It was half past ten when the truck rolled in. The crew of a small Astoria textile mill was still wrapping bolts of fabric, and they looked to each other with concern as Tiny Gi ran to tell the boss. She emerged from her office with her .22 in its holster and moved through the warehouse, reminding everyone to keep at their work. By then the truck had already backed into position beyond the garage door, and she slipped out the side door with Tiny Gi in tow. As the driver shifted into park, she swept her long hair back and unholstered the pistol. “You’re early!” she called out.

The driver side door opened, and a man stepped down. He was as tall and broad as she would have expected of a Foley, with honey-blond hair and well-manicured sideburns tracing a stern jawline. But then he smiled, and the flash of his teeth coupled with the handsome cut of his suit convinced her she wasn’t dealing with some dime a dozen mafia grunt.

“Am I early?” the man asked with a hint of an unplaceable accent, and he checked his watch—just as expensive as the rest of his attire. “Bloody thing must be off! My apologies.” He extended his hand. “You must be Miss Zoe Raptis.”

Zoe hesitated a moment before holstering her pistol so she could shake his hand. “I am,” she said. The side door of the truck opened, and she regretted taking her hand off the weapon; she tried to disengage from the man’s handshake. “And you are…?”

“Charlie Tighe, at your service.” He let go just as his partner rounded the front of the truck: a woman also dressed in a fine suit, with a head of blonde hair beneath her broad-brimmed hat and a face full of freckles. She was carrying a purse under her arm. “This is my sister, Millie,” Charlie introduced. “Boss Foley sent us to fetch the threads.”

“Just the two of you?” Zoe said with eyebrows arched.

“I may not look like much, mum,” said Charlie, squaring his shoulders. “But I can handle plenty of sixty inchers, believe me.”

Millie glided past him to settle beside Tiny Gi. “Besides,” she added, “I’m sure you’ve got a half dozen more of these hanging around inside, right, mister?”

She offered his hand to him, and with a glance at Zoe he accepted, blushing back to his ears. “They call me Tiny Gi, ma’am,” he introduced shyly.

“My! But you’re not tiny at all!” She giggled, and Zoe just managed not to roll her eyes. “And not ironically enormous, either. But I suppose every gang has to have one.”

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” said Charlie, “shall we take a look at the merchandise?”

Zoe glanced between the pair. She’d never met the Tighes but they weren’t nobodies, and they weren’t quite a match to the stories that had reached her ears. But she wasn’t about to cross or question a Foley if her gut was wrong, not with the lot of them already itchy on their triggers. “Of course,” she said, and she motioned for Charlie to head inside first. “They’re still finishing up with a few bolts, since you’re early.”

“Perfect.” Smirking, Charlie showed himself in.

The crew kept at their work, as instructed, but they still snuck many glances at their visitor as he strolled down the line of tables. Each was rolling lengths of colorful wool fabric onto wooden bolts sixty inches long, pausing a few yards short of finishing to sneak broad envelopes between the layers. Charlie viewed their efforts with a critical eye, and when he paused at one of the stations for a closer look, Zoe reached again for her pistol. But he paid no interest in the envelopes or their contents, instead plucking off one of his gloves so he could test the wool between his fingers.

“Is this Super 70s?” he asked Zoe without looking up.

“Super 90s,” Zoe replied, but when Charlie cast her a doubtful look, she crossed her arms and relented. “Yes, 70s. But that’s not what’s driving the price up.”

“Oh, I know.” Charlie smiled to himself as he continued to peruse. “But as long as they come together, might as well make the most of it, eh?” He moved on, toward the back where new bolts were stored on racks, while Millie paid no attention and continued chatting with Tiny Gi. “Aha! Now this earns the title ‘super.’”

Zoe frowned as she joined him at the rack; he’d stopped in front of a bolt of worsted wool, dyed burgundy with a plaid pattern. “That’s not much higher count than what they’re wrapping with, you know,” she told him.

“Yes, but what’s the point of 90s when 80s is more durable? You want a suit to last, after all.” He tugged on the edge of the fabric. “See that beautiful elasticity? And the pattern, so subtle.” He replaced his glove and turned to Zoe with a grin. “Would you mind terribly if I add it to our order?”

Zoe blinked. “You want the whole bolt?”

“Yes.” He gave it a pat as if it were a pet. “Please.”

“That’ll be another five dollars to your total.”

“Of course!” Grinning, Charlie hefted the bolt off the rack; Zoe had to duck out of the way as he swung about to head back toward his sister. “Oh Millie, dear! Pay the woman, won’t you?”

Millie made a face at him, but he only smiled sweetly in return, and with a huff she reached into her purse. “I suppose it’ll be $255, then,” she said as she pulled out a wad of cash.

Though not happy about her lack of caution for the sum she was flashing about, Zoe quickly joined her, watching the bills being counted out. Once in her hands she fingered the edges and ran her fingernail over top, but she didn’t detect anything unusual enough to think it fake. She slipped the amount into the front of her brassiere. “It’ll just be a while longer as they finish the wrapping.”

“Not a problem,” said Charlie as he waited for Tiny Gi to open the garage door for him. “As long as we can get it to The Cherry before midnight, we’re golden.”

He loaded the extra bolt, and true to his word helped the workers with the rest as they were completed. Once the last of the lot was secured and the truck door closed, Zoe shook hands with both of the Tighes again. Millie offered the back of her palm to Tiny Gi, who blushed furiously as he kissed it. Zoe sighed.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” said Charlie, and with a wave and a smirk, he and his sister hopped into their truck and drove off.

“Think we’ll see’m again?” Tiny Gi asked once it was out of view.

“I doubt it,” Zoe replied, not without sympathy. “The streets are saying that the Foleys are losing ground. It’ll be the Kozlows that show up next time.” She gave him a pat on the arm. “Come on, little brother. Let’s close up.”

It wasn’t ten minutes later, as they were locking the doors, when another truck pulled up to the garage, and a gangly boy and his female partner hopped out of the cab. Three thick-necked mafia goons emerged from the rear and Zoe had her gun out long before they reached the door. “I’m Charlie Tighe,” the boy introduced himself. “Boss Foley sent us for the bolts.”

And Zoe saw red.