As usual, Mickey Doyle didn't have enough men guarding the warehouse and the ones who were on duty were used to taking their orders from Richard. The look on Richard's and Jimmy's faces didn't invite questions, and Jimmy and Richard slipped in without Doyle noticing.

The sound of Doyle's horrid giggle echoed throughout the mostly empty warehouse. At least, Jimmy thought, they were finally almost done with George Remus's liquor. Richard's focus was almost terrifying. Jimmy doubted that Richard noticed anything that wasn't directly related to his mission.

Doyle never saw them coming. Jimmy covered from the back, while Richard came in from the side like an avenging demon. He slammed Doyle into the wall and pinned him into the place with his forearm.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?" Richard growled out.

Doyle giggled. "Is this a joke?"

Richard moved his arm so it was pressing against Doyle's throat.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! I didn't even know you had a wife. Not my problem if you couldn't keep her."

"I don't. Have. Time for this," Richard said, pushing his arm further into Doyle's throat.

"And I don't even know who you are talking about?" Doyle whined.

Jimmy took his time lighting a cigarette. "Clara," he finally said.

Doyle looked over at Jimmy. "Clara?" he asked, and then realization dawned across his face. "Nucky's Clara? Princess Clara married Tin Face?"

Richard readjusted his grip and Doyle moaned in pain. "Hey, it ain't my fault if she came to her senses!"

"Someone. Took. Her from. Jimmy's house," Richard had to stop talking for a moment. "She was. Screaming."

"Thing is, Doyle, I figure the same person who killed my wife in my house probably snatched Clara from my house. And we all know who killed Angela. Your ole pal Munya."

"Jimmy I didn't have nothin' to do with that. Whatever Munya did I didn't know," Doyle pleaded.

"Sure," Jimmy said. "But I know for a fact that you know where he's holed up."

Nucky must've told him, Doyle reasoned. "If Nucky says it's okay," he answered.

Jimmy saw Richard's shoulders tense. He heard it, too. Nuck had acted yesterday like he had no idea who Manny Horvitz was, but now he was in charge of giving Doyle the okay to divulge the fucking Butcher's location.

It had just been a ploy, Jimmy thought. Nucky had just been playing him. There was no forgiveness. Yesterday, Jimmy had been willing to accept the idea that Nuck just wanted him to clean up his mess and march off to his death, but right now he felt differently.

"Clara is Nuck's daughter. You don't think he's doing everything he can to find out who has her, and doesn't expect all of us to do the same?" Jimmy said coldly.

"We are. Leaving. To find the Butcher. Now," Richard said and grabbed Doyle by the back of the shirt. Doyle was silent as Richard threw him into the backseat of the Ford.

***

It was cold, but Mommy had agreed to take them looking for shells. The wind whipped across her face, but Clara didn't care. She and Jimmy put their pail in their sand and dug through the shells.

Gillian was there. Clara ran up to hug her, but Gillian carefully stepped away from Clara's hug and Jimmy's, although she leaned down and kissed Jimmy's mouth. No sand on my coat, she'd cried, avoiding Jimmy's and Clara's hands.

Jimmy had fallen and cut his hands on the shells. Mommy was pulling the shell pieces out of his hand, but Clara kept looking for shells.

She saw the shell she wanted and got a little closer to the water's edge than Mommy said was okay. Leaning forward the shell was almost in her grasp when the wave knocked her off her feet. The water was so cold her muscles froze, and her coat was so heavy she couldn't turn herself back upright.

Mommy and Jimmy were so close but didn't see her struggling to keep her head up. Jimmy finally looked up and saw her and whispered to Mommy, who ran and scooped her up. Even then the cold was bad Clara couldn't feel her body and her teeth chattered so hard she bit her tongue.

It was that taste that brought her back. The iron taste of blood filled her mouth. Her body was still in the water, though, and was so cold all her muscles were cramping. Why was it dark? What was biting her neck? She could move her arms and legs, but only so far and then they banged into some sort of hard fabric.

It was so terribly cold, Clara thought. Where was Mommy?

No, hold it together, she told herself and felt the edges of panic setting in. Mother has been dead almost fifteen years. You aren't a little girl on the beach.

Think.

She could move her arms and legs. It felt like she was in a bathtub, almost. The fear hit her like a rogue wave. What was happening? Everything, since she stepped out of the kitchen to answer the door, was a mess in her mind, like tangled ribbons, but fear threaded through all of it.

The water was so cold it hurt. Clara heard footsteps and saw a slice of light as a door opened behind her.

"Hello?" She croaked out. "Please, please someone tell me what's happening!"

The person, Clara thought it was a woman, didn't speak. She bent down and suddenly the cold water was circling the drain.

"Why am I in a bathtub? Where's Richard? Does anyone know that Tommy is alone?" Warm water, almost a little too warm, began to fill the tub. "He's just a little boy, and his mother just died. He must be so scared." Her hands banged against the canvas cover.

