Family

Who: Dutch and Maya
Where: The Walker residence
When: late afternoon

No two ways about it, Dutch didn't like doing this. He'd had to explain himself to some degree when he called the Drake, requesting the proper channels to actually make contact with the Walkers. With a specific Walker, in fact. So people had been suspicious, and Dutch had even gotten a shred of sympathy and a muttered 'good luck' from the man he'd spoken to. But he didn't have much choice, did he?

His patience had been at a slow burn for years now, smoldering at the end of its' reserves, and it had finally run out. Maybe it had ended when he'd helped Evelyn, realizing once again just how dangerous this city could be for a young woman and dreading the idea that circumstance might claim his daughter. Maybe it had been the talk with Zhen in the park, the idea that he could be hopeful for something and actually have it happen. Likely though, it was seeing Cheyenne herself. Sixteen years with them, and the Walkers hadn't broken her spirit, hadn't made her fall in line like a good little girl. She didn't seem to care about their money, their opulence. She was his daughter, not theirs. She'd never be theirs.

Dutch had called up to the Walker manor an hour earlier, figuring that fat cats like them likely had late lunches, followed by hours of whatever indulgence they wanted before another night of reverie. Which meant, in his mind, that the time after lunch might just work best. He was hoping so as he walked the last leg of the path that stretched from the gates to the house itself, clad in clean and respectable clothes for once. They'd still be rags compared to these people, but he was trying. Knocking at the door, Dutch stood back patiently for a moment before it was opened by a maid, and he gave her a curt nod before speaking. "Afternoon, ma'am. Elias Giacomo to see Mrs. Walker, I called ahead," he said, getting no reply as the maid waved him in and bustled off to find her employer.

Maya emerged into the hall around ten minutes later. If the guy wanted to call on her, then she would make him wait. She'd taken her time, doing other things - none of them important. The important part was his waiting, not what she had to do to fill the time, after all. She did, however, grace him with a smile as she walked up to him, petite and almost fragile-looking next to the man as she held out her hand, palm down. Kiss or shake, his decision. "Mr Giacomo, a pleasure," she drawled, politely.

Honestly, Dutch didn't want to do either. He didn't want to touch this woman, he was well aware of how much power the Walkers had without needing soldiers like the other Families. But he also knew that they played by their own set of rules, and rule number one? Everyone paid them respect. "Mrs. Walker," he greeted without a smile, careful of her hand as he took it in a light shake that Dutch hardly felt through his calluses, "Thanks for your time, I'll try not to take up too much of it." Looking around the parlor of the house in all it's vastness, Dutch eventually glanced back to Maya with an expression that spoke of his discomfort, shoulders hunching subconsciously. "I was hoping we might have a chance to talk out a proposition in private?"

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Of course, please, come this way," she told him, leading him through to a small drawing room with a large picture window that looked out over a winter garden, all evergreens and berries. She sat down in a nearby chair and indicated that he should do the same in one opposite.

Settling down in the chair he was pointed towards, Dutch squirmed for a moment. It was cushy, elegant, likely expensive beyond reason. It was uncomfortable. He ended up sitting forward, arms folding across the top of his legs as Dutch glanced around anxiously. How was he supposed to proceed? He'd been in the game for so long that he still knew the players, sure, but he'd been out for so long that he wasn't sure he still knew the rules. "I... I think you know what I do for my kin," he said eventually, "For them, the Barteluccis, all the families. Even yours."

Maya looked at him, almost but not quite blankly. "Why don't you remind me," she suggested, casually, inviting him to lay it out there, specifically. Wanting to hear him say it, interested to see if he would. How far he'd go. She knew who he was, of course, that was all part of the point.

Dutch's jaw set for a tense moment as he fought down the taste of bile in his mouth. Remind her? Bitch. He could ignore it sometimes, when associates of the DiGiovanni would bring by a car with cash stuffed in the seats, when they'd stop in to fill or empty a trunk of the guns inside. And whenever they did, sure, they'd taunt him with who he was, what his station in life was. But making him say it himself? Dutch didn't like that. "I'm a handler," he rumbled, "A bag man, fall guy, safe deposit point. My crew keeps all your cars runnin' smooth, and if something happens to be in one of those cars? We keep it safe until it gets picked up. Once a month I meet up at the Drake for inventory and pay outs."

"Must be quite the interesting life you lead," Maya said, her smile widening slightly. "So, what about that brings you here today? Surely you don't think that I would be interested in any of that?" she asked, innocently, as though she'd never set foot on the wrong side of the law in her life.

