Tony was standing in the elevator as it slowly lurched up towards the main suite.

Hands in his pockets, fingers fidgeting with fabrics, he couldn't help but think about all the things that Jackson Strange had told him. He bit his lip so hard that it bled, but he didn't even notice. Allie. No. She just couldn't...she wouldn't...would she? She wasn't the type, and after all he'd done for her, why would she turn heel on him like this? The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, as a man in a suit welcomed him to the floor, then led him down the hall and towards a room. Once they reached that door, and the man opened, Tony entered, only to witness Raymond Sykes picking his mug of coffee up off his desk and turn to smile upon seeing him.

"Tony!" he said, "Come in, thank you for coming on such short notice!"

Tony approached, anxious, nervous, his guts doing somersaults. Raymond motioned with his hand to a nice chair.

"Please, have a seat," he said jovially, to which Tony obliged. Raymond lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, then exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he said, "you know, coffee used to be this thing I drank with my daughter. In fact, she's the one who got me hooked. Back when she was in high school, she started drinking coffee in order to stay focused, maintain a good GPA. I thought it was unhealthy, and, in fact, I even said as much. Didn't want her wearing herself ragged purely for academic purposes. But then we started getting coffee together, and it became this bonding thing."

Raymond leaned against his desk and crossed his legs, taking another long sip. He looked in his mug and an almost sorrowful expression crossed his face, the first time Tony had ever seen Raymond portray anything remotely close to a human emotion.

"We would go to various coffee shops," he continued, "we would order different things, see which places we liked best, which drinks we preferred. Hell, we even had little notebooks that contained our ratings and stuff on them. That's partially why she wound up as an accountant, you know? I don't know how much you know about the history of accounting, but the earliest known print use was in a 1975 Forbes article that stated 'this bean counter is the first executive to come up with a way of measuring trade offs'. After this, business writing started using it as a way to criticize people who were seen as overly focused on cost rather than things like creativity. The whole idea played on the concept of counting beans, a cheap, simple commodity, as a metaphor for tedious penny pinching work, which, well, let's face it, and we can both admit this as businessmen, that's accounting."

Raymond and Tony laughed together, and for the first time since Tony entered the building, his shoulders released their tension, his muscles relaxed, he felt more at peace. Maybe this would all be a good thing in the end after all.

"But she loved it. She loved the precision, you know? Of being the one who kept everything in check. But, as delicious as coffee is, its industry is rather exploitative. You know much about the coffee industry Tony?"

Tony shook his head and shrugged, "can't say that I do," he mumbled.

"Well," Raymond continued, "for starters, many of the farmers live below the poverty line. When global prices drop, the income they receive is sometimes lower than the actual cost of production. As a result, they only actually receive about five to ten percent of the retail price of a cup sold in wealthier countries. And it doesn't just stop at financial disparity, you know? It's all encompassing, this...this economic poisoning of the industry. Take their labor, for instance. Season workers are underpaid, housed in poor conditions, or sometimes not even formally contracted. Meanwhile the industry as a whole is dominated by a handful of multinational corporations, while millions of small farmers have very little bargaining power, meaning that middlemen and exporters capture much of that value for themselves, leaving these farmers dependent on volatile commodity markets."

Raymond put his mug down on the table with a thud, causing Tony's heart to start racing again. Raymond looked at his well maintained hands and smirked.

"You provide me with money so that I continue to stay in power so that you continue to benefit from me staying in power, you are, in essence, my coffee farmer, but you're treated far better than they are, wouldn't you say? You certainly don't live in poverty," Raymond said.

"Damn straight," Tony said, nodding, trying to grin.

"But anyone below the top dog is inherently greedy. That's the problem with capitalism isn't it? Anyone who isn't at the top is constantly clawing to be at the top, threatening your livelihood. That's the problem with the coffee industry, Tony. The global coffee industry is structurally exploitative because the wealth is concentrated in consuming countries and corporations, while the producers bear the highest risk and the lowest rewards," Raymond said, strolling towards Tony and kneeling down, their eyes level, his voice now a low rumble, "...I'm the corporation, and you...are the producer. And what happens when the producer tries to cut off the means of production?"

