ll be content.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and wished away the headache building behind his eyes.  He shook his head. “Why do they want Philadelphia so badly?” 

Maureen hadn’t known and he’d drawn a blank.

Mike smiled. “Two years ago we entered a bid to win a Stark Enterprises contract. They’d lease land and old factories, invest money to renovate and remodel them into factories suitable for Stark’s purposes. Stark would also invest in the surrounding city economy – housing, community grounds, hospitals, infrastructure. Whoever wins, wins big.”

“It began two years ago?” checked Tony.

Mike nodded. “It’s not unusual for this kind of procurement to last a while. Stark has to assure God knows how many federal and state authorities that it’s all above board.”

“Not to mention, there was a six month timeline given for the cities to deliver their initial proposals,” Betty said crisply, “and then the shortlisting and more information requests, a presentation…” she shrugged. “It’s a long process.”

“But these guys think you’re going to win,” Tony realised. 

“Maybe,” Mike said. “But I can’t see them making Stark do anything he doesn’t decide he wants to do. Kid’s young, but he’s as stubborn if not more than his father where business is concerned.  He’s been tough on the panels; he’s got the smarts to see right through any bluster.”

“When does the process complete?” asked Tony, the sense that he was onto something fizzing through him like a shot of adrenalin.

“Next month,” Mike confirmed.  “There’s a dinner in Los Angeles at the new Stark Headquarters.  All the bidders are invited to attend; the winning city will be announced at the dinner.”

That was the timeline, Tony realised. “They must have someone in Stark Enterprises,” he said out loud. “Someone who thinks they can make Philadelphia the winning city.” 

“Or all of the cities are on the hit list for their takeover,” Mike countered. “You might be interested to know that Carson’s Carnival goes through all three shortlisted, and all but two of the ones who initially bid.”

A cold shiver went down Tony’s spine.

Clint’s words echoed through him again. 

“Because that’s when they come.”

Thursdays. After midnight. Not just when they were in Philadelphia but every Thursday.

Clever Clint who was in so much more danger than he probably knew.

He still didn’t know if he was doing the right thing calling Mike out on his plan to use him; on working with Mike to take down the dangerous group muscling in. Baker would have a fit if he ever found out the truth. 

But Tony couldn’t see a lot of options. 

Betty nudged the muffin basket back towards him. “Have another, Anthony.  You’re going to need your strength.” Sympathetic understanding shone from her eyes as she caught his gaze.

He was a cop. He just had to remember that, Tony briskly told himself. He reached for his mug and pinned Mike with a firm look. “We need a plan.”

o-O-o

The circus was bustling with people. 

Thursday night seemed popular for reasons Tony couldn’t truly ascertain as he wandered in search of Clint. He was hoping he could talk Clint into telling him what he knew and convincing Clint to stay away from whatever surveillance Tony would need to do.

He glanced over to the entrance to the main tent where the returning Macaluso family that night – Betty and two of Mickey’s kids – were hovering waiting for the tent to open. Another old timer, Paddy, had stepped into fill Maureen’s shoes as security boss. He was with them along with another two security guards who Mike trusted completely.    

Mike was missing because he was meeting with the Chief of Police, setting up part of the plan they’d worked out over coffee and muffins.

Tony was still debating his decision to trust Mike, but he still couldn’t think of a different way to address the problem of Mike’s rivals. He sighed as he sidestepped around two teenagers making out in a nook between the tents. 

He almost stumbled over a peg and into the tent of Madame Mystery. 

“Easy there, ace,” the old woman chuckled from her stool by the entrance, “it’s easy to fall over rope and pegs in the dark.”

She looked age-less.  Silver-haired tied back, a wrinkled face dotted with liver spots.  There was a crocheted shawl around her shoulders and another she was crafting in her lap. 

“My apologies, Madame,” Tony began, “I’m looking for Clint Barton. Do you happen to know where he might be?”

“Probably in Gigi’s trailer putting his warpaint on, lovey,” she answered cheerfully.

Tony nodded his thanks and started to turn away.

The psychic reached over and caught his wrist, her dark eyes intent on his. “You’ll need to hide the Hawk before the creature gets him, but you will not be able to hide him forever. A shield is not a shield.”

Tony blinked at her. “Madame Mystery…”

She took a deep breath and her expression changed, a calm eeriness blanking out the humanity in her features. “Hercules failed without his Iolaus beside him; he didn’t burn all their stumps and now the heads grow back.”

Tony’s eyes widened with confusion, concern sparking him through him for the old woman.        

She shook her head suddenly, animation flowing back into her as though it had never been gone. “Sorry, my dear, did I say something?”

“Nothing that made sense,” quipped Tony.

She laughed and let go of him. “Not many things do when the Universe speaks.”

Tony took a step back and went on his way, a little shaken by the encounter. He wanted to shrug it off but…he’d consider it later, he told himself sternly, right then he had to focus. He made his way to Gregor and Gigi’s trailer.

The door was open and Tony knocked on the frame.

Gigi poked her head out. She was dressed for her upcoming performance; heavy make-up lining her face, a sequinned pink riding outfit already on her body. Her hard brown eyes gave away her distrust.

“Hey, I just wanted a quick word with Clint?” Tony said politely.

He couldn’t hear the sound of somebody moving inside the trailer and he figured he might have already missed Clint.

She tilted her head. “You’re the guy who took him out the other day for his date with the Macaluso girl?”

Tony grinned. “Why do I get the feeling he’s been denying it was a date?”

“Wow,” Gigi said, “look at you with those dimples. If I wasn’t already married to a passionate man, honey…” she grinned back at him, “and you’d be right about those denials. Kid’s gone on her like butter on toast though.”

Tony continued to smile at her. “Is Clint around?”

“Just missed him,” Gigi said, “he went with Gregor to get the horses warmed up in the practice circle.”

Tony sketched a salute and headed out of the trailers. He found Clint walking one of the horses around the circle. Gregor was nowhere in sight.

Clint looked over and Tony waved at him. He didn’t want to shout and spook the animal. Clint walked the horse over to him. 

“Hey, Antonio.”

“Hey, kid,” Tony greeted him with a smile until he noticed a bruise on Clint’s jaw that wasn’t quite hidden by the make-up, unlike the fading one on his cheek from earlier in the week. He motioned at it. “What happened?”

Clint ducked his head.  “Nothing.”

“Try again,” Tony said firmly. “That’s the second bruise you’ve collected in a week, Clint.”

Clint scowled at him. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you can do anything. Nobody does anything.”

Tony folded his arms over his chest and pinned Clint with a stare. “Try me, and don’t pretend it was an accident.”

Clint stared at him for a long time, but something in Tony’s stance must have convinced him because he slowly nodded. 

“Barney came at me,” Clint admitted. “He got a punch in before Gregor and Allan got him off me.” He grimaced as he touched his jaw. “He’d got his wages docked for pilfering the take on the galley; blamed me.”

“Let me guess, he tried to make you pay up the difference,” Tony sighed. 

Clint shrugged. “It’s not like Carson pays me anything, not that he believed that.” He sighed. “Gregor told him to get lost or he’d tell Carson to can him.”

Somehow Tony didn’t think Barney was going to drop it. He figured he’d swing by the shooting gallery on his way back to the main tent.

Tony gestured at the horse. “Is that the one you ride?”

“This is Apple Blossom, Gigi’s horse,” Clint said. “Gregor’s gone to check the shoeing on Daisy.  We think one of them’s loose which means I’m not riding her tonight and I’ll either take Blossom or Buttons instead.” He patted the horse’s neck.

Tony checked they were alone before he spoke again. “Listen, I’ve been doing some digging and what I found wasn’t good.”

Clint nodded slowly. “They’re bad people.”

“Dangerous,” Tony agreed, “which is why I don’t want you involved tonight, if possible.”

“I can do it!” Clint protested.

“I don’t doubt that,” Tony said, “but you’re only sixteen. I’d like you to make it to seventeen.”

Clint blinked at him as though the idea of anyone caring about his continued living was an anathema to him. 

“You tell me where I need to go, what to do,” Tony suggested, “and you just do what you normally do after the performance.”

Clint huffed. “I don’t know.” 

He considered it though. Tony could see him turning it over in his mind. But eventually he shook his head. The purple colour catching the bright lights that surrounded the circle.

“Look, I think I’ll need to show you but…”

“CLINT!”

The horse danced beside Clint at the shout, but he calmed her down with a hand on her neck. “Easy, Blossom,” he said soothingly. 

He cast a glance over his shoulder and Tony frowned at the sight of Clint’s brother barrelling towards him from the other side of the circle. He was rapidly putting together a horse losing a shoe, Clint being left alone, and a brother who thought he was entitled to Clint’s money.

Clint quickly looped the reins around a nearby post as he turned to face his brother.

Tony shifted position, stepping over a bale of hay and into the circle properly.

“What do you want now, Barney?” asked Clint. 

Barney looked furious. “WHERE’S MY MONEY, YOU DIPSHIT!” He yanked his arm back, fist clenched and…

Clint dodged and Tony sprang forward. He caught Barney’s wildly swinging arm and used the momentum to throw the man over his hip and onto the ground, keeping hold of the arm, twisting it painfully. Tony placed his boot on Barney’s neck over his throat.

Barney croaked as his breath stuttered.

“Now that I have your attention,” Tony said sharply, “let’s talk.”

Barney stared up at him, still more angry than fearful.

Tony pressed down until Barney started to choke. 

“Uh, Antonio?” Clint said nervously.

Tony ignored him, he kept his cold gaze on Barney’s until Barney’s face flashed from anger to fear. He was vaguely aware of others arriving into the circle.

“Please!” Barney choked out.

Tony eased his foot up but kept it lightly on top of Barney’s neck as the man gulped in breath. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Mister Barton,” he said calmly, “you are going to crawl out of this arena and go back to whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing. You’re going to stay away from your brother because he owes you nothing. But Mister Macaluso owes Clint Barton for protecting his niece so if you don’t stay away from Clint, I’m going to finish breaking your neck.”

Barney flushed purple but nodded gingerly, too aware of the foot over his throat.

Tony released him.

Barney scrambled away, half running as he staggered out of the circle and away towards the trailers. The Swordsman gave Tony a long look and followed after his new protégé.

