>>"Unless you're going to actually get something useful out of him, quit playing around. We have his pager, we can start from there if we have to."

Leyla pouted at him, not liking to be disturbed when she was having fun. "No patience," she griped. Leaning down so her face was very near the Russian's, she pressed the knife down harder and snapped at him, "Imya!"

"Chuzhoi!" he blurted out. Finally, a name. "Chuzhoi! Pozhaluista!"

She sat back with a faux pleasant smile, petting his hair. "Was not so hard, no?" She lifted the knife from his hand and let him exhale before plunging the knife into his eye. Easy, efficient, and with minimal splatter.

Leyla wiped the blade on the dead man's shirt and stood. "Happy? We have name. Chuzhoi. Is mob, I think."

Chuzhoi? Jirou tried to remember where he had heard that name before. He couldn't pin which of the the other two players it could have been; the fat one or the bald one. Jirou quickly made his way down the hall and up the stairs to bar above. There was nobody else around. The two Russians had obviously told the bartender and whatever patrons had still been around to make themselves scarce, which was another lucky break for Jirou and Leyla.

"Did you drive here or take a cab? I've got a car parked a few blocks away. Its a bit of a walk, but if you think you can handle the cold it beats having to hide bloody clothes."

He wasn't too keen on letting this woman know where he lived, but he needed a new pair of jeans, and she would definitely need a different set of clothes if she was intent on going on a revenge kick.

Leyla hurried after him, hiding her irritation at having to walk so fast in heels. When would she learn to stop wearing these damn things? As they passed through the empty bar, she stopped and took a detour behind the bar, fishing under the counter as if she had every right to be there.

"No car. I take cab," she told him while she searched. "Cold is no problem, I think." She had spotted a jacket on one of the tables, no doubt abandoned in the frantic exodus the Russians had caused. She motioned toward it without looking up for more than a second. "Get for me." She swore in Turkish and moved to another segment of the bar, shoving things onto the floor in her impatience. A glass shattered and she kicked the shards aside without a second thought.

Jirou perked a curious eyebrow at Leyla's frantic search behind the bar. What on Earth was she looking for? He shrugged and grabbed one of the warmer looking coats. It was a black wool pea-coat, perfect for New York winter weather. He pitied whoever had left without it. It was colder than hell out tonight.

He made his way back behind the bar as well, cradling the coat in his arm as he scanned the liquor selection for a particular bottle. "That'll do." he reached with his free hand and grabbed a bottle of Everclear 151. He set the coat down on the bar top near Leyla before grabbing a white dish rag and began to stuff it down the neck of the bottle. He looked down at Leyla, who was still searching for something.

"I hate to make you hurry, but I'd rather not stick around much longer." he sat the molotov down on the bar.

She didn't even look up to see what he was doing. "Just a moment," she murmured, half to herself. "What kind of salak does not--Ah!" Leyla let out a small cry of triumph and produced a hand gun from beneath the bar. Turning, she showed it to him in explanation. "Normally, I work quiet, but when mob involved...need gun, yes?" She double-checked the safety and tucked the gun into her purse.

Only once she had re-fastened her bag did she turn her attention to his little project. She raised an eyebrow. It made sense, she supposed, but would create an awful mess if it went wrong. "You know well how to do this?" she asked. She took the coat off the bar and pulled it on. It wasn't her usual style, but it wasn't hideous and it would certainly do for the time being.

Jirou smirked when she questioned his abilities. "I grew up as a troubled youth in the streets of New York. What do you think?" he grabbed the bottle and shook it a bit to make sure the impromptu wick was wet with the high proof alcohol, taking extra care not to get much of it on his hands. The last thing he needed was to get burnt tonight, and in more was than one he supposed. He reach next to the register, grabbing used yellow bic lighter.

"If you would be so kind as to break open a couple of bottles, it'll help the fire spread more quickly. Don't want to leave too much for the boys in blue to find, do we?"

He made his way to the back door entrance of the bar, near the steps leading to the basement where the two deceased Russian's lay. He flicked the lighter several times before it finally lit. He touched the flame to the soaked rag before forcefully tossing the bottle down the wooden steps. It the bottle shattered as it bounced off the steps and collided with the wood paneled walls, which were immediately engulfed in flames.

"Now let's get going." He turned and made his way out the back, being sure not to leave any finger prints on the door knob.

With the bar on its way to becoming nothing more than a smoldering heap, Jirou led Leyla through several back alleys as they made their way to his car, which was parked on a street a few blocks away, and it wasn't long before they had arrived.

The sleek midnight blue chassis of the '73 Omega shined in the lamplight. He unlocked the passenger door first and opened it for Leyla before going over to the driver's side and hopping in. He started the car with a roar as her 350 Rocket V8 came to life under the hood. She was always a good starter, but he hated taking her out during the winter time, but every once and a while it was good to let the engine warm up and get the oil flowing.

"Any idea where we should go first?"

With a sigh, Euphoria left him to his own devices. If the boy blew himself up, hopefully she would not be caught in the collateral damage. She flung a few bottles into different corners of the bar, turning before they shattered. She walked out of the bar before the smoke started coming into the main bar, waiting outside for Jirou to join her.

His car was beautiful, she had to admit. She brushed her fingers along the hood as she wandered to the proffered open door. "Very nice. She run well?" she asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

>>"Any idea where we should go first?"

Leyla pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "I need better shoe," she told him, "And both of we need clothes without blood, yes? We go my apartment. I have clothes to fit you, I think. Tribeca."

Jirou smiled as Leyla questioned his car's condition, taking it as a challenge. Not many people had ever seen a 73 Omega before, and usually if they were ever lucky to see one it was never in such pristine condition. He dropped the transmission onto first and swung out onto the street. It had been a while since the city's last snowfall, so the black top streets were fairly clean, giving his tires some decent purchase. The thick rear tires bit down and and squealed as he pealed off down the street, hitting a quarter mile in just under twelve seconds. Not bad for just showing off.

After he'd satiated his ego enough, he eased back on the gas, dropping down to a couple miles over the speed limit. He chuckled to himself as he patted the dashboard of the car. God he loved this thing.

"The Tribeca? Seriously?" Jirou shook his head in amazement and grinned "You've got good taste."

That wasn't vary far from his own stomping grounds. It was a high upper class joint he remembered. He'd never stayed there personally, but he'd passed it many times. Jirou took the next exit he could find, hoping onto the express way and taking the Brooklyn Battery tunnel. They would be there in no time.