A man entered the room, and Tony glanced over his shoulder at him before Raymond grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to look back in his eyes.

"I asked you a goddamn question, don't look away from me," Raymond snarled quietly, Tony now visibly shaking.

"I...I uh...what...what happens?" Tony asked.

"Often times they're let go, aren't they? Replaced by someone who will do the job, no questions asked, no trouble raised. But, and here's where you get lucky, I like you, Tony, we're friends. And we work in tandem. I can't spend my time building up that kind of trust with someone new, that takes years, so you're going to work with me, okay? Because if not..."

The man handed Raymond a pair of small bolt cutters, which he took while the man grabbed and held Tony's arm on the arm of the chair, Tony breathing hard and fast as Raymond placed Tony's right index finger between the cutter blades.

"...I won't be the only one missing digits," Raymond said, before making the cut.

                                                        ***

"You look like shit," Salem said as Benny held the door open for him to pass through.

"Thanks, I do try my best," Benny replied, the men chuckling, "please, come into my home and insult me some more."

Salem laughed more as he entered fully, Benny closing the door behind him. Salem turned his sights to Molly, who was in the kitchen, making tea. She didn't even look at him. Salem continued through to the living room, hands in his pockets, nodding as he took in the architecture of the loft.

"Cool place," he said.

"It does the job," Benny replied, "I'm gonna...well, not walk to the bathroom, more like hobble, but you get the idea, and then when I come back, we'll discuss the car."

"Right," Salem said, sitting down on the couch as Molly walked over with a mug of tea, sipping it carefully as she stopped and stood in front of Salem, looking down at him. His hands were clasped between his knees, somewhat spread apart, and he jumped a little when he finally noticed her presence. He grinned, saying, "Hi, you doing okay?"

"You have it in a safe place?" she asked, sipping carefully, slowly.

"Yeah, it's hidden, don't worry," Salem said, "why?"

"Because when this is all over, I'm taking Benny and Olivia and we're leaving Las Vegas for good. So you better damn well make sure nothing happens to that car, because it is our golden ticket out of this mess. Please don't take anything else away from us, we've lost so much already."

Salem nodded solemnly. Molly spoke like a woman who was done with everything. The tone of her voice, the cadence of her speech, this was a woman who was finished. She wasn't close to being finished, no, she was finished already, and was now waiting for everyone else to catch up so she could move on. Benny reappeared from the bathroom and walked back over to the couch as he kissed Molly on the cheek while she passed by him. Benny sat down beside Salem and exhaled.

"Lemme tell ya, peeing, while on crutches? It's hard," Benny said, making Salem chuckle before asking, "so, where is it?"

"Currently it's sitting in a private garage that's owned by a friend of mine who runs a pawn shop," Salem said, "I used to perform at her shop sometimes to get eyes on the place, so it wasn't hard to call in a favor, and don't worry, I didn't explain shit to her. I just told her I need her to hold onto a car I'd used in a performance for a bit."

"Good, the less anyone else knows the better," Benny said, "what do we do with it? Do we just...turn it over to authorities? The agents?"

"That would be my guess," Salem replied, shrugging, "but that's something Allie needs to do, wherever the hell she is."

Benny grunted. He didn't know. Nobody really seemed to. Ever since the incident, she'd cropped up a few times, mostly to check on him and Molly, but even then those visits were brief, and most of them had taken place over the phone. Otherwise she'd been in hiding, and while he understood why, he also thought it was cowardly. But, maybe, he hoped, he was wrong. Maybe she was cooking up a final plan, one last grand trick to get them out of all of this. She was a magician after all, called herself astounding even. He just hoped she'd live up to her moniker in the end.

                                                         ***

Allie was sitting at the kitchen island, coffee mug shaking in her hands. She looked up across it at Jenny, standing across from her, still in her sleepwear, little shorts and a tank top. Allie, just as quickly, looked away. She had a hard time looking at herself since the heist. Jenny had made her food, a sandwich, lovingly crafted, and it was just sitting on the island in front of her on a plate, but Allie hadn't touched it yet. Her appetite had been near non-existent for days. She finally closed her eyes and hung her head, before feeling the warmth of Jenny's hands cupped around her own, and she glanced back up, looking into her eyes.