Gigi clapped her hands and a couple of the other circus hands followed her example, applauding. She stopped at Tony’s sharp look and hurried over to Clint.  “Are you alright, Clint?”

“I’m fine,” Clint said. He looked a little stunned. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Guess you’re not just some pretty dimples,” Gigi said with a wink at Tony.

Tony shrugged.

Gregor was ushering people away. “Clint,” his hand landed on Clint’s shoulder in an almost fatherly way, “that brother of yours is trouble.”

“Did he sabotage the shoe?” asked Clint, clearly making the same connection Tony had.

“Maybe,” Gregor lifted his shoulders, “hard to say.”

A bell sounded out.

“Performance time,” Clint noted. “I’ll meet you at the practice range after the performance.”

Tony nodded unhappily. He’d get a second chance to convince Clint to stay away, he’d have to live with that.

He watched as Clint ran off and the other performers and hands cleared the area, everyone heading to the main tent.

Tony looked over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched. He found a man hovering by the big practice tent; he was compact with a muscled body showcased in blue jeans and a zipped-up old denim jacket that encased broad shoulders with his hands were stuffed in the pockets. The dirty baseball cap he wore was a Philadelphia Eagles and Tony could just make out black hair peeking out the back. There was scruff over his chin and neck, but it didn’t hide the fact that he was an attractive man.

He looked familiar. Tony wondered where he had seen him before.

Tony took a breath and walked over.  “Hey, man, are you lost?  This the practice area.”

As he got closer Tony could see the figure was trembling almost imperceptibly. He frowned and increased his pace.  He stopped just out of arm’s reach. He took in the too-pale skin and the terrified gaze in the blue eyes that were looking into the distance. 

Tony sucked in a breath. He recognised someone dissociating thanks to an incident with a veteran cop back in Peoria who had served in the Army.    

“Sir,” Tony began lowly, “you are at Carson’s Carnival, a circus, in Philadelphia. You are safe.”  He continued talking, providing reassurance of the date and location.

Finally, the guy gave a full body shudder and his gaze suddenly focused razor-sharp in on Tony.

“Hey,” Tony said gently. “You back with us?”

“What…” the guy’s voice sounded rusty as though he rarely used it. He cleared his throat. “What is the date?”

The accent was a mix of American and Russian.

Tony suppressed his curiosity and answered. 

The guys breathed in sharply, closing his eyes briefly. He cast a look around.

Tony registered the minute shivering and pointed at the tent. “Why don’t we take a seat in here for a moment?” He ushered the man inside feeling like he was coaxing a wild feral animal. 

The guy almost collapsed rather than sat on a nearby hay-bale, pulling his gloved hands out of his pockets to drop his head into them.

Tony crouched beside him. “You OK?”

There was a brief blaze of blue incredulity directed in Tony’s direction.

Tony gave a visible wince. “Yeah, I guess that was a dumb question.” He gestured slowly. “I’m guessing you’re a veteran? That you’ve seen some action?”

A slow nod answered him.

“Head’s a mess,” the guy admitted.

“I’m Tony,” Tony introduced himself.  “Can I help you to call a cab home or…”

“No,” the guy shook his head.  “Just…” he breathed in sharply.  “No.”

Tony wasn’t too surprised at the refusal of help.  “You have a name I can call you?”

A strange expression flickered over the man’s face. “James?”

Tony frowned at the hint of a question in the tone, but he knew dissociative episodes could be disorientating. “I guess the fight triggered your, uh…” he made a vague gesture up by his head.

James scoffed a breath. “Something like that.” He grimaced, rubbing his forehead as though he was in pain. “Brought back a memory.  My best friend was always getting into scraps and I was always helping them out of them.”

Tony nodded understandingly. “Do you want a coffee, something to eat? I can get you something from one of the food trucks?”

There was a shake of a head before James mumbled ‘water.’

Tony confirmed he’d get some and walked away thinking he’d come back to an empty tent. He was half-surprised to find James still sat on the hay-bale looking lost.

“Here,” Tony passed him the bottle of water.

James examined the top and opened the bottle. He took a sip and then a larger gulp. He glanced up at Tony. “You said you were with Macaluso?”

“Yes,” Tony said carefully.

“You should warn him,” James said quietly, raising his eyes until they met Tony’s. “The…the people who brought me here, they brought me here to kill him.”

Tony felt his heart skip a beat. His mind made the leap from James to the execution he’d witnessed. The build was the same. He stilled despite the urge to go for his gun. He had no doubt that James would react with violence if he did. The memory of James coldly killing Hendricks slid through Tony’s mind.

James waited him out. 

“Why give me the warning?” asked Tony carefully.

James ducked his head towards the tent opening, back towards the circle. “You protected the kid.  They want him.” He grimaced. “They want him to be another me, another weapon they can own.”

Tony could see James believed every word he’d said. “You make it sound like you’re not with them voluntarily.”

“They trap me into my head,” James bit out, closing his eyes. “I see everything I do, everyone I kill, but I’m not…I can’t stop it.”

Tony frowned heavily. His heart ached for James. That sounded insane but he’d read enough and talked to enough veterans to know that there was some truth about brainwashing. He pushed his sympathy aside and focused on getting information, trying not to feel guilty as he did so.  “We think this is linked with the Stark factory bid, is that right?”

James looked conflicted but he nodded quickly. “They have someone on the inside, I don’t know who. I don’t…”

“James,” Tony said, shifting to look more fully at the distressed man. “Let me help you. I can give you a safe place to hide and…”

“There is nowhere safe from them,” James said tersely. “Not for Macaluso or anyone with them.  You should get out while you can.”

“I can’t do that,” Tony said.

“You’re loyal. They said that. It’ll get you killed,” James noted roughly. “The end is coming for Macaluso.”

Tony shrugged. He knew he was risking his life helping Mike and the family. But he knew it was the right thing to do.

“Then I’ll be with him until the end,” Tony said simply.

“I said that once,” James whispered brokenly. He closed his eyes. “Told someone I’d be with them until the end of the line.”

“What happened to them?” asked Tony gently.

James opened his eyes, his grief all too evident. 

There was a beat of understanding between them. 

Tony felt for James. If he was right, James had been used by the gang trying to take over for a long while. Brainwashed. Under their control. Killing people like Hendricks and Hatton because that’s what they ordered James to do. Something about Tony stepping into help Clint had jolted James out of their control and Tony wanted to make sure he stayed that way. 

James looked around the tent and lurched to his feet. “I have to go. I’ve already stayed here too long. They always find me.” 

Tony slowly got to his feet with his hands stretched out in supplication, but staying back from James so he did not spook him. “Have you got somewhere to go?”

James shook his head as he stepped away. 

“Wait!”  Tony sighed and motioned at his pocket. He pulled out his keys. “My car’s in the lot. Take it. There’s spare cash in the glove box.” He threw the keys at James who caught them with his left hand. He’d have to loop back to Paddy and arrange an exit vehicle for later.

“Why?” asked James. “Why help me?”

“Maybe I’m just taking a weapon away from them,” Tony said.

“Right,” James huffed. His blue eyes seemed warmer as they met Tony’s. “You have a good heart, Antonio Bianchi. Stevie would have loved you, doll.”  He held Tony’s gaze for a tense heartbeat before he nodded sharply and left.

Tony let out a slow breath. He wondered if he’d ever see James again. There was just something about him…but letting him go had been the right decision, Tony told himself. He grimaced. He’d keep telling himself that until he believed it.

o-O-o

It was cold out by the practice range.

Tony huddled into his jacket and wished his long woollen coat was suitable for surveillance and stealth operations. He rubbed his arms, rocked back on his heels and thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t raining. He was beginning to wonder if Clint was going to show. The performance had been over for almost twenty minutes already.

“Sorry!” Clint skidded to a stop beside him.

Tony hid his startlement. God, but he needed to put a bell on the kid. He took in Clint’s changed look; he’d taken the time to shower and the purple was washed out of his hair, the make-up gone from his face. He’d dressed warmly into dark clothing; jeans, sweatshirt and jacket, old but sturdy boots. He was definitely dressed for a stealth mission.

“Are you certain you can’t just tell me where I need to get to in order to see them?” asked Tony, despite his instinct to give Clint a nod of approval.      

Clint waved a hand back towards the dark. “I’ll show you and leave, I promise.”

A compromise that worked.

Tony nodded at Clint’s silent question on whether to move out and he followed Clint’s swift jog across the park.

There was still noise and light emanating from the circus to their left. The winddown of the performers in their trailer hub; the close-down of the show tent; the ushering out of lingering patrons.

They cut through the park’s unused basketball courts and across more open land to a more forested part of the land.

Clint moved purposefully through the weave of trees. He barely made a sound despite the thin layer of leaves which were already littering the ground atop discarded twigs and deadened grass.

Tony wasn’t as good as Clint at avoiding noise, but he wasn’t a complete novice either. He adjusted to place his feet where Clint had placed his. He kept his breathing even. The jog wasn’t at the difficult end of Tony’s endurance, but he was glad that he’d kept up his fitness as Bianchi.

They emerged behind the RV and caravan that belonged to Carson.

Amber light seeped from behind the RV’s curtains which had been drawn over its windows. The caravan was in complete darkness.

Tony automatically looked towards the Swordsman’s place which was closest. Everything was dark. Further away but in view the clowns’ area had a few dim lights shining from their caravans. There didn’t look to be any movement though.

Clint nudged him and Tony followed him as they made their way over to the office caravan. Clint led them to a back access ladder. Clint was up it in a second, barely needing to use it to haul himself to the top of the caravan.

Tony swore under his breath and followed. Clint was already prying open an unlocked access hatch on the roof. Clint shot him a quick look and turned to wiggle his way feet first through the hatch, dropping down silently into the caravan. 

Tony grimaced at the tight fit as he copied Clint’s entry. His feet found the floor quicker than he expected and once he was fully inside he understood why; they were on the storage loft inside the main space over the front end of the caravan. Clint immediately reached up and closed the hatch from the inside. 

While he was doing that, Tony took the opportunity to look around as much as he could given his hunched position. The loft did not have a lot of clearance space, was crammed full of boxes at the back and to the left and right. He was glad he wasn’t claustrophobic. 

Clint had clearly carved a space out in the centre some time ago. There was a blanket covering the dirty carpet and a small backpack with some supplies. Tony could see a bottle of soda and a bag of chips peeking out.   