"Not at all, ma'am," he assured Maya, already chafing at having to defer so much. He had to do this any time he dealt with any of them, but something about Maya made it worse. It might've been her airs of innocence about it all, so convincingly delivered and so well established in the city itself that no matter what, Dutch knew she'd never face justice. "Just..." he trailed off, grimacing and grappling with the whole reason he'd come here in the first place. "I make some money on my shop doing legit work, sure. Don't need a Hagel boy to balance my numbers. But I get paid for what I do for you all too, Mrs. Walker. And I haven't touched a dime of it, not for goin' on seventeen years now," Dutch explained, lines of anxiety growing deeper in his face with every word, "You can have it, every penny of it... if I can get my little girl back. Please, Mrs. Walker."

Maya frowned, her brow creasing pleasantly - a practised expression. "...Your little girl?" she asked, as though she was completely clueless as to who she meant. In actual fact, it was simply because of the way he'd put it. To Maya, Cheyenne was not 'his'. Cheyenne, no matter her actual origins, was a Walker, and she would always be a Walker. thatw as the way of the world, and it was the right way for things to be.

Dutch had kept himself to one drink before coming here; one drink to calm the shakes, that was all. If he'd had more? he would've given into the urge to scream her name at Maya, to give her and her family a reminder that, once upon a time, Dutch had been the hitter who put the Giacomos on the map. As it was, he sat back in his chair, gripping the arms tight in both hands. "Cheyenne," he rumbled at Maya, the deference dying in his eyes, "Your lot took her for my fuck-up, ma'am, and I did fuck up. But I've been payin' for it for her whole life, all I want is a chance for her to know her father."

"She does know her father, Mr Giacomo. The father that counts. She has more than she would ever have had in anther life. She has a better life and you won't ruin that for her. Cheyenne's family cares for her. Wants the best for her - wouldn't you agree?" she said, a slight edge appearing in her tone, but only if you were looking for it.

He was looking for it, and Dutch wasn't surprised when it appeared. With these people, appearances were dangerous. For all their civility, their celebrated efforts to help the city they claimed to love, the Walkers were monsters. "Forgivin' my frankness, Mrs. Walker," he said slowly, some part of him still trying to stop the words as they formed on his lips, "But I'd sooner agree to a handjob from a hobo. I've known this family longer than you have, ma'am, so don't try tellin' me it's all picnics in Fontaine an' Sunday brunches. Your family wants what's best for your family, not my daughter. I've seen your people, your 'better life'. I saw old Judge Walker beat a girl to near death with his bare hands for wearin' a dress he didn't like, I heard every story 'bout your kin, the real Walkers, what they got up to."

His hadn't even realized how much emotion was showing on his face, how there was raw anger in his eyes, until the last word spilled out. Dutch knew in that moment that he'd fucked up again, but the desperation wouldn't let him stop. "Just... give her the choice. I got a bit less than three hundred grand saved up, and it's yours for just... just a day with her and the chance to tell her who I am. Nothin' about you and yours, just me."

Maya laughed then, the act dropping entirely for a moment. "Oh, please - you think I can be bought with money?" she asked him, looking around the perfectly appointed room. "Don't you try and tell me about my family, Dutch. You have no idea. No idea at all. So, go and find your hobo, with my compliments. I'll even give you the dollar for the fee. Just be careful you don't pick up something - I hear there's a lot going round."

Rising from his chair so sharply that the chair itself slid back a foot or two with a dull squeal, there was murder in Dutch's eyes as he loomed up over Maya, his hands clenched at his sides. He could break this woman, snap her neck here and now, drag her to the top of the manse and throw her into the gardens in the back of the house. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind about that fact. The doubt came instead from the knowledge of what would happen after. They'd come for him, which didn't scare Dutch. But then they'd go for her, his Cheyenne. They'd hurt her in ways she didn't even know one could be hurt, and she wouldn't understand why.

Without sparing a word, Dutch turned and stalked away from where Maya sat, his shoulders heaving in rage. He made it as far as the entry of the sitting room Maya had led him to before he looked back. "You chose this life," he said over his shoulder, "Whatever influence they had? You chose it. She's gonna get to choose too, and there's fuck-all you can do about it, Walker." That last word was practically spat out, seeming disgusting to Dutch's very tongue, and once he'd said it, he started moving again. he had to hope, he had to believe in the beauty he'd seen in his girl. And when she chooses somethin' better, I'm comin' for you, bitch.

Maya didn't rise. She stayed seated, not gracing him with a response. She didn't need to, safe and secure where she was. Let him have his little storm-out. It would all come to nothing. He was a fool. There was a reason he was where he was. Nothing changed. the world was just where it was supposed to be. As it was supposed to be.

And if he laid a finger on her family, then he would live to regret it.

Just possibly not for very long.