#valorstarter

Ralphio Kowalski's election office

Harry was only one of a flurry of photographers, most sporting press cards, that gathered outside the mayor's election office. It was election day and the ballots had been open for a while, though the vote count was hours away. Everyone was waiting for the Kowalskis, either would do, together would be even better. Anyone high profile who showed up at the front could expect to get their picture in the paper.

That was why Harry was keeping his eye on the cars that rounded the corner to the back of the building. Down to the parking lot underground, up the stairs and through the apartment building--that was the only way to get in discreetly. He'd go hang out in the corner there himself, but that would mean abandoning the crowd--his camouflage.

The rumours of Kowalski's corruption would not withstand any association with the Genovese family, not on this day. And yet Harry couldn't imagine the Kingpin wouldn't want his finger on the pulse on this day of all days. A consigliore, perhaps, or one of their lawyers--

"It's Lucca Genovese!" someone shouted. All eyes, all cameras, pointed in the direction of a luxurious car with darkened windows. Harry saw one of the windows roll up hurriedly as the car attempted to drive through the thickening crowd. Had he attempted to drive to the front door? Stupid. Unless it was a distraction. He swivelled his eyes to the corner and indeed, there was a modest, neat car with equally darkened windows driving around the corner.

Still, she knew business was important, and he would want her there today. She grabbed her clutch, put on her sunglasses, and exited the hospital. Eleanor entered one of the families cars with her driver, as well as bodyguard, at the wheel, and they drove to the courthouse.

The crowd was intimidating and she felt a bit nervous as the car was parked and her door was opened once again. She took a deep breath before exiting, surely knowing even before she was bombarded by photography flashes and reporters asking her questions that it would happen.

“No comment. I have no comment!” Eleanor exclaimed as she attempted to pass through to cast her vote. “Please let me do my civic duty like every other citizen.” Before I shove those cameras up your asses.. When she finally entered the courthouse and heard the sweet sound of near silence, she sighed with relief. “I wonder if it’s too early to get a drink after this.” She muttered under her breath.

When she finally entered, she began walking towards the offices past the voting booths, seemingly invisible behind the vase of flowers. When she got to her destination, she set the flowers down outside of the office with the name next to the door that read Peter Hamilton, and picked the lock to enter.

"Dammit." She muttered, growing a tad frustrated. Picking locks had never been her strong suit, but in order to gather some information, she needed to get into it. Finally, after another minute or so, she heard the sound of a click as the door unlocked. She quickly opened it and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Evangeline headed straight to his desk, opening drawers and ruffling through files. She knew she probably had very little time, but just one clue could help unravel this entire mission. Surely Hamilton had something against Kowalski in place, but this information would get the man killed. She thought she had found the write file when she heard some noise and rustling outside the door, and quickly ducked under the desk.

Harry turned on the light in the hallway of their apartment just off the Village. The pineapple-shaped ceiling lamp cast it's fractured light upon a mess of unsorted papers on the hallway stand under an old, ornate mirror. Both had come with the place.

You'd think an international spy would live in a penthouse apartment. Well, it was one, technically, two floors of rooms spanning the entire top of the building, with windows set all around the upper floor, but the house was a short squat home nearly fifty years old, facing the Hudson at the back and a brick wall on both sides. What efforts of modernisation it had suffered in the 50s were by now sadly out of date. In the summer, the river cooled off the worst of the heat, but with fall came the gnats. Harry had rented it for nearly twelve months now and lived in it for seven.

Harry set down his camera bag, stretched and hung up his jacket. They kicked off their shoes and padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was too late for coffee, really, but they wanted to develop the film roll without their eyes glueing together from lack of sleep.

Her steps came to a halt at the sight of Miss Mary Parker, wife to a contractor whose brains Annabelle had just been dying to pick. They traded greetings and flattering remarks, and their interaction would have seemed entirely ordinary if not for the diamond bracelet that had fallen into Annabelle’s pocket by the end of their exchange.

And so, it was only when they parted ways that she turned her wide eyes to another bystander - someone who seemed to be looking just closely enough to have seen the theft. “Is something wrong, dear?” She did her best to look genuinely concerned, later scoffing in false embarrassment. “My lipstick isn’t smudged, is it?”

There were floats from basically every major company based in New York and street vendors were calling out to passers by, selling hot dogs and pretzels and even sweets. Families were enjoying the day together, marveling at everything.

All of this made Katya feel happy and sure that she had truly made the right decision to leave for America. Back in Moscow, the military would be marching through the streets while people watched, starving and cold, and even a little afraid.

But there were no soldiers, no tanks, no fighter planes. The KGB was a continent and ocean away and Katya felt free.