Clint tapped his shoulder and wiggled forward to the front of the storage loft. There were a few boxes placed at the front, but there were a couple of spaces which provided a clear line of sight to two bench seats either side of the caravan and a table in the middle.

“Carson remodelled it when he bought the RV. He moved the kitchen to below us, made it smaller,” Clint confirmed in a whisper. “Built out the old kitchen space for what he calls the meeting room.” He pointed beyond it. “The old spare room is used for storage and he turned the master into his office.”

“This is where they meet?” asked Tony briskly.

Clint nodded. “Every Thursday for the last eighteen months.” 

“I guess this used to be a hideaway spot for you?” Tony asked gently.

Clint gave another nod. “Gigi and Gregor sometimes need alone time. I was sick of trying to find someone to put me up for a night, figured Carson had the RV so I could camp on the floor here.  Found the loft and figured it was a really good spot to hide if I didn’t want to be found or needed a place for the night.”

“When did they start using it to meet?” asked Tony.

“About two years ago,” Clint fidgeted. “When I realised Thursday was going to be a regular thing for them, I only came if I really had nowhere else to bunk and then after the thing with Laura last year I stopped completely.”

But Clint would have a wealth of information he could provide on the group from the information he’d heard when he had been squirrelled away listening in. Something to explore once the night was over.

Tony nodded. “They’ve never found you?”

“People don’t look up,” Clint said simply.

“OK, you should go now,” Tony said firmly. There was still an opportunity to get Clint safe. “I can find my way out of here and…”

Headlights cut through the caravan, sweeping through the lower space. Brakes squealed as cars came to a stop; doors slammed and voices sounded through the thin walls.

Clint shot Tony a look that questioned whether he should go.

Tony grimaced but nodded for him to stay. It was too late for Clint to make his exit without their company seeing him.

Clint quickly settled back behind a box, pressing into the shadows in the loft.

Tony wriggled into a better position to see the table but giving himself the cover of darkness. 

Wall lights flared on in the space below. 

Carson barrelled in first, followed by his son. They both carried a little too much weight, bellies straining in their button-up shirts and flopping over their belted grey pants.  They bustled around the table taking the seats to the left.  One of the clowns followed them; streaks of white make-up still decorating the side of his face, his bald head shining with sweat. The Swordsman swept in a moment later. He’d redressed in a black polo neck shirt and pants. He might as well have tattooed himself with ‘I’m a bad guy’ on his forehead. David Blake, Hatton’s successor, was the final person to slide into the bench on the circus side; a mousy man with thinning red hair and a ferret face, he was bundled up in a very expensive wool coat. 

Two men with fatigues pushed past the bench and table to check the rooms at the back were empty; they took up sentry positions in front of the passage to the back.

Tony was more interested in the other side of the table where Mickey was sliding in to sit next to Steffano. The woman who had been banging Mickey sat beside him and the final seat was taken by a blond man who wore a camel coat over a very nice three-piece Armani. It was Blondie who took control of the meeting.

“We are here to finalise our Philadelphia plan,” Blondie announced. “Welcome to the table, Mickey Macaluso. Serena tells me you have agreed to assist us in exchange for a new life with her in Mexico.”

Mickey lifted his chin and nodded. “If I’m leaving Philadelphia, I want the money upfront though.”

Tony resisted the urge to sigh at Mickey’s stupidity. He had no doubt that Mickey would be killed by Serena as soon as his usefulness came to an end. Tony also refused to admit that he felt as disgusted with Mickey for selling out the family for sex and money as Steffano looked. By the sound of it, he hadn’t even made provision for his sons.

“That can be arranged,” Blondie demurred. He turned to the rest of the table. “We are accelerating the timetable.”

“Why?” asked Carson, mopping his brow. “I thought we had agreed nothing would happen with Macaluso until the circus left, Ludwig. It was bad enough that business with Steffano’s daughter happened last year. We’ll draw too much attention if something else happens.”

Ludwig huffed.  “Rest easy, Wilbur. Nothing will happen here.” He stared down Carson who submitted, ducking his head.

“The question still stands though,” Blake said tersely. “Why accelerate the plan? According to Detective Cain, his former partner’s undercover cop will take Macaluso down in the next couple of months.”

“We’ve had word that Stark will choose Chicago,” Ludwig stated, pulling off his gloves. “Therefore, our orders are to secure Philadelphia with all speed.”

“What’s the plan?” asked the clown.

Ludwig motioned at Steffano.

Steffano leaned forward. “My uncle went to visit Holden today. Tomorrow, Holden’s home will go kaboom and he’ll be shot dead.” He darted a look towards Ludwig. “If you can find your Asset.”

“The Asset never gets far when he wanders,” Ludwig said, projecting supreme unconcern. “We will find him.”

Tony felt his breath hitch. He just knew that James was the Asset. He hoped James was long gone.

“Barton will do it,” Duquesne said. “He’s a good shot.”

“But not brilliant like his brother,” Ludwig countered.

Duquesne snorted. “Good luck getting Hawkeye to kill Holden.”

Tony glanced over at a shocked Clint.

“Perhaps if he has the right incentive,” Ludwig said. “He is rather fond of your daughter, is he not? If he believed her life was forfeit if he didn’t do what we wanted, I’m sure we could persuade the boy to do it.”

Tony reached out carefully and placed a hand on Clint’s arm. He squeezed lightly hoping to convey that he wouldn’t let that happen.

Clint gave a small nod.

“And how will you deal with his Macaluso shadow?” asked Duquesne, leading back and folding his arms. “That Bianchi guy is keeping tabs on young Clinton. He’s trouble.”

“He’s not wrong,” Steffano bit out. “Mike trusts Bianchi for some reason. Somehow his digging into Laura’s abduction uncovered Hendricks and Maureen’s involvement in our counter-operation to Baker.”

“Hendricks is taken care of,” Ludwig said.

“But Maureen is in the wind,” Steffano shot back. 

“She is?” Mickey spluttered. “Shouldn’t I have been informed?”

“Maybe you would have been if you’d managed to stop screwing Serena for more than a minute,” Steffano argued. “Mike said he told Bianchi to take care of getting rid of her. She’s probably dead somewhere; he’s a mean son-of-a-bitch under his good Italian Catholic boy act.”

Tony was pleased that Steffano had fallen for the misinformation Mike had spread as part of their plan.

“I thought for a minute there he really was going to break Barton’s neck,” Duquesne admitted. 

“If we’re getting rid of Mike, we’re going to need to deal with Bianchi,” Steffano said, banging his fist on the table.

“Then deal with him,” Ludwig said implacably. 

Nice, thought Tony, almost amused.

“This time tomorrow, Mike Macaluso will be shot dead in a police raid of his Chestnut Hill home and Philadelphia will be ours,” Ludwig declared. “Ensure you have alibis.” He pinned Mickey with a look. “You will give your father the news at breakfast of your departure and be gone by lunchtime.”

Mickey nodded.

“You all know your roles going forward,” Ludwig proclaimed. “The time of Mike Macaluso is over; the future is ours.”

The meeting wrapped up, with Ludwig ordering Steffano to stay behind.

The circus guys departed immediately. Serena led Mickey out, clinging like a limpet to his arm and whispering in his ear.

The caravan door closed again. 

Steffano got to his feet and paced to the far side of the table. “What do you want now, Ludwig?”

Ludwig smiled. 

It was a shark’s smile, Tony realised, his heart sinking.

“We are almost at the end,” Ludwig said. “Failure is not an option, Steffano, for either of us. You understand this?”

Steffano nodded. “I’m not an idiot, Ludwig.”

“Good,” Ludwig stated crisply. “Then you understand that while you have been here, my men have taken your daughter into our custody.”

Tony’s hand clamped down on Clint’s arm and he threw Clint a glaring look to keep him from revealing them.

Steffano lurched forward and the two thugs at the back of the caravan moved to contain him.

Ludwig wandered around the table and took hold of Steffano’s chin. “Come, come, Steffano.  She will come to no harm so long as you follow our instructions.”

“I’ve done everything you asked!  Everything you wanted!” Steffano snarled. 

“And you will continue to do so,” Ludwig said. He tilted Steffano’s chin upwards in a way which made Steffano grunt with pain. “Do we understand each other?”

Steffano nodded as much as he could in the hold he was in.

Ludwig smiled and patted his cheek. “Go home, Steffano. Be ready for tomorrow and do as you are told, and you will have Philadelphia by the end of the day.” He stepped back and signalled to the muscle who dropped Steffano and followed Ludwig out.

Believing himself alone, Steffano crumpled, dropping into the bench seat and covering his face with his hands. For a long moment, he clearly struggled to contain his distress. Slowly he got to his feet and left.

As soon as the caravan door slammed shut, Tony shifted to cover Clint’s mouth. 

“Not here,” he whispered. “Wait.”

They waited. 

Everything was dark.

Everything was silent.

Tony indicated for them to move. They slid out of the hatch, down the ladder, and ran across the empty park to the trees.

They paused just behind the treeline.

“We have to save Laura!” Clint said harshly.

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “And we will, but we have to be smart about it.” 

Clint nodded, worry written all over his young face.

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get whatever you need to leave. You’re not coming back here.”

Clint blinked back his shock. “Carson has a contract on me. He owns me…”

“Is it in the caravan?”

“Yes, he keeps it in the desk there,” Clint confirmed.

Tony nodded. “Wait here.” 

He ran back to the caravan and opened the door which had been left unlocked. He found matches in the kitchen cupboard and bottles of vodka in the cabinet. He opened the bottles and poured them out. In the office, he forced the desk lock with a knife. 

A quick search of the desk found Clint’s contract stacked with a black binder which Tony realised was an off-the-books accounts detailing the last two years of criminality. Tony tucked Clint’s contract into his jacket and tucked the binder under his arm. He set a wastepaper basket on fire and hurried back to the kitchen where he opened the burners on the gas stove-top and quickly left.

Clint frowned at him. “Did you find it?”  

“I’ve got it,” Tony said. “Let’s get out of here, I’ve rigged it to blow.”

They were almost at the car Paddy had waiting for them when the caravan exploded with a loud bang.

Chapter Text

The banging on his apartment door was loud and angry.

Tony dragged himself out of a bed he’d barely gotten into and pulled a long-sleeved fleece jacket over his sleep sweatpants and the tank-top he’d worn. 

