darker_london | Plots (Flynn, James, Reagan, Abby) (Reply)

The call came while Flynn was watching James, which was really not okay with him. Though none of this was. They had been in the park across the street when Flynn's mobile had gone off, causing an elderly lady to glare at him in offense. He gave her a guilty look and he answered. "Flynn."

"Malachy O'Reilly?"

Bugger. "Yeah, him too." Flynn's chest had tightened and he looked over to see where James was. The little boy was studiously climbing up a tiny ladder so he could slide down a small blue slide. Flynn knew who this was, and it wasn't something he wanted James there for. "What do you want?"

"We made a deal."

"I...I'm busy-" Flynn stood then, stepped closer to James. He wondered if the caller was watching them...

"If you're goin' to act the maggot, I'm sure Micky wouldn't mind paying your ganky boyfriend a visit..."

Flynn's face hardened into an expression that would have sent most people he knew running to get away from him. No one threatened and insulted Quinn. "Don't you fuckin' dare!" He yelled, louder than he should have. The old lady gave him another evil look, but this time, Flynn didn't give two shits. "What do you want?!"

"You to un-busy yourself and get your weak arse over to 23 Ramsay Street. You have twenty." And the man hung up.

"Balls!" Flynn hissed, and he stowed his phone away before darting back to the playground to retrieve James. "We have to go, Jamesy. I'm so sorry."

James looked up at Flynn as he was picked up off of the end of the slide. His manner was serious, as it usually was when he wasn't absolutely thrilled to bits about something. "You're sad." James pointed out in his astute little way.

"I'm not leaving you." Flynn hefted James onto his non-existent him and he kissed the small boy's cheek. "I promise, alright?"

James nodded, and he remained silent while Flynn sprinted across the road and dumped him into Abby's arms. Flynn didn't answer when she asked where he was going, mostly because he had no time, nor did he really feel like lying to her.

It took Flynn all of his time to find Ramsay Street and when he did, Flynn was not pleased about it. The house at number 23 was unremarkable, but that would be what they wanted. Flynn knew what it was without a second glance. It was a safe house, owned by someone who believed in their cause who had been stationed here. And when Flynn was admitted into the house, he was hardly surprised to find Reagan, his ex-girlfriend, sitting there on the floor. "Hi, Mal." She said, smiling up at him with a smile that was no more real than it was friendly.

"Mmm." Flynn ignored her and he looked around at the rest of the men in the room. Only one of them had been amoung the party who had accosted Flynn and his friends in Dublin, but Flynn hated them all anyway. "I'm here. Talk."

"You've been makin' friends, Malachy." One of the men Flynn didn't recognise stepped over to him. Flynn suspected this was Micky. "Not the kind of friends I'd choose, but who am I to judge."

Flynn clenched his fists and then he released them again. He hoped they would get this over with so he could go home. "You leave my friends out of it."

"On the contrary, Mal...your friends are why we need you to help us. We're set up to make a move. But we lack the arms." Micky looked quite disgruntled at that. "And while Big Mick could handle a revolution with fire and dirt back in the day, that can't happen anymore. There's a place here in London known as Little Moscow."

Flynn blinked at Micky when he stopped for emphasis. He realised the man was waiting for him to speak, but Flynn was utterly lost. "I...know?" Flynn had been to Little Moscow all of once, and that was to visit Erik's cafe, The Red Square with Quinn. And he doubted this had anything to do with the cafe.

"It's under new management. And you have connections with the new folks in charge, Mal." Micky smiled at him, though the expression was clearly only meant to show superiority.

"I...do?" This was news to Flynn. He didn't even know who the old...'management' had been.

"The Kempf family from Dresden. They're running things now, and you just happen to be friends with a cousin of theirs. His name is Peter."

Flynn flashed a glare Reagan's way, as she was the only way they could possibly know that. She refused to look at him, however, so he put his feelings out into the world vocally. "You're a stupid whore."

Reagan sighed and she looked over at him, as if bored. "Mal, this is important. More important than your pathetic attempt at pretending you have 'integrity'."

"Fuck you!" Flynn shouted at her and then he turned back to Micky. "Peter doesn't even like his family. He doesn't know them. I don't have an in there, I'm sorry you were misinformed-"

"Then make one." Micky commanded, all levity gone from his angular face. His black curls couldn't hide the cold determination in his eyes and Flynn could see from the get-go this was a dangerous man to anger.

"I...I've only been there once! I don't know where-"

Micky's hand flashed out and in an instant, he had grabbed Flynn's pinky finger and snapped the bone. Flynn was fast, but he hadn't seen it coming. He howled as the pain shot through his hand and into his arm. His hand pulled away and Flynn cradled it against his body as he glared at Micky in horror. "Fuck!" He needed his fingers! He was a guitar player!

"Don't be so defeatist, Malachy. Rage here tells us you could do anything back in Whitehead. We have faith in you. You have two weeks. I have a contact says there's guns a plenty in that hellish place. You get 'em to me, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of forever."

Flynn didn't believe him, but he didn't argue either. He just nodded, with a look of absolute disgust and pain on his face. "Am I doing this alone?"

"You just call the number you were contacted by on your mobile when you need men. We'll leave the rest to you. You're free to go now."

Flynn didn't spare them all a second glance, he simply turned to leave and he walked himself straight back home to find Abby. He needed to make sure his finger healed right, or he was fucked.

Then again, he was beginning to think he just might be fucked anyway.