Frost clung to the windows. Steam and smoke rose from rooftops. A man, barely getting past his youth, sat by a window, as a kettle began to reach its boiling point. Before the kettle could reach its crescendo, the man rose to his feet and removed it from the stovetop carefully. He poured its scalding contents over a batch of ground coffee sitting over a pot.

Then the harsh ringing of a telephone rang through the small office space. A scarred hand reached and picked up the receiver. “Good Morning, Ruth. What can I help you with?” he spoke into the phone, picking it up with his free hand.

A chipper voice spoke up, “Sorry to botha ya so early, Mista Morgan, but there is someone ‘ere to visit ya,” Her southern accent clashed against his New England ears, though Morgan could at least understand Ruth now unlike when he first arrived in New Orleans.

Morgan sighed and scratched his head, tussling his long hair, that threatened to cover his ears. A nagging voice in his mind began to chime in but Morgan shut it out before asking, “So who is here, pray-tell, Ruth?”

“What’s your name again, hun?” There was a pause before Ruth spoke again “Evelynn, sir.”

Morgan froze.

Before Ruth could coax an answer out of him, Morgan barked, “Send her up right away.” With that, he hung up. Morgan rushed over to the door, sitting next to the door that read “Private Eye” to all passersby, was a shoulder holster, and a worn-out revolver. Morgan pulled it out and checked the rounds before slinging the holster on. Just as he unlocked the door, the elevator chimed. A shadow came to the door after a few moments, and there was a knock on the frosted glass, Morgan stepped behind the door, cocked his gun, and opened the door.

“Freddie, wait!” a young woman cried out as she was met face to face with a revolver just as the office door had swung inward.

Before she could say anything else, a warm yet rough hand clasped around her mouth. There was a muffled scream as she was dragged inside. There was a slam of the door. Instinctively, she opened her mouth and bit as hard as she could.

The man behind the gun groaned and yelled, pulling away from her, she reached for the nearest object and lifted up to protect herself, which happened to be a lamp. There was a distinct click from a gun and again the revolver was pointed at her. Her eyes locked with the steely blue ones staring at her from behind the piece.

“Freddie, put the gun down.”

“Shut up!, Why are you here, Evelynn?” Morgan cried out, fury building in his face.

She couldn’t beat around the bush, “Justy...he’s dead.”

The air grew cold. “You’re lying,” Morgan kept the revolver focused on her.

“I’m telling the truth, and Ori...she’s missing.”

Silence crept up over the room before Morgan uncocked his revolver and strapped it back into his holster. His fists were still clenched before Morgan pointed a figure to the door, “Get out,”

He ordered, “The famiglia will not have me, not after all their years of scheming and bullshit,” Slowly, his rougher accent slowly began to seep out from Morgan as he narrowed his eyes at Evelynn.

“But Freddie, the coppers won’t help and the feds...they’re worthless.”

“Stop calling me Freddie..the name is Morgan Moore.”

“Moore? Really Freddie...going with an Irish name?

“Fuck off. I’m proud of a name I’ve barely had for 5 years than the one I was born with.” Morgan’s vision flashed red for a moment and nearly fell, he braced himself on his desk, clenching his head. “Damn you, Evie.”

“Freddie,” The young woman attempted to reach out toward Morgan but he smacked her hand away.

“How the fuck did you find me all the way down here?” His head throbbed in pain.

“Well...I remembered whenever we talked about goin’ on vacation. Of course, we mentioned Europe, ya know to visit the homeland now that everything settled down but I recalled you mentioned places like New Orleans.”

“Goddammit,”

“FREDDIE?!”

“Fuck you, it's not Freddie anymore.”

“You can’t give up on the famgilia, you can’t give up on blood,”

“No...I won’t be part of the madness…”

“Then...if not as part of the family...then why not as a job?”

“What?”

Evelynn laid out a thick envelope, even without opening it, Morgan could tell this was more than his last three jobs put together. “Holy shit,” he cursed, scratching the stubble beginning to shade his cheeks.

“This is only the first part...Comare wants answers...and she is willing to pay for it. The chairman...your dad won’t rest...please...Fre-No...Mr. Moore.”

Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose and took the money. “I’ll be in New York in two weeks, meet me then.”

“Why so long?”

“I need the time to get ready, especially if I’m heading up all the way up there for business. I need to talk to the company and the like. Research as it were.” Morgan poured himself a cup of coffee before noticing Evelynn’s own exhausted expression.

Reluctantly, he served her as well.

The two sat at his dining room table in silence, not unlike the old days, allowing the morning to pass as they sipped their coffees. Morgan enjoying it with cream and sugar while Evelynn preferred it black.