He checked the clock and grimaced at the early hour. He’d spent the better part of the night planning with Mike and Betty. He went to open his apartment door.

Baker was flanked by two patrol officers in their uniforms, hands on hips, guns ready to be drawn.

Tony cocked his eyebrow at them all. “Can I help you, Officers?”

“Antonio Bianchi, you’re wanted for questioning at the station in the matter of an explosion last night at Carson’s Carnival,” Baker snapped brusquely. “You can either come peacefully or we can slap some cuffs on you and take you that way.”

“Let me find some shoes,” Tony quipped. He kept his expression befuddled. He hadn’t been seen at the caravan, he was sure of that. So why, he wondered, was he being arrested for it? It wasn’t part of the plan.

The positive was that he could bring Baker up to speed instead of having to do a whole visit to the church to drop the emergency signal and hope it got to him in time, Tony mused. Or at least bring Baker as much up to speed as Baker could be given he was the straight arrow in the mix.  The negative was that he was being arrested and really didn’t have time for it. 

Clint was going to freak at the news. He’d barely let Tony leave the Macaluso estate. Tony couldn’t blame him for wanting to have Tony around like a security blanket. Between the caravan, Laura’s abduction, the reveal of the Macaluso plan to take down the gang, and Betty’s mothering as they handled getting a plan in place to look after Clint, the teenager had dealt with a lot in a few hours.   

“Mind if I come in and take a look around?” Baker asked briskly. 

Tony shrugged and opened the door wider.

Baker and the patrol officers made a cursory search of his apartment as he stuffed his feet into the running shoes that he kept by the door and grabbed his wallet and keys.

They came back from the bedroom area with grim faces.

“Problem?” asked Tony.

“No problem,” Baker snapped.  “Let’s go.”

Baker walked beside him as they headed out of the apartment building and towards the Detective’s car which was parked on the street. Baker placed him in the back of his own car and gestured for the patrol car to follow them.

Tony waited until they’d pulled into traffic before he spoke. “What’s going on, Baker?”

“You threaten a hood called Charles Barton last night at the circus?” demanded Baker angrily.

Tony lifted his eyebrows and stared down Baker’s angry glare in the rear-view mirror as they came to a stop at a red-light. “He was beating on his kid brother, so yes, I threatened him a little.”

“And did you follow through? Did you kill him?” Baker pressed.

Tony’s surprise was genuine. “He’s dead?!”

“Carson’s office caravan exploded last night with Charles Barton inside,” Baker said, his anger was notched down a touch with the truth that Tony hadn’t killed the guy evident.

And Tony was never telling Baker the truth, Tony decided. Baker would not understand Tony torching evidence (even if he had removed the black binder) especially if it had ended up with an accidental death.

“You really had nothing to do with it?” Baker asked.

“We should save my story for when you have me in a box,” Tony commented, keeping his tone light. “I need to let you know what I’ve found out in the last couple of days.”

Baker frowned. 

“There is a rival gang moving into Philly, Baker,” Tony said. “Dangerous. They were the ones who had Hatton arrange the grab on Laura Macaluso; they are coercing Steffano into supporting them in a bid to take out Mike.”

Baker huffed. “Yeah, I got wind of the same,” he admitted. He sighed. “I think my old partner might be on the take for them. I tracked back the changes to your file. I think he was the one who removed the reference to the abduction attempt.”

Tony let himself visibly wince. “I’m sorry to hear that, Baker.”

“Me too,” Baker said. “Paul was a good cop once.”

“They’re making their move today, Baker,” Tony said. “There was a meeting about it at the circus last night with the main player a guy called Ludwig.”

“Ludwig Beck?” Baker’s startled gaze met his in the mirror.

A car blew their horn and Baker drove forward, belatedly realising that there was a green light. 

“Didn’t catch a surname,” Tony said. He provided a description and saw Baker nod.

“That’s Beck,” Baker confirmed. “He’s a SAC of a field office here for one of the more obscure federal agencies.”

“Good cover,” Tony murmured. He registered a nearby landmark and sighed. “Look, we don’t have much time. I have Carson’s black book, or rather binder. There’s enough in there to put Steffano away for sure, with some tough questions for Mike to answer. I’ve left in the bus station locker.”

Baker nodded. “I’ll pick it up later.”

“Mike’s intending to counter-move on this gang,” Tony continued. “Take them out before they can do their own power grab.”

“You have the details?” asked Baker.

“I have them,” Tony confirmed. He took a breath, kept his eyes steady in the rear-view mirror.  “Bianchi is going to help Mike take them out and then Bianchi is going to disappear before the police arrest Mike.” 

Baker sighed. “DiNozzo…”

“You do not want this gang instead of Macaluso,” Tony said firmly. “They’re dangerous, organised and cultish. Mike Macaluso is a teddy bear in comparison. Not only that, but they have too many officials in their back pocket already; too many cops.”

Baker was silent at that.

“We let Macaluso take care of ensuring this gang don’t get Philadelphia and we take Mike down for it,” Tony reiterated. “That’s the best outcome.”

“And the rest just get off Scot free?” Baker demanded furiously.

“Mike already has plans for Steffano; he’s going down for being in cahoots with the enemy,” Tony shot back, “Mickey is already on his way out of town because he’s literally in bed with the enemy and Mike expects that’s a death sentence and so do I!” He took a breath. “Bobby isn’t strong enough for the criminal end of business, Bono’s still in school, and Frankie wants to be D.A. so that leaves Betty to take over. Believe me the New Jersey mob will scent blood in the water and move for the territory – which was always going to be the outcome of taking out Mike. You know it and I know it.”

Baker pulled into the precinct parking lot and turned off the engine. “I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

Tony breathed out slowly. “Then we’re agreed? We take Mike down after he’s dealt with his rivals?”

“Agreed,” Baker grimaced. “Goddamn mob.”

Tony nodded. “The plans I know are with the binder at the bus stop.” The plans were the ones Mike and he had worked out that they’d tell Baker. “I’ll provide written and sworn testimony once I’m clear. You’re going to have to find some cops you trust with the take-down. According to what I overheard last night, Beck plans to use dirty cops to raid Mike and shoot him.”

Baker huffed. He glanced to his left where the second police car was parking and nodded.  “I’ll start the exit plan. You’ll be OK getting out of town?”

“As long as you don’t throw me in jail, sure,” Tony quipped. 

Baker rolled his eyes at him in the mirror and got out of the car. He ushered Tony out and they perp-walked him through to an interview room where he was left alone. Tony cocked his chair back, put his feet on the table and catnapped.

It didn’t take long for Baker to return with a growly Detective who was overweight and puffing, his florid face sweating. Gunerson slid into the chair opposite as Tony righted his own. Baker placed a tape recorder on the table and went to stand at the wall opposite, arms crossed.

“Detectives Hal Gunerson and Jonathan Baker interviewing Antonio Bianchi,” Gunerson rattled off Bianchi’s address and the date. “Mister Bianchi, do you understand that this interview will be recorded?”

“I do,” Tony said, sliding himself into Bianchi’s skin. “To be clear, you haven’t read me my rights and I am here co-operating as a person of interest.”

Gunerson glowered at him. “Where were you last night?”

“Any particular time you’re interested in?” asked Tony pointedly. 

“How about between midnight and one in the morning?” Gunerson shot back.

Tony shrugged. “I met up with Clint Barton after his performance and took him to Mister Macaluso.”

Gunerson frowned. “Barton is with Macaluso?” He darted a look at Baker.

“He felt unsafe staying at the circus given his brother’s ire towards him,” Tony responded with a shrug. “Mister Macaluso had already extended the invitation to stay with them after the incident with Laura Macaluso last year.”

“Where did you meet with him?” asked Baker.

“Practice range,” Tony said. “We went back to the caravan he usually resides in, picked up his belongings and left.”

“Mister Carson did not give permission for him to leave the circus grounds,” Gunerson said.  “As his legal guardian of record, he would like Mister Barton returned to him.”

“He can certainly file with the Department of Social Services to request his return to his guardianship,” Tony countered, “Mister Macaluso called Director Standing to confirm a temporary guardian arrangement last night.”

Baker and Gunerson exchanged another look. 

“Look, guys, Barton wasn’t provided with basic essentials or shelter by Carson. Anything he used or consumed was charged to him as debt he had to pay back under a very dubious contract that his mother signed off on at the same time as the guardianship,” Tony looked at both cops. “Now I don’t know about you but that alone makes Barton’s living conditions a matter of concern, and that’s before you factor in the recent addition of Charles Barton to the circus and his belief that he had every right to physically abuse his brother.”

Gunerson cleared his throat. “Witnesses said you had an altercation with Mister Charles Barton, also known as Barney, earlier in the evening.  Tell us about it.”

Tony shrugged. “Not to a lot to say. I was at one of the practice arenas talking with Clint about a trip to the range. His brother came storming over, visibly angry and attempted to take a swing at Clint. I stepped in and restrained him.”

“One witness says you almost killed him,” Gunerson said.

Tony shrugged again, affecting an unconcerned air. “I can see how it may have looked like that to someone who hasn’t been trained in security.”

“They said you threatened his life,” Gunerson continued.

“I may have explained how continuing to attack his brother wouldn’t end well for him,” Tony said.  He shifted. “What’s this about?”

Gunerson looked towards Baker.

“Did you go near Carson’s office last night?” Baker asked sternly.

“No,” Tony shook his head. 

“Did you speak with Charles Barton after your altercation?” demanded Baker.

Tony shook his head.  “No.”

“So you claim you know nothing about the caravan exploding around one in the morning, killing Charles Barton?” Baker followed up.

Tony affected the shock and surprise that he’d felt earlier in the car. “What?!”

Baker sighed. “Do you honestly expect us to believe that you and Clint Barton had nothing to do with this?”

“How do you even know it was him?” asked Tony. “Positive identification of a burn victim takes time.”

“A witness saw him enter,” Baker said.

“Right,” Tony drawled. “Let me guess, this witness also named me as a potential suspect, although I would guess he didn’t go as far as saying he saw me there.”

Baker was silent and stoic, but Gunerson flushed bright red.

Tony straightened and looked him straight in the eye. “I did not kill Charles Barton,” he spread his hands out, “I’d have to be very, very stupid to have fought with the man in front of witnesses and then kill him without a solid alibi.”

