A little under an hour remaining before the final meeting of the trip. Then Rothstein can leave this charming but rather sad excuse for a city behind and get back to the real work. The worthwhile games. A gambling man can only go so far in a city of this size, particularly when intending to remain on civil terms with the city's boss. Nucky Thompson has been a useful if sanctimonious ally, and much as it would please Rothstein to put a sharp drain on Lolly's Casino, he's taking it easy. Go in for enough to keep himself moderately interested, but not enough to ruffle Thompson's feathers. It's a bore, but sometimes that's business.

In any case, he's finished for the day. His money is on the way, and he has time to stretch his legs, make a couple of phone calls, and perhaps take in a bit of air. Time to send a couple of his boys off in search of information.

Rothstein has just released Lawson (the man is off to ask a few perfectly innocuous questions pertaining to the sheriff) when a stranger approaches. Confidant (almost audaciously so), reasonably presentable. A impression of hardness, the imprint of clashes with the world, that Rothstein perceives in many of his associates.

Has Arnold seen this man before? Not so far as he can recall. A flickering glance toward his associates suggests that they've landed on no recognition. Who is this man, and where or who has he come from? It isn't entirely unusual for such men to approach in New York, but here? And an Englishman in a predominantly Irish town, no less.

Arnold stares directly into the man's eyes, lips quirked in a tight, inscrutable smile. He makes no motion to reach for the man's hand, remaining almost eerily still.

"You have me confused with Nucky Thompson."

Close at hand, the boys wait for the slightest sign of trouble or for a signal from Rothstein.