"You're okay, just take a breath with me okay?" Jenny asked, and Allie nodded.

The two then took a slow inhale, and held it briefly before exhaling. They did this a few times before Allie finally managed to crack a smile and the two locked eyes again. Jenny's eyes were the only thing that weren't Allie's, it was how Allie managed to differentiate themselves from one another, and it was the place Allie liked to look currently when she was forced to look Jenny in the face.

"You know you can talk to me," Jenny said, her voice so warm, soft, quiet.

"I know," Allie finally said, "I'm just scared. Everyone has a target on me. I feel like one of those carnival ducks, ya know? The ones on the rails that just go back and forth that everyone guns for, and eventually somebody's gonna get the shot. How long can you realistically avoid the ramifications of your actions?"

"Ask war criminals, or politicians," Jenny said, making Allie chuckle.

"Yeah but I don't have access to their level of wealth or power," Allie said, "you're the only one who doesn't hate me. Zoe is mad that I got her into the mess I got her into, Molly and Benny got shot because of me, Nick is furious at me for not being able to get sober while I was with him, and Claire...Claire doesn't hate me, but...but I also don't trust that she has my best interests at heart."

"She saved you," Jenny said, "she shot a woman in the head in order to save you."

"I'm a means to an end for her, if I go down, she goes down," Allie said, "I don't doubt she cares about me, but it's hard to know how genuine those feelings actually are. I don't know. I just feel like you're all I've got, and I guess I've never really showed my appreciation for you and that doesn't seem fair. Thank you, Jenny, for always having my back regardless of anything."

Jenny blushed and leaned in, kissing Allie on the forehead. Despite her admission, Allie still couldn't deny that she didn't love Jenny romantically. It was all superficial, all love for herself, because Jenny's face was Allie's, and Allie, in the end, loved herself so much that she couldn't help but be with a version of herself that was relatively untainted. Jenny went back to the stove and started making herself scrambled eggs, Allie still sitting at the island, sipping from her mug, her hands steady and firm now. But...this just made her exactly like Claire, didn't it? Using Jenny the same way Claire used Rachel, in the sense of utilizing her worship and devotion as a means to ground herself. Justify her actions.

Claire.

Allie and Claire had had sparse communication since the shooting, but one phone call in particular had stood out, and that was one that happened about a month and a half after it had happened. It was about 3am, and Allie hadn't been sleeping, so when the phone started ringing, she wasn't startled awake or anything of the sort, though it did catch her somewhat off guard. No good news ever arrives by phone at that time of night. Still, she picked it up, only to hear Claire's voice on the other end.

"Allie," Claire said, "I'm sorry it's been so long. Don't speak, you don't have to say a word, this is more of a voice mail and less of a phone call. I just want you to know one thing. I'm ready to leave town. I'm ready to get out of here. So when this is all over, you and me, let's do it, okay? Let me know what you think after you've had some time to debate about it. Together, Meers, you and I can do anything."

And with that the line went dead, and Allie's blood ran cold. Could do anything. Yes, she thought, Claire could do anything, and that's what fucking terrified her.

                                                        ***

Zoe was standing over the headstone, as she'd been doing for a while.

She'd get flowers, she'd bring them here and she'd stand for a little bit. Nobody knew she did this, not Allie nor Effie, nobody. Zoe stood there, umbrella over her head, her other hand in her coat pocket, just listening to the rain, the sound of distant thunder. Zoe had never really been one for cemeteries, and she didn't understand why she'd been coming here so frequently, why this was bothering her so much...perhaps it was simply because she had seen Raindrop as someone in a similar position as herself. Someone she could sort of relate to. Someone who, really, just wanted out. Sloshing of shoes on wet ground, as someone sidled on up beside her, the dim glow of a cigarette just out of her peripheral view.

"It's nice you come by," Rachel St. Sebastian said, "nobody else does."

"...it just feels unfair," Zoe said, "and I feel so responsible. I told her what was happening. I'm why it happened. I'm why she went down there, why Molly and Benny got shot, why she ended up here. All she wanted was to be free of Raymond. She was me."