That rang with honesty and Gunerson winced.

“If you have any evidence, please charge me and I’ll call my lawyer, otherwise I think this conversation is over,” Tony stated implacably.

Baker and Gunerson exchanged another look.

“I’ll have patrol officers drive you back to your apartment,” Baker said. “Don’t leave town.”

“Could they drive me to the Macaluso estate instead?” asked Tony. “Someone needs to inform Clint Barton about his brother’s death.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Baker said snippily.

He and Gunerson left.

Tony settled back into his napping position. He wasn’t surprised when it was almost a full hour later that he was hustled back out of the station and into the care of the Macaluso attorney, Godfrey Bellington.

“You should have called me as soon as they asked you to come in,” Bellington chided him as they drove back to the estate.

“I can handle a couple of cops,” Tony replied. He slipped on his sunglasses and closed his eyes.  He opened them again when they got to the security gate.

The estate loomed ahead of them and Bellington parked up in front of the main house. He all but harrying Tony through the foyer and into the main family room.

Tony’s eyes swept over those present – Mike, Betty, and Frankie.

Betty swept Tony into a hug.  “Antonio! I can’t believe the police questioned you!”

“I can,” Mike said, “they’re idiots.” He nodded at Bellington. “Godfrey, let’s go into my office, we have a number of things to get sorted today.”

Frankie was next to hug him. “Clint didn’t take the news well.”

Tony sighed. He couldn’t imagine that Clint would.

“He was shocked,” Betty said soothingly. “He’s out in the garden.”

“I’ll walk you out to him,” Frankie said. She looped her arm around his and led him out of the house.

They crossed over the stone patio, skirting the ornamental pool. 

“Mama said you know that they asked me to date you to bring you into the circle,” Frankie said, conversationally as they headed for the woodland area to the left.

“They mentioned it,” Tony said lightly. He was still a little disturbed by the admission. “I didn’t think you had anything to do with the family business.”

“I don’t, not really,” Frankie said, “and I was honest when I told you I want to be District Attorney and put the family firm in the rear-view mirror.”  She sighed. “But Mama thinks she’s going to need help once Daddy goes away, and we both know my brothers are not going to step up.” She snorted. “That’s if Mickey even makes it out alive.”

Tony winced. “We could still try and save him.”

“He’s made his bed,” Frankie said simply. “My nephews are the ones who deserve to be protected. The one I’m concerned about is Laura. She is in their hands, and she didn’t ask for her Dad to be a douchebag.”

“We’ll get her out,” Tony promised. “They need her to control Steffano; they won’t kill her.”

Frankie nodded, ducking her head a touch to hide a flash of tears.

To his surprise, she pulled him to a halt and met his gaze intently. 

“I’m sorry for the pretence of dating you,” Frankie began, “would it help if I said I wished it wasn’t a pretence by the end?”

Tony reached out and tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. “I was pretending too, Frankie.  It was why I ended it. I didn’t want you hurt in the crossfire when the truth came out.” Because he genuinely liked her; had started to become fond of her in a way that was dangerous for an undercover.

Frankie smiled. She clasped his hand in hers. “Well, you know I know now.” 

Tony turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “Yeah, I know you know.”

“So,” Frankie said pointedly, squeezing his hand, “you know I know, and I know you know so maybe we can try again without the pretence?”

Tony raised his eyebrow. “Your Mom mention the beautiful grandbabies again?”

Frankie burst out laughing. “She really did!  Oh, my God!”

Tony raised their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “You don’t really want me, Frankie.”

“I don’t,” Frankie admitted, “but you’re the best man I know, and we could get there in time.”  She met his gaze with a rueful grin. “Daddy’s right that you’d be best for the business.”

“You can still be D.A.,” Tony said. “Mike got the business out of most of the really dodgy stuff; it wouldn’t take much to get it clean for real.” He shrugged. “You don’t need me for that, for any of it. You’re pretty great on your own.”

Frankie blushed, but she nodded. They turned back towards the wood and walked on until she paused again and pointed at the top part of a tree. 

Tony spotted Clint sitting at the edge of an old platform; the teenager was staring into the distance.

“Our old treehouse,” Frankie smiled, her eyes dimmed with sadness. She reached over and kissed Tony’s cheek. She brushed her thumb over the area she’d kissed, her eyes sweeping over his face as though to memorise it before she turned and left.

Tony watched her walk away.

Letting her go was the right thing to do, Tony mused. Not giving into the pull of family, of somewhere to belong. He was a cop; he had to hold onto that and…

His eyes flickered up to the treehouse.

And, there was more than just him to consider in the equation.

He climbed up to the platform, pleased to see that it had clearly been professionally made and installed. He still tested the planks before crossing over and lowering himself to sit beside Clint.

“Is he really dead?” asked Clint.

“The police said there was a witness to him entering the cabin,” Tony said.

Clint huffed. “The idiot was probably going to steal from Carson.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m sad.”

“It’s OK to feel whatever you feel,” Tony said simply. “He was your blood, your brother, for all he was a crappy one.” He stared out at the grey sky. “My Mom was an alcoholic. Some days were bad, but the days she was good. She’d sign me out of school and take me to the afternoon matinee at the movies. That’s how I like to remember her.”

Clint sighed. “I think I’d like to remember Barney the way he was when he’d spend the day with Mom and me. I thought he was so cool then.” He brushed a hand over his right eye furtively.

Tony placed a hand on the back of Clint’s neck and squeezed lightly. “It’s good to focus on the good memories.”      

Clint nodded and took a deep breath. “I guess knowing Barney is…gone, it makes it even easier to leave.” He darted a look at Tony. “Is that…”

Tony nodded himself. “We’re going as soon as it’s done.”

Clint swiped at his face again. He pinned Tony with surprisingly clear eyes. “I don’t get it.  Why are you helping the Macaluso family with the gang if you’re really a cop?”

“Because the world isn’t black and white,” Tony replied. He held Clint’s gaze. “This isn’t a decision I made lightly.  Some will say I’m dirty for working with them, but…” he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “The way I see it is that this is the best option that protects Philadelphia, that protects its citizens, and that’s my mandate. Helping Mike take down the gang in exchange for Mike going down for it…it’s not a perfect solution but it keeps a gang who are much, much more dangerous than Mike and the family from taking control and I still achieve the letter of the mission I was given, if not the spirit of it.”

Clint nodded again slowly, understanding creeping into his decision. “You’re still completing the mission.”

“From a certain point of view,” Tony quipped, musing that there were worse role models to quote than Obi-Wan Kenobi. “Truth is undercover is all about hard decisions; missions even without an undercover element are all about hard decisions. Sometimes the rules say one thing and you have to make a different call.”

Clint took a breath. “Like helping me get away from Carson?”

“It’s the right call,” Tony stated, holding Clint’s eyes firmly. “You deserve a better life than being an indentured servant to a corrupt circus owner or being beholden to a mob family, even one like the Macalusos.”

Clint ducked his head and gave a mumbled word of thanks.

Tony checked his watch. “I have to get back to the house; the scouts Mike sent out should be back.” The morning was slipping away and there was still a lot to do if they were going to foil the gang’s plan to take over.

“I’m coming with you,” Clint said immediately.

Tony sighed. “Clint…”

“Laura’s my friend, my best friend,” Clint argued, “I should be with you when you go to rescue her!” His mouth firmed, his jaw setting in a stubborn slant. “I can help.”

Tony shook his head, wished he believed in Bianchi’s God because God knew he could do with some patience. Unfortunately, he had a feeling even if he left Clint tied up and locked in a room, he’d find a way to get involved. It was probably safer if Tony took him with him where he could keep an eye on him.

“Let’s go and see what the scouts have found and we’ll discuss it,” Tony allowed.

Clint gave a small whoop and without hesitation leaped to a branch and clambered down the tree like a monkey. Tony grimaced and reached for the rope ladder.

o-O-o

Tony checked his watch. 

Five minutes to showtime.

He swallowed hard as he considered what he was about to do. No, Tony corrected himself, what Antonio had to do. He had to be Antonio to Beck; he had to act with the ruthlessness that Antonio had from years of scrapping on the streets.

Tony tapped his steering wheel impatiently.  His eyes strayed to the building across the road where Clint was already in place, perched high up on the roof, ready to enter the vents to collect Laura who they had established was being kept inside in the attic. Clint had climbed the rickety fire escape as easily as he had the old tree.

Paddy signalled him from further up the street, headlights flashing briefly. Paddy would take the kids to safety as soon as they were clear of the house.

It was time to make a move. 

Tony DiNozzo had gotten into the car; it was Antonio Bianchi who got out.

He headed to the townhouse, striding purposefully towards the building. He’d changed clothes, dressing in black jeans, a black t-shirt and short leather bomber jacket. He’d used his shoulder holster for his primary and strapped a secondary weapon to his ankle. He had wrist holsters with Bianchi’s knives within easy access.

He skipped up the steps and rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a minion, a thin guy with a scruffy beard. Tony knew he was one of three people on the premises.

Tony smiled at him sharply. “I’m here to speak to Special Agent Beck.”

Thin Guy blinked at him, but before he could reply, Tony heard a voice calling out to show him in. The guy stepped back and Tony took a step forward.

The townhouse had a narrow hallway passage, the staircase leading up to the right. A door to the left was open giving Tony a view of an empty den.

Beck stepped out from behind the staircase and jerked his head in a motion to follow. 

Tony walked sedately into Beck’s office. He sat down in the visitor’s chair while Beck resumed his own. Tony was aware that the minion was by the office door, waiting. He kept the man’s position noted even as he regarded the blond Agent in front of him coldly.

“What can I do for you, Mister Bianchi?” Beck asked briskly. “Are you here to confess to the killing of Charles Barton? The local police update this morning was rather interesting.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “You think I’m here to turn myself over to a SHIELD Agent rather than local law enforcement?”

Beck leaned back, affecting an unconcerned demeanour. He steepled his fingers in front of him. “Perhaps you are unwilling to keep working with Mister Macaluso after the unfortunate disappearance of Maureen Scott.”

“Maureen is exactly where she’s supposed to be,” offered Tony with a sharp smile.

Beck peered at Tony, his gaze hard and angry. “Then, I am at a loss as to why you are here.”

