BRANDON OAKS, RETIREMENT HOME, ROANOKE VIRGINIA-January 01, 2012:
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:40, Sun 08 Jan 2012.

 She lead the little miniature horse along the hallway toward a group of elderly women sitting at a table chatting and playing cards. They all stopped and started petting the pretty little dappled mare as the little horse nibbled fingers and sniffed hands and faces. The little mare was very gentle and the elderly folks loved her and the little tricks she could do, like counting to 10 and dancing and bowing.
 When they had all had their fill of the little horse, she smiled and said goodbye before heading off down the hallway toward the lounge area where more elderly people waited. Minx the manx cat came running down the hallway to jump up on Confetti Lady's back and demand pets. The mare just snorted and kept walking. She was used to her best friend's antics by now.
 "Hello Minx. Been visiting the fellows in the hall?"

"I'm here to see Thomas Gage, please," Malcolm said to the woman at the reception desk. He smiled at her. She tried not to smile back, tried to stay professionally aloof. It didn't work. She smiled at him, a little embarrassed, a little coy.

It wasn't the man's real name, Thomas Gage. His real name was Giovanni Caprese, and he was a federal informant who went into witness protection in the late 80s. The man was responsible for putting away scores of low and mid-level mobsters, and one capo. Malcolm had seen the file; this guy took the steam out of a lot of organized crime in his day, set 'em back a long ways.

Now, Thomas Gage had a problem. He was getting old. He was getting a little senile, and he started talking about his past. The people at Brandon Oaks chalked his rants up to dementia, but the Mob was always listening, always waiting, always patient... always ready to take revenge.

Others may have seen what he was doing as a demotion, a set back in his career because of the failure and inexplicable report from Malcolm's last assignment, a high-profile attempt to grab one of the Bureau's most wanted. Malcolm didn't see it that way though, and neither did his superiors. This was the Mob.

The young agent had been sent from DC to assess the situation and give a recommendation. As he looked around with his keen, focused eye, he didn't notice anything necessarily amiss.

But since his last assignment, he was never truly confident.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:22, Mon 09 Jan 2012.

 She lead the mare and her companion cat Minx along to the lounge where a group of elderly men were sitting, some here and there alone, some in groups or pairs. She looked over at one of her favorites, an old gent everyone called "The Count" or Thomas. She smiled and walked over to his chair and asked if he wanted to pet the horse today. He looked at her and started waving his hands and speaking in a fast clipped agitated voice. Then his eyes cleared and he mumbled apologetically for becoming upset. She just smiled and let him pet the horse. It saddened her to see the old man going downhill, but she wanted to make his time left as enjoyable as possible.
 She knelt down and asked him if he'd ever had or ridden horses in his youth. Many an Italian counts surely had had horses, if it was true about him once being some minor royalty. Even if it weren't true, though, maybe he had ridden horses at the park.
"Hello Mr. Thomas. How are you feeling today? Do you like the horse? Her name is Lady. Did you ever ride horses?"

Malcolm found Thomas Gage right where the receptionist said he'd be, in the lounge. There were a score of elderly people doing various things in the big, open room... playing cards, doing art, watching TV.

And apparently, Sunday was petting-zoo day because right next to Thomas was the smallest horse Malcolm had ever seen. It was seriously a midget horse. This must be the freakshow version of a petting zoo because along with the midget horse there was an abused cat... someone had cut its tail off. That made Malcolm a little sad. He didn't like it when people hurt animals. No, not a good petting zoo at all, no billy goats, no ducks to feed bread to... Still, a broken petting zoo was probably more entertainment than the folks at Brandon Oaks usually got.

The young woman, young judged by the current crowd, holding the midget horse's leash-thing was talking to Thomas. Malcolm couldn't hear what she was saying as he approached. He checked her out, but more in a threat-assessment way than a male-female way, and then broke into their conversation.

"Hey! Grandpa Tommy," he started, code words for contact. Malcolm then addressed the woman as he glanced from her to her horse and back, "Hi... cute." He smiled at her and then went back to Thomas, "Hey Grandpa Tommy. How ya doin'?"