Rachel sideyed Zoe and just listened as Zoe took a long breath and continued.

"I can't take the guilt," Zoe said, her voice cracking, shaky, "I'm planning a wedding, and she's dead. Where's the goddamned justice in that. I've done terrible things in the name of an other."

"So have I," Rachel replied, shrugging, "it's what you do when you love someone enough. At least that's how I attempt to make sense of my actions. But the truth is, eventually, it breaks you. No matter how much you love someone, want to see them happy, if you don't stop them from using you, their self destructive behavior will become your own downfall. I'm on a leash, but I don't bite the one leading me because I'm too afraid of what freedom may taste like. I can't tell you what choice is right for you, but either way, you'll have to make a decision or it'll be made for you. I still find it admirable though, that you come. Nobody else does. Not even her family."

Zoe looked at Rachel and watched as she took a drag, curls of smoke wafting into the air and rain. Zoe nodded slowly. She understood. She understood Rachel was right. And Allie didn't use Zoe, Allie really did care about her, but at what point was freedom actually freedom? When could she truly stop looking over her shoulder? To what lengths would Allie go to ensure her longevity? Zoe didn't know. But she did know one thing. She might be like Raindrop. She might be like Rachel. Be involved in things she didn't want to be, be used by someone who was making her a tool of sorts...

...but the thing was, Allie wasn't Claire.

And that was all the proof Zoe needed to know it would at least, if nothing else, end as well as it could.

                                                     ***

Allie had snuck back to the casino, needing to get into her loft to get a few items. It had been a while since she'd been in here, opting instead to hide out at Jenny's. The key turned in the lock, and that's when she realized it was already unlocked. Allie furrowed her brow, held the knob and pushed the door open. As she walked inside cautiously, she heard the sound of water, and when she turned the corner, peering into the main living area, that's when she saw him, Tony. He was here, watering her plants of all things.

"...so now you're my gardener?" she asked, and he jumped a little, hand to his chest. She noticed the bandage wrapped around it, and wondered what had made that happen.

"Christ, you scared me," he said, grinning, "well, you haven't been around, so I've been tending to your plants. I don't think it's fair for them to die just because of your absence. You aren't meaning to hurt anyone, I know, it isn't intentional or malicious."

This statement made Allie tense up, as Tony walked to the sink, filled the watering can back up and then placed it gently between the plant pots on the brass multi tiered shelf she kept her plants on before wiping his hands on his pants and finally fully turning to face her, smiling softly.

"Allie," he said, "I need to ask you two questions...I've taken care of you, you're like my daughter. I know that, in the last year or so we've been so busy that we've kind of lost that closeness, but that's never stopped me from feeling that way. Your success makes me immeasurably happy, and not because it brings me success, but because it's yours. Well deserved too, might I add, you're so damn good at what you do. But I need to ask you two questions. The first is did you steal my car."

Allie stood there, uncertain of how to respond. One way or another could lead to alternate paths, and she didn't even know what the second question was yet.

"Allie," Tony continued, clearing his throat, as if he were trying not to cry, "Allie I don't want to see you go to jail. And that isn't a threat. I'm telling you I will make sure it doesn't happen. But I need you to be honest with me, I need us to work together. Now did you steal my car?"

"Yeah," Allie replied, her voice low, nodding, "yeah I did."

"Okay. We'll have to discuss why later. But first I have the second question-"

"What happened to your hand, Tony? Was that from Raymond?"

This took Tony by surprise. His eyebrows raised, his breathing quickened.

"He did that to you, didn't he? Just like he worked that poor girl to death, just like he had his own adopted daughter doctor all his books. He cut your finger off, didn't he?" Allie asked, as Tony started to sniffle, raising his hand to his face and looking at it, his eyes wet with tears.

"Allie," he said, "my second question is...what do you know about Jackson Strange?"

Allie certainly didn't anticipate that one.

"Uh," she said, wiping her eyes quickly with her sweatshirt sleeve, adding, "um, quite a bit, why?"

"Because I think," Tony said, "I think I found a scapegoat."