“Really?” asked Tony dryly. “You can’t think of any reason why Mister Macaluso might have sent me to speak to you?”

Beck stiffened almost imperceptibly. He was clearly surprised that the dots had been joined and that he had been identified. Tony could see Beck’s mind spinning, trying to find a way to deflect.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Beck demurred calmly, although tension seeped into his tone anyway. “Mister Macaluso and I have had no dealings with each other.”

“No, but your unfortunate predecessor did,” Tony remarked coolly. “Doctor Albert Noone. Head of Research for Noone Science and Technology. I believe he was killed in a warehouse explosion.”

Beck arched an eyebrow. “I have never heard of Doctor Noone.”

“That is possibly true,” Tony allowed with a wave of his own hand. “We’ve don’t know your organisation’s internal policies on communication.” He tilted his head taking in Beck’s tightening jawline. “Let me educate you. Noone was the last head honcho sent out by your organisation to get Mike Macaluso to rollover and cede Philadelphia. He was told that this is Macaluso territory and if a war was wanted, a war is what you’d get.”

“I don’t…”

“Mike’s an easy-going guy for the most part,” Tony cut in, “but finding out that there was a shadow move to take him out? Well, that irritated him.” He pretended to remove some lint from his jacket.

The minion at the door shifted weight.

“Subverting Mikey?” Tony gave a shrug. “Mikey is Mikey. Mike knows his son.”

Beck had stilled into a dangerous kind of motionless.

Tony ignored his inner cop and channelled Antonio instead. “Hatton really pissed him trying to grab Laura to get Steffano to comply.”

Beck’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, swiftly, almost too swiftly to be caught, but Tony was paying attention. Good to know that they were right about Laura being in the house, he mused.

“And you,” Tony pointed at him, “you’ve really pissed him off actually kidnapping Laura.”

Beck stared at him with the blankness of a man desperately trying to keep his expression blank. Beck was better at it than most.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Tony continued conversationally. “We’re currently dismantling your operation here in Philly.”

Beck raised his eyebrows and did not speak.

“It’s over,” Tony continued. He checked his watch. “Well, give or take a few explosions.”

The phone on the desk rang.

Beck looked at Tony. Tony looked back at Beck.

“You might want to get that,” Tony suggested.

Beck snatched up the receiver. He spoke in rapid German.

Tony did not understand a lot of German, but he understood the snarl in Beck’s voice as he ended the call, slamming the receiver back down into the cradle.

“You do not know who you have fucked with!” Beck snapped.

Tony saw the movement from the corner of his eye. The knife released from its holster and slapped into his hand. He kicked the desk towards the rising Beck at the same time as he threw the knife at Thin Guy.

He didn’t check to see if it landed in the guy’s throat, the strangled gurgle was enough to know it had done damage. Instead, Tony leapt for the desk, eyes on Beck who was reaching for a gun.

He kicked the weapon away from Beck and snapped his foot back and into Beck’s face. Beck stumbled back, crashing into the wall unit behind him.

Tony was on him before he could recover. The second knife found its home in Beck’s chest before Tony jumped away.

Beck slid down the wall unit. His pale blue eyes blinked rapidly. Disbelief was written all over his face.

Tony waited a beat. He slowly checked on Thin Guy who had face-planted in the entry. He had apparently taken the knife out of his throat. Tony grimaced. He pulled latex gloves from his pocket and tugged them on.

The phone rang again but Tony ignored it.

He crouched down and carefully picked up the knife. He wiped it off on the dead guy’s shirt and put it into his pocket. He moved over to Beck. The corrupt agent was dead. Tony shifted to stand back as he reached down and tugged the knife free. A spray of blood arched out of the wound briefly before stopping abruptly.

Tony followed the same rough cleaning method and put the second knife into his other pocket. He unholstered his gun and made his way through the house, clearing it floor by floor until there was only the attic left.

He carefully stepped up the steep ladder staircase and poked his head carefully through the open hatch.

A woman was tied up with duct tape writhing around on the floor facing away from him. There was an upended chair with the remnants of rope around its back and legs. In the corner there was a bare mattress, a breakfast tray with its contents uneaten in one corner and a thin discarded blanket in the other. A faint hint of urine emanated from the bucket in the corner.

Tony wrinkled his nose as he took a relieved breath. It looked as though the kids had kicked ass and gotten out.

A faint draft hit his skin. He looked up at the skylight. It was open a bare crack.

He left the woman and made his way down the stairs. He made his way out of the front door and back to his car. A quick check of the street confirmed Paddy was gone, hopefully with the kids. He didn’t allow himself to think about what he had just done as he peeled off the gloves and stuffed them into his jacket pocket, careful of the knife there, he fired up the engine, put the car into gear and drove away.

It was time for Antonio Bianchi to leave Philadelphia, but he had one more detour to make first before he picked up Clint and they skedaddled.

o-O-o

The church was preternaturally silent and looked empty. There was no sign of Maria or Father Avery.

The small hairs on the back of Tony’s neck bristled with warning as he stepped through the door into the small entry space with its long table filled with pamphlets and stacked with prayer books.

He breathed in deeply as he took steps towards the aisle.

The scent of the flowers filled his nose first; a fragrant perfume tinged with green. The wood polish that the cleaning crew used was next, waxy lemon. And then…the faint metallic smell of blood hit him.

He paused in the aisle to make the sign of the cross using the time to take a good look around. His eyes arrowed in on a spot of blood on the floor. His gaze skipped to another spot.

A blood trail.

It led towards the confessional box.

That did not bode well.

Tony closed his eyes and listened.

There was someone in the priest side of the confessional, panting, likely hurt. He had a horrible suspicion it was Baker.

He heard a movement by the statue of Mary on the other side of the church. It marked a private prayer space tucked away to the side; a windowless small square with two rows of tiny pews and an altar with candles lit to remember the dead. It made for an excellent hiding place and Tony gave whoever it was, and he figured he had a good idea who, kudos for the choice.

He side-stepped into the pew and sat down, using the move to cover pulling his gun, and cleared his throat. “Why don’t you join me, Detective?”

There was a beat of silence.

Finally, the scuff of a shoe against the stone-flagged floor echoed loudly as Paul Cain stepped around the statue.

“Never figured it was you,” Cain said gruffly. He stopped at the end of the pew, his gun pointed at Tony. There was a fierce bruise on one side of his face and his left arm was hanging limply.

“It’s over, Cain,” Tony said. “If you turn yourself in for corruption, you might have a chance to salvage something.”

“I’ve got nothing left to lose, kid,” Cain said in a tone that left no room for debate. He raised his arm…

Tony fired his own gun even as he ducked out of the way of the shot.

Cain staggered back clutching at his throat, the blood spray across the wall of the church felt like sacrilege.

Tony hurried from the pew and kicked the gun away from Cain. He didn’t bother to check if Cain was alive, to render assistance. He made his way instead to the confessional box and yanked open the door.

Baker sat on the floor, panting. His hands were pressed over a belly wound, too much blood pooled around them. He looked up at Tony with a fierce glare. “Bastard shot me!”

Tony tried to keep his expression from showing how worried he was. “There’s a phone out back, just hold on, and I’ll call for an ambulance.” He got to his feet.

“You need to get out of here,” Baker snapped with a grimace. “Gunerson will take in Macaluso. I read him into the op when I heard about Holden catching a bullet from another shooter, left your name out of it.” He huffed. “It’s too late for me. Everything’s in place in Baltimore for you. Saw to it myself. You have a safe place to land, Tony…” he gasped. He nodded at his pocket.

Tony huffed. He reached into Baker’s pocket. There was a slim piece of paper there with the name of a Captain. There was a Baltimore address printed in block writing.

“Gus is expecting you on a week Monday,” Baker said, swallowing hard. “Everything’s in order in our files here. You’re a vice Detective transferring. Nothing else to see.”

“Jon…” Tony put his hand on Baker’s shoulder for a moment. “I’ll send help,” he promised even though he knew that they both knew it would be too late.

“You’re a good man, Tony, a good cop,” Baker said with a pained smile. “Go! Get out of here.”

He took a step back, and another. He gave Baker a final salute and turned for the door. He stuffed the paper into his pocket and didn’t look towards Cain’s body. He strode out of the church, down the steps, and across to the parking lot.

He got to his car and stopped as Steffano stepped out from behind a nearby van.

“I might have known you were the cop!” Steffano growled.

Tony raised his hands. “Do you even care that we saved Laura? Mike knows Steffano. It’s over.”

Steffano’s face crumpled for a moment before he shook his head. “Even if Laura is safe right now, even if Mike survives what they plan, you just need to be dead!” He raised the gun he held and…

A sharp crack sounded through the air.

Steffano’s forehead bloomed with a bullet wound to the centre, blood and brains spilling out to the ground as he fell backward onto the concrete.

Tony drew his gun and whirled in the direction of the shooter. His heart pounded.

James stood by the side wire fence. He tugged the bill of his Eagles baseball cap down in a short acknowledgement and faded back into the bushes so fast Tony almost wondered if he’d imagined him.  

Tony lowered his gun and glanced at Steffano’s body. He felt a twinge of guilt for Laura, but he wasn’t going to feel guilty that James had saved his own life. He had no doubt that given Steffano’s hate for Antonio, Tony would have died if James hadn’t intervened.

He got into his car and drove away.

He stopped a few streets away at a payphone. He made the 911 call, directing them to the church, claiming he’d heard shots fired. He put the phone down before the operator could quiz him further. He made another call to the security office for them, giving them the grim message of Steffano’s death to pass along to Mike.

He turned the car around and drove back across town in a completely different direction to the one he’d chosen leaving the church.

The drive to the safehouse Mike had organised was tense.

Tony pulled into the driveway of the residential house in the suburbs and stopped the car. He sat for a long moment, his mind racing with too many thoughts, too much adrenaline.

Clint opened the side door to the house’s utility room. He hovered in the doorway, his sharp eyes finding Tony’s through the windscreen of the car.

Tony took a breath and got out. He followed Clint inside.

He stripped in the utility down to his boxers. He cleaned off the knives thoroughly in the sink before drying them and setting them aside. He took the gun apart and wiped it clean.   

Paddy turned up with clothing and Tony pulled on jeans, a white t-shirt, and a denim jacket. There was an Eagles cap he eschewed. He stuffed his feet into the new boots which had been provided and laced them up.

