The knowledge that Scarelli's men were actively probing his Rue Sainte-Catherine property settled in Elias's mind like a cold stone. It wasn't fear he felt, but a sharpened, predatory focus. This was an opportunity, not just a threat. He could use Scarelli's predictable aggression to his advantage.
He met with Thomas later that evening, not in his apartment, but during a quiet stroll through Parc Lafontaine as dusk bled purple and grey across the sky. The autumn leaves crunched underfoot.
"Anya's observations were astute," Elias began, relaying the essence of her report. "Scarelli's looking for 'Thorne.' Moretti has instructed his men to start with the Sainte-Catherine building, apply pressure."
Thomas's jaw tightened. His Barbarian-enhanced form, even under a thick wool coat, radiated a barely suppressed power. "Let them come. I'll be waiting."
"No, Thomas," Elias said calmly. "Direct confrontation there plays into their hands. They expect you. They expect muscle. We offer them something else."
The Scotsman looked at him, questioning.
"They want information about me, about my connection to you," Elias continued. "We'll give them a trail to follow, but one of our own making. We need to draw out their investigators, identify them, understand their methods."
He outlined his plan. Mickey O'Halloran would be the key.
The next morning, Elias discreetly "let slip" to one of his more gossip-prone tenants in the Sainte-Catherine building – a woman named Mrs. Perrault who supplemented her meager income by cleaning for wealthier families – that he, Mr. Thorne, had recently hired a "new assistant" to help with errands and collections, a wiry fellow named O'Halloran. He emphasized Mickey's… slipperiness, his ability to be "everywhere and nowhere." He painted Mickey as a confidential aide, someone who knew Elias's movements. A perfect target for Scarelli's men if they wanted information about the elusive Thorne.
Then, he tasked Mickey with a specific route for the next few days, ostensibly collecting minor overdue rents from a few of Elias's more scattered, less profitable units. The route would take him through areas where Scarelli's influence was thinner, but where his scouts might reasonably look for a low-level associate of a rival. Crucially, the route included a couple of deliberately isolated spots.
"You are bait, Mickey," Elias told the Goblin-empowered thief bluntly when they met in a grimy alley near the docks. Mickey's eyes, already shifty, widened. The physical changes from his empowerment were more noticeable now; his posture more hunched, his fingers more gnarled, an almost imperceptible green tinge to his sallow skin in certain lights.
"B-bait, Mr. Thorne?" he stammered. "They'll skin me alive if they catch me!"
"They won't catch you if you're careful," Elias corrected. "They'll approach you. They'll try to intimidate you, maybe offer you money for information about me. You play along, Mickey. Be scared, but greedy. Let them think they can turn you. Give them vague, slightly contradictory information about me – that I'm old and reclusive, that I'm young but ruthless, that I travel a lot, that I rarely leave my rooms. Make them work for it. But most importantly, get a good look at them. Who are they? How many? What are they really asking?"
Elias handed Mickey a small, advance payment, more than his usual cut. "And if it gets too hot, you run. Your Goblin speed should be more than enough to lose Scarelli's thugs. You are too valuable as an ear to the ground to lose."
Mickey clutched the money, his fear warring with the innate avarice the Goblin powers amplified. "And if they… if they grab me before I can run?"
Elias's gaze was cold. "Then I will be… considerably displeased, Mickey. With them. Consider this a test of your abilities. Prove your worth."
While Mickey played the reluctant lure, Anya was given a new assignment. From carefully chosen vantage points – a rented room overlooking a key intersection, the window of a disused factory – she was to shadow Mickey, but from a much greater distance. Her role was to observe his observers.
"You are not to intervene if Mickey is approached," Elias instructed her sternly. "Your focus is on who follows him, who interacts with him. Descriptions, license plates, how they operate. Mickey is the cheese in the trap. You are watching the hands that reach for it."
Anya nodded, her hazel eyes bright with understanding. She had taken to her enhanced senses like a hawk to the sky. She relished the challenge, the intricate dance of observation and discretion. Her notebook was already filling with details about the city's undercurrents that no ordinary citizen would ever perceive.
For two days, Mickey scurried along his designated route, his Goblin-enhanced senses on high alert. He played his part well, appearing jumpy and furtive, occasionally looking over his shoulder as if expecting trouble.
On the afternoon of the second day, it happened.
Anya, perched high in a derelict clock tower overlooking a quiet side street where Mickey was ostensibly checking a rusted, unused postbox (a prop Elias had arranged), saw them first. A dark, nondescript sedan, the same model Buick as Moretti's, but a different license plate, pulled up quietly at the end of the street. Two men got out. They weren't the flashy thugs who'd visited Leclerc. These men were dressed in muted greys and browns, their movements economical, their faces hard and watchful. Professionals.
Anya, her Archer-sight picking out the faint bulge of a concealed weapon under one man's jacket, began sketching furiously, her pencil flying across the page.
The men approached Mickey, who feigned surprise and terror quite convincingly. Anya watched them speak, too far to hear, but she observed their body language – one man doing the talking, leaning in close, while the other stood slightly back, scanning the surroundings. Mickey gesticulated, appeared to be pleading, then slowly, reluctantly, seemed to comply with whatever they were demanding. After a few minutes, the men gave Mickey a curt nod, got back in their car, and drove off.
Mickey, visibly shaken, darted into a nearby alley.
Anya didn't follow Mickey. Her instructions were clear. She tracked the sedan for several blocks, noting its route, until it disappeared into the warren of streets near Scarelli's main warehouse district.
When she reported back to Elias that evening, her information was precise.
"Two men, Mr. Thorne. Not Scarelli's usual enforcers. These were… quieter. More dangerous, I think." She showed him her sketches – one man was lean, with cold eyes and thinning hair; the other was stockier, with a broken nose that hadn't healed properly. "The car license was C-4019. They seemed… efficient. Mickey played his part. They spoke to him for approximately four minutes. He gave them something small – a piece of paper, perhaps – before they left."
Elias nodded, absorbing the information. Scarelli was using his intelligence gatherers, not just thugs. This was more interesting. And Mickey had performed admirably under pressure.
When Mickey finally met Elias, later and in a different, pre-arranged location, he was still jittery but also undeniably proud. "They bought it, Mr. Thorne! Hook, line, and sinker!" he chattered. "Asked all sorts o' questions 'bout you. Who you are, where you live, who this big Scot is. I told 'em… I told 'em you was an old recluse, a bit touched in the head, but with money. And that the Scot was just a loyal brute you hired for protection. I gave 'em that old laundry bill you gave me, said it had your address on it." The laundry bill was for a property Elias owned but hadn't visited in months, miles away. A false lead.
"And they believed you?"
"Like lambs to the slaughter, Mr. Thorne! They even gave me twenty dollars for my trouble!" Mickey grinned, displaying slightly elongated, yellowish teeth. "Said to keep my eyes open and they'd be in touch."
Elias almost smiled. The bait was taken. Scarelli's investigators now had faces, a vehicle, and were chewing on deliberately misleading information. Anya had identified the hunters. Mickey had confirmed their methods.
The System quietly updated: [Influence (Localized): +0.1% (Minor disruption to rival intel gathering)]. Reputation (Underworld – nascent): [Intelligence Target (Active Counter-Surveillance)].
Elias felt a cool satisfaction. He was no longer just reacting. He was shaping the conflict, turning his opponent's aggression into a tool for his own intelligence gathering. The unblinking eye of Anya and the scurrying feet of Mickey were proving to be a potent combination. Scarelli was searching in the dark, while Elias was beginning to see quite clearly.