March, 1936

  The man in the mirror unsettled Tornado Joe. Standing in the bathroom of a New York City restaurant, Joe studied himself. He leaned over the sink and let out a deep breath. That yellow eye, around his neck, stared back at him. He had been wearing the necklace for three weeks, tracking this Doctor the cultist had mentioned in Chicago. Vibrating warmly, the necklace had taken him to the Big Apple.

  Things had changed in those weeks for Joe. He found he had less and less patience for Chauncy’s yapping. The man appeared concerned over every little thing. He had been this way since Mickey passed. It was obvious to Joe that some people needed their fathers in their lives or they were lost. It was pathetic; a man should stand on his own two feet.

  For as long as he could remember, Joe never had any parents. His earliest memories were that back alley in Milwaukee, surrounded by the trash he had collected for shelter and food. He couldn’t remember his father’s face or his mother’s voice. He didn’t even know if his name was Joseph, it was just the name he believed he had. Little Joe had to make it on his own, and now he wondered how men like Chauncy would make it.

  Part of him knew that wasn’t fair, but there was a growing impulse in the back of his mind which just couldn’t tolerate the worthless yapping of little pups. Scratching his cheek, Joe watched the pallid skin stretch over his cheekbone closely. Little fixations like this had come to him the longer he had worn the necklace. His eyes had sunken a bit as sleep came harder.

  The sum of it appeared concerning, but for Joe it was the stress of the chase which had hit him. That would pass when he finally found his prey and put him down. Then he could relax. Until then, there would be no true rest. Things were coming to a close, he could feel it on the necklace; the Doctor was nearby. His hands shook a bit as he thought of the kill.

  Tornado Joe emerged from the bathroom, stepping out into the alleyway behind the restaurant he had been eating in. Deciding on fresh air over dining, Joe closed his eyes and took in a breath. It was still quite chilly, though the worst parts of the winter had passed. The pigeons cooed in their perches nearby, an ever-present reminder of the urban setting he found himself in yet again.

  The wheels of a Dodge rolled into the alley, coming to a stop several yards away from him. Opening his eyes, Joe faced the car. Draped in his deltas, the gunslinger stood firm. All four doors opened. A solemn silence fell over the alley as men in long coats and white hats emerged from the car.

  Joe knew these men at once. He had been introduced to them during his time studying with his teacher, Billy Baird. Members of the Mafia had become strange bedfellows to the Southpaw. To the public, the Mafia primarily traded in extortion, protection, and contraband substances. To Grady’s Posse, the Mafia traded in something much more valuable; information. Information, as Joe had come to know well, held the highest value to Billy Baird. Everything else was secondary, and so Billy quite liked the Mafia families of New York.

  One of them men approached slowly, opening his coat. He had a pistol holstered under his arm. With a calm, deliberate motion he pulled the automatic handgun. Joe watched as he ejected the magazine, letting it drop onto the concrete below, and racked the slide back to eject a chambered round. With the pistol safe, the mafioso slid it back into its shoulder holster. This display had come without a single Critical Moment; nary a single moment of malicious intent colored the Currents. Tornado Joe nodded to him, as if to affirm his gesture.

  “My name is Martino Ghedini.” The mafioso spoke with an oily voice, “I come in peace, Gradyman.”

  Joe’s eyes shimmered a bit with his Resolve. This man from the Ghedini Family had chosen the right sorcerer-gunslinger to approach. Joe knew very well how to deal with the Mafia.

  “I’m Joe. How’s your mother, Martino?” Joe took a step forward, “I hope she is in good health.”

  A smirk hit the mafioso’s face, “Very well, thank you. And yours?”

  “Great, thanks for asking.” Joe lied. He had no idea what state his biological mother was in.

  “What can I do for the Ghedini Family today?” Joe held out his arms, “I hope I didn’t disrespect the Don by coming here without checking first.”

  “Absolutely not, Gradyman, forget about it.”

  Martino came forward and withdrew a silver cigarette case. He offered up a hand rolled cigarette to Joe, who took it with a nod. Flicking open a fancy lighter, the mafioso lit Joe’s cigarette, and then his own. Standing in silence, listening to the cars roll by on either side of the alley, both men enjoyed their smokes in peace.

  “I know why you’re here.” Martino puffed out smoke, “Or, at least, I got an idea.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that idea?” Joe raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s been movement, from the Yellow folk. They got some hotshot come to Queens last week. You lookin’ for him?”

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  “How’d you know?”

  “A man came to Don Ghedini that same day. Said that some Six-Guns would be comin’ round, lookin’ out for the Yellow guys.”

  Joe tilted his head, “A man?”

  “Just a guy. Wouldn’t tell us his name. I wanted to take him out back, to tell ya the truth. Can’t stand a man who won’t tell you his name. Don decided to let him go.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because, that guy was clearly with the Bartolese. We don’t wanna start up a scrape with them. That would ruin Queens.”

  Joe snuffed the roach end of his cigarette with his boot, “Bartolese?”

  Nodding, Martino shrugged his coat a bit. “They run meats across town, and hardware. Pretty big family. They don’t got many friends here, but they don’t need them. They take in all them guys from East Europe. Refugees from the shit going down there?”

  “What’s going down in Europe?”

  “Something big. Hasn’t hit yet, but trust me, it’s going to. All that shit going down with the Krauts right now has people spooked. Throw in the famines with the Reds; lot of people hi-tailed it out of Europe entirely. I think it’s gonna be war again. So much for the ‘war to end all wars’ bullshit.”