He drank the bottle of water that had been left out for him and made his way into the house properly, following the voices he could hear.

He stepped into a spacious den with a sofa facing a large television. A corner bar was stocked with a myriad of bottles. Paddy and a security stood either side of the door. Bellingham was tucked over by the bar with Mike with Betty and the kids on the sofa.

Betty took one look at him and pulled him into a motherly hug. For a long moment Tony let himself sag into her arms and take comfort in her. He eased back.

Laura threw herself at him. She was dressed in clean clothing and her wrists had been wrapped competently in bandages suggesting that she’d had bad bruising or scrapes from the ropes. She was faintly trembling, and he hugged her tightly trying to convey without words that she was safe.

“I’m sorry you lost your Dad, kiddo,” Tony said softly.

Laura’s grip tightened on him a fraction and she hiccupped a sob.

Clint fidgeted nervously a step away. Tony lifted his arm to invite the kid into the hug. Clint darted forward and wrapped himself around Laura and Tony like a limpet.

Mike cleared his throat.

Tony glanced over as Clint and Laura stepped away.

Mike was dressed in a good grey suit, crisp blue striped shirt, and a silk blue tie. He straightened his stiff cuffs. He stood at the bar, a whiskey at his elbow.

Laura swiped at her face. She looked at him with haunted eyes. “Beck’s dead?”

Tony nodded.

“Good,” Laura stated fiercely. She touched her throat where the shadow of a hand was painted in a bruise.

Tony felt the urge to go back to the townhouse and kill Beck all over again.

Betty put an arm around Laura. “You’ll have your vengeance on them all one day.”

And Tony was suddenly remembering how terrifying Betty could be in her own way. He had a feeling the Macaluso family was going to be just fine with her at the helm.

“I need the room,” Mike stated, his tone clearly conveying he would not hear any protests. “Tonio and I have things to wrap up.”

Paddy and the other security guard immediately stepped out. Bellingham glanced at Mike before he walked out.

Betty put her arms around Clint and Laura and shepherded them away.

The door closed leaving Mike and Tony alone.

“It’s done,” Mike said succinctly. “All four of their warehouse operations are toast.”

“I eliminated Beck and another guy at the townhouse,” Tony said pushing a hand through his hair. “I left a woman in the attic, tied up.” He pressed his lips together. “There was a complication at the church.”

Mike raised an eyebrow.

“Cain shot Baker before I got there, tried to shoot me too, but…” Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I got him, but Baker was barely hanging on when I left.”

Mike nodded slowly. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping Baker would oversee the arrest.”

“Baker said he’d read in Gunerson,” Tony said.

“I’ll ask for him at the station,” Mike said.

Tony swallowed. “I’m sorry about Steffano, Mike.”

Mike shook his head, picked up his whiskey, and swallowed it. He set the glass down. “Steffano chose his bed.” He grimaced. “This operation, Tony, they’re insidious. It feels like they have their hooks into everything. It could take years to sever all the…” he waved a hand searching for a word.

“Heads,” Tony supplied without thinking.

Mike looked at him curiously, but he nodded and pointed at him. “Exactly. Heads.”

Tony frowned. Hadn’t he heard something about heads recently? Something mythological? He sighed.

“Well, we got one of them,” Mike said satisfied, “taking them out today slowed down whatever they had planned for my city.”

It had been the right thing to do, Tony reminded himself.

“I’m going to have to say your life is forfeit if you step foot into Philly again,” Mike said almost apologetically.

“Probably best I don’t,” Tony replied easily. He’d been expecting it. If Mike was going to protect Betty and the rest of the family, he couldn’t let the idea that he’d allowed a cop take him down with no consequences to lie unchallenged.

“Did Baker manage to get your exit sorted or do we need to do that?” asked Mike briskly.

“He got everything arranged,” Tony said. “I start in my new place on Monday.”

Mike huffed. “You’re completely wasted as a cop.”

Tony shrugged, amusement bubbling up at Mike’s disgusted expression. “You knew what I was when you had me hired.”

“So I did,” Mike held his gaze. “Your father is a fucking idiot.”

Tony startled at the reference to Senior.

“If I wasn’t on my way to jail, I’d half a mind to pay him a visit and impress exactly how much of an idiot he is,” Mike continued.

Tony swallowed hard as a rush of emotion swept over him, chasing the amusement away and leaving him with an ache. “He’s not worth it.”

“Maybe not,” Mike conceded, “but you are.” He straightened and opened his arms. “Get over here, Anthony.”

Tony hesitated but gave into the emotion storming through him. He walked over and hugged Mike.

Mike clasped the back of his head. “You have a place in this family, son. Whenever you want it. That price on your head within Philly disappears the moment you want back.”

Tony nodded because he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Mike patted him gently. They eased away from each other.

“Call Gunerson,” Mike instructed, gesturing at the phone on the side table. He headed back around the bar to pour himself another drink.

Tony went over to the phone and dialled the station. It didn’t take him long to get to Gunerson. The detective growled a terse greeting down the phone.

“Detective, this is Italy calling,” Tony said, changing his accent to New Jersey.

Gunerson went silent for a long moment. “You safe, kid?”

“Safe,” Tony agreed. “Macaluso is going to turn himself in for the events today.”

“That’s quite a body pile he’s taking credit for,” Gunerson said lightly. “He’s just going to confess?”

“He is,” Tony said, “we made a deal.”

Gunerson harrumphed. “I’m not going to believe it until I see it, but fine. Jon read me in. You getting out of Dodge, kid?”

“Already on my way,” Tony hesitated for a moment. “Is Baker…?”

“In surgery,” Gunerson said succinctly. “He’s got a chance. Slim, but better than none.”

“I’ll be hoping for the best,” Tony said. “I’m gone.”

“So you are,” Gunerson said, “tell Macaluso I’ll be waiting for him.”

The dial tone sounded loudly in Tony’s ear.

“He’s waiting for you,” Tony dropped the receiver back into the cradle.

Mike raised his glass. “Then we’d better get Betty back in here and get you and Clint on the road.”

Betty operated with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. In no time at all, Tony found himself out the back of the house at the second garage standing in front of the non-descript Ford sedan that they’d organised. The Macalusos stood off to the side. Mike had a comforting arm around Laura, content to let his wife take the lead.

“We’ve booked you into a motel by Toledo,” Betty said. “Clint has the details.”

Tony hid his unhappiness at the stop, but it was going to be a long drive to Iowa.

“Lulu’s expecting you both,” Betty said. “She and Coop are looking forward to having Clint stay.”

Clint grimaced, running a hand through his hair.

Betty patted his shoulder. “You’ll find them good people, Clint.” She gave him a brief hug which Clint endured stoically with only a hint of a wide-eyed stare of panic in Tony’s direction.

Tony wasn’t surprised when a moment later, Betty let Clint go and pulled Tony in.

“Thank you for saving my family, Tonio,” Betty said aloud.

Tony hugged her back. “You’re welcome, Betty.”

“You come back to us anytime,” Betty said, cupping his cheek with a firm hand and an even firmer stare.

He nodded solemnly although he knew he’d never return – not of his own accord despite the grief of losing her maternal comfort already settling into his gut.  

“Your things have been packed away into the trunk,” Betty informed him briskly as she stepped back. “There’s food packed into the cooler on the back seat.”

“Then we should get going,” Tony said gesturing to Clint.

Clint shifted beside Tony. “Are you sure you want to take me?”

Tony nodded. Iowa was in the wrong direction for him, but that was all to the good. It would lead a false trail for anyone looking. “The drive will be good for me.”

Laura gave a small cry and darted away from Mike to hug Clint.

Tony exchanged a glance of amusement with Betty and Mike at the teens.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Laura whispered to Clint. She moved back and…suddenly she was kissing him.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up.

Clint flailed before he enthusiastically responded.

The kiss went on.

Tony coughed loudly.

They broke apart, blushing furiously.

“Write me!” Laura instructed. “I’ll write you!”

Clint nodded speechless.

Tony hid a smile as he ushered Clint into the car. He walked around to the driver’s side and looked back at Betty and Mike. He gave a silent nod of acknowledgement to them and got into the car.

They slowly drove down the back drive, the gates opening automatically to let them leave.

Clint squirmed around and stared out of the back window, his eyes on Laura until Tony turned onto the back road and she disappeared from view.

“First kiss?” asked Tony archly.

Clint went bright red as he settled back into a more natural position in the seat. “First kiss that mattered.”

“Good answer,” Tony replied. He grinned suddenly. “You do know Betty’s going to be planning the wedding already, right?”

Clint’s horrified look had Tony chuckling, and if the laughter edged into hysteria, well, that was his own business. He took a breath and focused on the road ahead.

It hurt leaving behind the sense of family he’d developed with Mike and Betty; his friendship with Frankie, the what-if that lingered because of their failed romance. But the road out of Philly was the only road he could take and keep his badge. He was a cop. Tony just had to hold onto that.

o-O-o

Epilogue

June 2012

“Thanks for coming,” Laura enveloped Tony in a warm hug.

“How’s he doing?” asked Tony, easing away.

Laura had grown-up into a beautiful woman. She’d been a lethal SHIELD agent, but she’d resigned when she’d fallen pregnant with Cooper. She’d taken over running the farm in the wake of Lulu’s death and it suited her. She was a savvy businesswoman. Tony wasn’t foolish enough to believe that running the farm was all she did, but he was intelligent enough not to ask questions.  

He glanced around for Clint. He hadn’t been surprised when the childhood sweethearts had married. He’d been one of the few people at their small wedding in the backyard of the farm. In the end it had been them, the couple who had taken Clint in all those years before, and the officiate of the wedding from the local county office. The rest of Laura’s family maintained a public distance and always would in order to keep Laura and Clint safe.

Betty had taken a firm grip on the city, and it was under Macaluso protection as much as it ever had been. Frankie had made District Attorney a few years before and the two women were a formidable force.

“Clint’s out back at the target range,” Laura stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. She shook her head. “He’s been quiet. Doubly so since Nat went back to D.C.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get out here sooner,” Tony said apologetically.

Laura raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. “We heard about the bombing.”

Tony made a dismissive gesture. “I hardly got a scratch.” Even if he had been stupid breaking protocol and getting into the elevator with Ziva in the middle of an emergency. There again, if they hadn’t been in the elevator, they might have suffered worse injuries.

