Sandy had not seen hide nor hair of Rory Alfonso since their last auspicious meeting. In fact, no one had. It was like Rory had simply disappeared off the face of the planet, which should've been a good thing as far as Sandy was concerned.
But it wasn't.
With every day of silence that passed, Sandy couldn't help but wonder just what the little shit was up to. Was he really just hiding himself away, or was he planning some sort of revenge? And if he was planning revenge, just what course of action would he take?
It was scarily easy for Sandy to figure out. Rory knew that he had no emotional attachments, so what then? What would hurt Sandy McKenzie the most?
The destruction of The Siren, of course.
This thing, this investment, that he'd spent so much time and money on… He could easily see Rory reveling in turning the thing to ash, and in the process, ruining Sandy's business. If he closed his eyes he could see Rory's smug little face, broken nose and all, towering over him as he attempted to pick up the pieces.
He wouldn't let it happen. Could not let it happen. No matter what it took, or how much money he had to spend, he could not let Rory win.
He would sooner burn the place down himself.
Sandy's concern -- because that's what he insisted upon calling it, concern, and not what it had actually turned into, which was paranoia -- had started to keep him up at night. His thoughts running cyclically through all the possible scenarios that could arise resulted in restless nights that could not be quelled through drink nor sex nor drugs. He would not be calmed, not until he made fucking certain that Rory Alfonso would do nothing to destroy the small empire that he'd built for himself.
So on the morning of April 23rd, Sandy rose from his bed with determination. It was time to stop worrying and start preparing himself for war. Because this would not end, not until one of them was dead.
And Sandy had survived the Great War. He would be good goddamned if he some self-entitled little shit like Rory Alfonso was the one to take him out.
When Sandy arrived at The Siren that morning, he decided to take his business to the porch. He'd been cooped up in his office for the better part of a month now. Perhaps some fresh air and a new perspective would help to clear the clutter from his mind.
With a pen in his hand and a journal on his lap, Sandy stared out at the lake. It was so still, so flat, so calm. It was like nature itself was taunting him. Anger started to curl within him, his vision going a bit dark around the edges. What right did this city have to such peace, when he was suffering with such turmoil? They were all as dirty as him. They all deserved to suffer just as much as he.
He forced his gaze back down to the paper, his clutch on the pen tightening noticeably.
He shut his eyes, trying to calm himself, but behind his eyelids all he could see was Rory destroying all that he'd worked so hard to build.
No. No, no…
"No."
He said it aloud, but he was the only one there to realize it.
Sandy hated that Rory had him so rattled. He shouldn't have, but with every silent day that passed, Sandy only became more and more worried. It wasn't right. No one person should have such complete control over his mind. He should be focusing on his money -- which, while still coming in, was beginning to plateau -- not this.
But this had to be taken care of first, didn't it? Sandy wouldn't be able to rest until it was.
So what should he do? What favours could he call in now?
Well, he certainly couldn't go to the mobs for help, could he? He'd all but burned his bridges there. And things with Oxford, well… He'd destroyed that relationship as well, hadn't he? There was still Lincoln, but he could be bought easily enough.
The gravity of the situation was slowly beginning to set in.
He had no one.
His lips thinned to nothing. Beads of sweat began to settle on the back of his neck. His heartbeat sped up.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Sandy rose from his seat and began to pace. He just needed to calm down and think. Maybe he didn't have anyone, but he'd been in worse situations, right? He didn't need anyone. He had himself and his mind, and that was more than enough to take care of fucking Rory Alfonso.
Yes. He would be fine on his own. He could take care of this on his own. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself as he sat back down.
He was enough. He would have to be enough.
Right then, first thing's first. Rory would most likely go for The Siren in any attempted revenge plots. So, pay for more security. He was only down to one personal guard, as the other was busy tailing after Nat, but he could afford a few more. Maybe he could convince Eddie to send some of his better officers -- the ones who were a little less than morally upstanding -- to patrol the place too. It was worth a shot, anyway.
And speaking of Eddie, as much as he hated the man, he needed his compliance in order for The Siren to stay open at all. So, unfortunately, he was going to have to make sure that he kept the man happy, very happy, no matter how much he hated it.
He wrote down "Call Lincoln" on the page.
So, added security and ensuring that Eddie was in his corner would be a good start. But what else could he do to safeguard himself?
Well, a lot of his apprehension arose from the fact that Rory fucking Alfonso had all but disappeared from the face of the Earth. Perhaps it would be best to keep him on a tighter leash.
A small smile crept onto Sandy's face as he thought of this. Yes, Rory couldn't get away with fucking anything right under his nose. Perhaps one of the new guards that he'd hire would be made to follow Rory around when he wasn't in Sandy's immediate vicinity. And giving him a few more jobs wouldn't hurt either.
Beneath "Call Lincoln" Sandy wrote "Bring Rory In."
If he kept Rory close, and made sure that he had someone watching over him at all times, that should be enough to solve his problem, right?
But ah, how could he overlook Miss Russell? Her expertise may come in handy in this area. He quickly jotted down "Talk to Miss Russell" before officially calling his list done.
Sandy quickly looked over the list, which now read:
Yes, that was a sound list, and one that wasn't particularly incriminating either. As soon as everything was taken care of, Sandy intended to burn the list anyway.
Sandy hadn't even realized he'd spent the better part of the day just plotting out what came next for him. But when he could finally be bothered to look up at the lake again, he noticed that the sun was just beginning to set. God, what a waste of a day.
He started to rise from his seat, a feeling of contentment that he hadn't felt in weeks settling within him, as he heard a distant "boom."
He gripped onto his seat, crouching down, waiting. He knew that sound all too well -- the sound of bombs going off.
It wasn't just one bomb, though. It quickly became a cacophony, at least three bombs being set off in what he could only presume was downtown. It was miles away, but he could still feel the aftershocks beneath his feet.
Just what in the hell was going on?
His one remaining guard came out to him, supposedly to check that he was alright, but Sandy waved him off. So much for the peace that had lured Chicago into a sleepy lull. This was war, and during a war, you didn't get fucking complacent.
It seemed that someone had.
When the ground finally stopped shaking, Sandy took up his pen and paper and walked past his guard, heading directly for his office.
"Should, uh, should we call the police?" his guard asked after him.
"What for? You don't think they've already noticed the fucking massive explosions that just went off?" Sandy hissed. "I've got much more important business to take care of, so don't fucking bother me unless its our building that's getting blown up."
