The Deceits of Derry O'Sullivan

Fitz had hit a dead end. Again. This one had pulled a knife on him, so he had backed away with the same info he had had before. Nothing. He kicked over a trashcan on his way out of the bar, venting his frustration in whatever way he could. He hadn't had a drop of alcohol in three days, ever since the missing person's report had come out. Shay was missing, and for all of his canny and cunning, Fitz had no info on her whereabouts. A mob boss' child going missing was not something that no one knew about.
He felt the weight of the brass knuckles in his pocket. Violence might get answers out of some of these folks. But that wasn't the man in the green hat's style. Resorting to violence meant you had lost. That you'd failed.

He pulled out his notepad and crossed the establishment off his list. It was getting late. He should probably have been heading back to the apartment he had nearby. Get some sleep. Start fresh tomorrow. But Fitz was not about to let something like exhaustion stop him.
Hitting a vending machine so it expelled an energy drink without him having to pay, Fitz chugged the liquid energy. The bad taste alone was enough to wake him up for now. Standing on a corner, lit cigarette in mouth, Fitz contemplated where he should try next.

Fitz got that itch though. The one that had saved his ass so many times. He was being followed. Keep cool. Act natural, Fitzy. Don't let em know you know.
He started walking, keeping an eye out behind him whenever he could. Whoever it was, they had either just started or were really good at this. He rounded a corner into an alley. Not the smartest move, probably. But he was slippery. Fitz had no doubt that he could weasel his way out of any confrontation.