Laura cocked her head. She picked up the kettle. “I heard Dearing was dead.”

“Gibbs doesn’t think so,” Tony shrugged and raised his voice a touch as Laura refilled the kettle with water from the sink. “His gut doesn’t lie.”

“When are you going to leave that old curmudgeon?” Laura asked, setting the kettle back onto the stove and lighting the burner.

Tony grimaced. He didn’t regret all the years he’d spent at NCIS, but things hadn’t been right for years, ever since Morrow had dictated that Gibbs expand their partnership into a Major Case Response Team. Maybe they might have weathered the changes in dynamics better if Kate hadn’t been killed, but if wishes were horses…

He knew stayed primarily because of the screwed up paternal relationship he had with Gibbs. It had felt the closest he had gotten to real paternal care and approval since Tony had driven away from Philadelphia. The return of Senior to his life had only underscored their lack of relationship, no matter how much Senior charmed the people around Tony into believing otherwise.

The bombing had taken out a number of NCIS agents. Vance had approached Tony after the previous day’s latest memorial service about taking on a team of his own. The NCIS Director had somehow come to respect Tony’s abilities after the Michael Rivkin debacle. Maybe seeing Tony outsmart Vance’s old friend Eli David had actually made the man rethink.

Tony was seriously considering it. Their team worked fine, but Gibbs kept the hierarchy flat apart from in exerting his own leadership and expecting Tony to take care of all of the paperwork. He showed no signs of retiring. Tony knew if he stayed with the MCRT, he would stagnate. Hell, he was already stagnating. He really should have left the team when Jenny had offered him Rota. Or gone with Jeanne when that op had literally blown up in his face. Or not come back after the Agent Afloat thing. Or…he sighed heavily. He’d passed up chance after chance; gotten weirdly too comfortable with, yet increasingly stressed by, the dysfunction in their little team.

It wasn’t the only offer he had received.

He’d been approached the week before by an Assistant Director of the FBI. They had lost good agents in the hunt for Dearing. AD Ford had offered Tony his own team in the Criminal Investigations Division. It was a good offer.

He’d also had an approach by SHIELD at the end of May. That one he had turned down. He knew they were hunting to bolster numbers in the wake of the alien attack on New York – and he could not believe that he had actually had to think those words – but he knew enough of what they did from Clint and Laura to know the agency’s shadowy work wasn’t for him.

“Maybe I’ll be moving on soon,” Tony said, trying the idea out loud for the first time.

“I hope so,” Laura said. “And don’t apologise for not coming out. We couldn’t have had you here with Nat staying unless you’ve changed your mind on bringing her in on your connection to us.”

“I haven’t,” Tony said firmly.

He couldn’t think of anything worse than giving a Black Widow something they could use against him. He admired Clint’s decision to bring Natalia Romanova in from the cold, but he didn’t trust her the way Clint did.

“Where are the kids?” asked Tony, realising he hadn’t heard the clatter of tiny feet nor their chattering voices. He didn’t find children easy, but Cooper and Lila were fun and didn’t seem to mind Tony’s fumbling awkwardness.

“At the neighbour’s,” Laura said. “Joanne thinks Clint and I are having a romantic night alone.” Her eyebrows waggled expressively.

Tony pulled a face at her. “Did not need that imagery, thank you, Laura.”

Laura laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Go see Clint.”

Tony headed out, making his around the house to the target practice range Clint had set up at the back of the old barn. He didn’t cover his approach. He shivered and wished he’d worn his warmer jacket. He’d kind of assumed Iowa would be warm, but despite the sun shining overhead in a clear blue sky, the air was crisp.

Clint stood in a classic archery position facing the target. He let loose the arrow as Tony walked up and it hit the target dead centre, embedding in with the other arrows already there.

“Laura call you? You didn’t have to come,” Clint said, lowering the bow.

Tony rolled his eyes and motioned at him. “I called her after New York. I knew it was you from the footage. She called yesterday to give me the all-clear.”

“Nat got recalled,” Clint huffed as he led the way over to a nearby picnic table. “I’m on medical leave.” He set the bow down against the nearby picnic bench.

Tony opened his arms and Clint walked into the hug, sagging into Tony’s embrace.

“God, Tony,” Clint murmured, choked up. “I’m a mess.” He sounded just like the teen Tony had extracted from the circus; young and terrified.

Tony rubbed his back comfortingly. “Mind control?”

Clint nodded, his head bumping against Tony’s shoulder. “He had some kind of glowing stick thing. He touched me with it and it was like I was trapped in my own head. He’d order me to tell him something and I’d tell him. He’d order me to do something, and I’d do it. I fought and I fought and...”

Tony clasped a hand at the back of Clint’s neck as he sobbed out his hurt.

When Clint was done, he eased away and swiped at his face. Tony pushed him to sit on the bench and he took a seat beside him.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Tony said softly.

“No,” Clint concedes, “but I’m still going to feel guilty anyway.” He took a trembling breath. “Loki killed Phil. The attack on the carrier killed more agents I counted as friends in addition to Phil. I almost killed Nat.” He sighed. “She knocked me out, saved me.”

And maybe Tony owed Natalia Romanova for that, at least.

Tony put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clint. I know you and Phil were good friends.”

“He was the only one I told about everything when Barney turned up alive,” Clint said. “Well, everything except you.”

Tony nodded. “You seeing a psychologist?”

“Online, every day,” Clint grimaced. “Fury insisted. Won’t let me back without clearance.” He sighed. “I’m not sure I want to go back.”

“Well, you only joined SHIELD when Coulson approached you because Laura was already there,” Tony reflected with a hint of his usual teasing about how Clint had followed after his wife.

Clint huffed. “I stayed because I wanted Nat to feel like she had someone.”

“And now?” asked Tony.

“Fury has her working with Steve,” Clint gestured. “Captain America.”

There was a note of awed incredulity in the way he spoke the name.

“He’s still just a man,” Tony pointed out dryly.

Clint offered a small smile. “Phil thought otherwise.” He shook his head. “Nat said Phil fanboyed all over him. I wish I’d seen it.”

“So, you think Nat doesn’t need you at SHIELD,” Tony concluded.

“Maybe it’s about time I retired,” Clint said in the same way Tony had tried out his own idea of leaving NCIS when talking with Laura.

Tony nudged him. “Or maybe you give yourself time to heal and grieve properly before you make a decision.”

Clint grimaced, but he gave a slow nod. “Maybe.” His eyes met Tony’s with surprising clarity. “What about you? The bombing new got drowned out with everything that happened in New York, but I heard enough to know it was bad.”

“Dearing took down a lot of good agents,” Tony sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Gibbs thinks he’s alive.”

“What do you think?” asked Clint.

“I think Gibbs is right,” Tony said simply. “About this anyway. Dearing was clever. He wasn’t going to let himself just be caught.”

Clint’s gaze swept over him. “You thinking of finally moving on from NCIS?”

“Vance offered me my own team,” Tony told him. “I’m thinking maybe.”

Clint’s shoulder nudged his. “Just don’t let any of them guilt you into staying where you are.” He smiled. “You’re still the best cop I know.” His smile fell away. “I have a feeling we’re going to need more like you.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “A feeling?”

Clint grimaced. “I see best at a distance, right?”

“Right,” Tony agreed cautiously.

“I was trapped in my head, but I could still see,” Clint said. “And I was suddenly seeing SHIELD from the outside, from a distance.”

Tony stilled at the way Clint’s tone vibrated with constrained fear. “What did you see?”

Clint shook his head. “Something’s off.” He turned away from Tony, looking out into the distance across the rolling green field that stretched out in front of him. He shook his head. “I don’t know what. Just…you remember the gang in Philly?”

“Can’t exactly forget them,” Tony said dryly.

“I was thinking SHIELD was exactly like them,” Clint said quietly.

Tony’s eyes widened.

“And I can’t help remembering how they pulled Laura from Germany when she thought she was getting close and redirected her to New York,” Clint continued.

“You think the gang who tried to take Mike down are somehow messing with SHIELD?” asked Tony.

“It sounds crazy,” Clint shook his head. “Maybe I saw things that aren’t there. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”

“Maybe not, but I trust your eyes, Hawkeye,” Tony said.

They were both silent for a long moment.

“I think I need to go back,” Clint said eventually.

“I could go with you,” Tony offered. “I turned their offer down last month, but I could change my mind.”

“No,” Clint said, “you should stay out of SHIELD.” He looked back to him and held Tony’s worried gaze with his own. “I’ll be fine and I need you to be what you’ve always been.”

“And what’s that?” asked Tony with a touch of dryness.

Clint clapped a hand on his shoulder. “My ace in the hole.”

Tony found himself grinning.

“Come on,” Clint said, “we should head back inside before Laura sends out a search party.” He jumped up from the bench and grabbed his bow. “You staying the night?”

“I am,” Tony said, getting to his feet. His body ached from the day’s travel and he suddenly felt his age. “Gibbs isn’t expecting me back until Tuesday.”

“Which means he’ll call you tomorrow,” Clint pointed out wryly. He reached out and brought Tony to a halt with a hand on his arm. “Just…don’t tell Laura about this whole gang thing? I don’t want to worry her.”

Tony looked at Clint with sudden alarm. “Clint, it’s Laura. Don’t you think she already knows?”

Clint looked back at him for a beat. He swore roundly, whirled, and started for the house at a fast clip.

Tony followed at a slower pace. He breathed in, the sharp air rasping against his scarred lungs. He still remembered Beck. Still remembered the haunted look in James’ eyes. He’d never seen the man again, and he’d looked. He’d found nothing but whispers and fragments. The Winter Soldier.

He’d thought it was all myths and nonsense.

But.

But the world was changing. Aliens and superheroes back from the grave. It was Stark saving the day in an iron suit, and hulking monsters battling it out in Harlem.

Beck’s team had been only one facet of something larger and hidden. If Clint really had seen something familiar…Tony could believe it.

They’d have dinner and they’d plan for dealing it, Tony determined. He knew Clint and if Clint really believed that the gang was in SHIELD in some way, Clint would be going back into the fray. Tony couldn’t stop him from doing that, but he could do what he’d always done for Clint, for Laura.

He could be their ace in the hole.

It was a plan.

Tony cast one last look at the sunny sky and headed into the warmth of the farm and his family.