<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane6_zps63e694fc.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Deacon Sloane<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>January 9th, 1874<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Back Room<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Miss Greene, Mr. Lee<br/><hr/>Unperturbed by Lee’s show of feigned obsequious politeness and propriety, Sloane took a healthy gulp of his drink before setting the cup back down on its saucer and turning his dark gaze on the man.  “To which business interest are you referring, Lee?”  He’d never bother to add ‘mister’ ahead of the Chinaman’s name.  “The fur trade?  Real estate? Or, are you speaking of his surreptitious transport of certain botanicals, perhaps concerned that Turkish opium might, in fact, be far superior to the Canton shit you import and peddle to the masses?”  Lifting his cup, he let it hover momentarily in front of his mouth.  “Who do you think I am?  You?”<br/><br/>Whiskey Nick arrived in a timely fashion just as Sloane drained his cup, and he took a moment to refill the fine china with an undiluted shot of whiskey as he listened to Green say her peace. “I assume you have something to tell me that I didn't<em>already </em>know,” Sloane replied when she paused, setting the bottle on the table without bothering to cork it as he raised his eyes to her face, waiting for some truly useful information or insight that might make the trek through the bone chilling streets worth his fucking while. What she had to say didn’t do much to warm him up.<br/><br/>While it was true that Sloane wasn’t keen on the idea of being beholden to Findley for anything, or being told what to by the man or how to run his business, he also didn’t like having Greene essentially do the same goddamn thing.  More so than her, his business relied on Sweetrock’s employees for a fair share of its income, and Lee was the same.  Dangerously well informed or not, Sloane didn’t like the idea of being under her thumb any more than he liked being under Findley’s.  Rock, meet hard place.<br/><br/>The reality was, Gomorra was already a company town.  It became a company town the minute Findley walked into the city with his pile of lawyers and the deeds to half of Humphrey Walters’ land.  Sloane knew it, even if Greene and Lee didn’t. But something just didn’t sit right about all of this, and it was nagging at the back of his mind.<br/><br/>“Tell me, Maybelle,” Sloane began, leaning back in his chair as he considered her request.  “Just what is Black Jack giving you – oh,<em>and </em>us - in return for your …<em>generous </em>support?”<br/>