  Listening carefully, Joe nodded. This is the kind of thing Billy would have lapped up greedily. He lived for stuff like this. Tornado Joe understood why Billy loved the Mafia so much; they knew a little bit about everything.

  “So you know where I can find my guy?” Joe asked, his eyes glued to the mafioso in front of him.

  “Yeah I do. Astoria Casino buddy, right by the Park. He’s there. Gonna be there a bit, if that Bartolese can be trusted.”

  “Why would the Ghedini tell me this, I wonder?” Joe rolled his shoulder.

  “Because, that’s all Bartolese turf. You make a mess there lookin’ for your guy, well wouldn’t make us lose any sleep.”

  Some of the other Mafia men chuckled a bit at the comment. Joe didn’t find any of this funny.

  “Why would I kill Mafiosos?”

  “They’re in bed with the Yellow pricks, that’s why.”

  “How ‘in bed’ are we talking?” Joe had to admit, the logic was sound.

  “In bed enough to host the last of their little kid projects.”

  The words hit Joe like a train. He stood there in silence, the pigeons taking flight overhead. A grey feather teetered down and landed softly on the brim of his hat.

  “How… do you know about that?”

  “I’m telling you.” Martino dropped his casual demeanor, “Bartolese are in bed with the Yellow Cult. People talk. We listen.”

  That new irritation began to flare in Joe’s head again. He felt hot, a little itchy. Joe’s eyes sunk a bit.

  “Astoria. Got it. Anything else, Martino?”

  “Just be safe, Gradyman. And please, come by any one of the Italian shops in East Queens. We’ll get ya something good, for your troubles. Take your pretty witch lady too, the gals got something nice for her.”

  Martino offered a gloved hand, which Joe took. With a firm shake their meeting concluded. Tornado Joe watched the Mafiosos get back in their car and pull forward slowly. As they passed Joe, they paused. The window rolled down and Martino leaned out.

  “Oh and just watch out when you go there, Joe. They got Tommies.”

  The gunslinger pulled his pistol, tossing it up and catching it gracefully. With a move his Clubs teacher had taught him, he spun the pistol around his fingers. Gellerite flashed in front of Martino’s eyes, making him grin.

  Pulling away, the Mafiosos left the alley without another word. Joe holstered his pistol, his heart and mind set. As he opened the alley door again, the necklace burned a bit around his neck.

  Tornado Joe reemerged in the dining room, stepping over to the long table where his party sat. With a sigh he returned to his seat. Winona, in the spot next to him, placed a hand gently on his arm. Chauncy Higgs watched closely as Joe pulled his arm away. His eyes fixed on Joe, trying to make sense of the changes in his behavior. The Joe he knew would never shy away from Winona’s touch. If there were any man who loved his partner witch, it was Joe. Chauncy pursed his lips.

  Elizabeth hadn’t joined him, and neither had Halle of the Zola Coven joined Elroy, who sat across from Joe. The both of them had been forbidden from further investigation into the Yellow Cult, after reports of the Bastion had come through. It was clear to Chauncy that the covens deeply feared whatever force propelled the Yellow Cult, and Winona Grey had simply stuck around out of her love for Joe.

  Focusing on his lunch, Joe pulled his arm from Winona. It appeared to him that the woman had gotten more clingy over the past weeks. Her constant need for physical touch and affirmation irritated him; she was never satisfied. It had occurred to him in this time that Winona had done something heinous, which he could just now see. Their connection had developed so quickly, it may just have been fabricated. After his experience in the Bastion, Joe felt he was thinking more clearly. He could see now that he was under the influence of some hex.

  Thoughts like these weren’t new to Tornado Joe, but there had been for several years this small part of him, like the crab within the shell, who found the idea extremely comforting. That a woman, another person, would love him so much that she went far enough to hex him imparted this feeling of security to the inner stray dog still present in Joe’s mind. He wanted to be loved, wanted to be selected, and to be secured.

  Now, the entire scenario was colored in a different shade of grey. The woman sitting next to him wasn’t some companion, but a manipulator. Joe felt he was starting to see the truth. He knew he needed to push those thoughts to the back of his head. The job ahead mattered more.

  “Took a while.” Elroy sat back, “Everything ok in there?”

  Cutting up some chicken, Joe nodded. “I went out back for some air. Some mafiosos found me.”

  This peaked Winona’s interest. She raised an eyebrow, “What did the mob guys have to say.”

  “They know we are looking for the Doctor, and they told me where he is.”

  Joe looked up, his eyes travelling between his companions. “We are doing this today, gonna go in and take that guy out. But he’s got Mafia with him.”

  Nodding slowly, Elroy understood. Chauncy, however, shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we are gonna have to fight for our food. You good with that, Higgs?”

  “I… I mean yeah, if they’re the bad guys.” Chauncy rubbed his neck, “Just kinda seems like a shit job is all.”

  “Yeah, it’s a shit job. But it’s my shit job.” Joe stared at him, “Are you in or out.”

  “I’m in, Joe. No problem.”

  “Good. Let’s finish lunch. We’re gonna hit them so hard, they’ll wish they’d stayed in bed today.”

  This didn’t sound at all like Joe, to Elroy. He elected not to say anything, only nodded. However, he shared a sideways glance with Chauncy as Joe dug back into his food.