It was a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. The woman never spoke. "Does my husband know I'm here? His name is Richard Harrow. We are living with my foster-brother, James Darmody, at his house on Ventor. My father is Nucky Thompson, he's the former treasurer of Atlantic County. You could contact any of them. Please, tell me where I am? Why are you doing this to me?"

The water turned off and the woman walked away.

"No, please!" Clara pleaded. "Please don't leave me!"

"I'll tell them you are agitated," the woman said and closed the door behind her.

Although she fought to stay awake, the warm water soon pulled her back down into unconsciousness. As the fog descended Clara tried to determine why she was so tired, why her head felt so heavy.

Soon she realized she was locked into a nightmare cycle. The warm water was left for a while, and then the woman would silently return and fill the tub with ice-cold water, which would shock Clara back awake.

During those times she tried to determine what was going on, she pleaded with the woman to help her. Her neck was raw from the canvas collar, her knees and hands were bruised from pushing on the canvas cover, and her tailbone ached from sitting on the enamel tub. And that was nothing compared to the pain and misery of the cold water. Even when the water was warm Clara was tense waiting on the inevitable cold. Her teeth would chatter so hard her tongue and cheeks were quickly covered in bite marks, her nipples hardened to the point of pain, and her muscles contracted terribly.

When the woman came in to fill the tub with cold water Clara had formed a plan. "Please, if you don't want to contact my family, contact my attorney, Leander Whitlock. He lives at 101 South Montgomery Avenue in Atlantic City. He'll help you get out of this, he will negotiate my release. Jimmy will pay. My father will pay. Please."

The woman didn't say anything, and when the cold water hit her Clara couldn't hold back a cry of pain.

***

It wasn't Jimmy making Doyle nervous. Tin face stared at him with zero expression, the gun pressed against his side. Had Nucky's spoiled princess really married this thing? Damn, rich girls did weird things but this took the cake.

"So what did Nucky say when you asked for his fair daughter's hand, hmm?" Doyle asked, wondering what the hell that must have been like.

"He was thrilled," Jimmy said before Richard could respond, "because Nuck knows what Richard will do to anyone who even thinks about harming one hair on Clara's head."

Doyle got the message.

"You sure this is the place?" Jimmy asked. "We don't have time for mistakes."

For once in his life, Doyle decided not to speak and simply nodded his head.

"You got one job, Doyle. Get him to open the door," Jimmy directed.

Richard and Jimmy carefully observed the entrances to the synagogue before they took their positions and allowed Doyle to approach the basement door.

"Munya! Mmmhaaa!" they heard Doyle say at the door, and slowly it opened.

Richard moved silently behind Doyle, pushing him out of the way so quickly that the drunk, stumbling Horvitz was against a support beam before he knew what was happening.

Jimmy tried to notice details, to control his rage, and keep his focus. The basement was sordid, smelling of body odor and dirty linen, the floor covered with empty whiskey bottles. A far cry, Jimmy thought, from the butcher shop which might've smelled of iron from spilled blood but was spotlessly clean.

"The funny man," Horvitz said with a bleary smile. "Boychik. What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Where. Is. My wife?" Richard growled into his ear.

"Well, the boychik's wife is by now six feet underground, no?"

"We'll get to that," Jimmy said darkly. "Where is Clara? Blonde bob, freckles. Someone snatched her from my house this afternoon."

"And this blonde shiksa is the funny man's wife?"

"Your daughter. Is an angel. Your wife. You love her. Even with. Her thick ankles. If we don't find. Clara. Safe and sound. My face. Will be the last thing. They see," Richard said, his voice lower and steadier than normal, his gaze never wavering from Horvitz's.

Horvitz took a deep breath. He had noted the difference between the two young men from Atlantic City the day they first walked into his butcher shop. In his dealings with Harrow and Darmody nothing had changed his opinion. Harrow was a man who lived up to his word. Manny knew his life was at an end; the best he could hope for now was to convince Harrow to spare his wife and daughter. "I had nothing to do with taking your wife, Mr. Harrow. I killed the boychik's wife, but he failed to heed my warnings. We have no bad blood between us."

"Mrs. Harrow is Nucky Thompson's only living kid," Mickey said from across the room.

"You married Nucky Thompson's daughter? Mr. Harrow, not only have I no wish to start a fight with you, but I have no desire to make an enemy of Nucky Thompson."

"You started. A fight. With me when you. Killed Angela Darmody. In her bedroom," Richard snarled back at him. "Am I. Supposed to believe you. That you had nothing to. Mmm. Do with Clara?"

"Look at how I live. I'm in hiding from you, from boychik, from Waxey Gordon. You think I could make it to Atlantic City, take your wife, and get back here alive? When it's clear I'm not going to live through the night?"

Richard and Jimmy looked at each other. Jimmy stepped forward. Richard stepped backward and took a gasping breath. He believed now that the butcher had nothing to do with taking Clara.

But that meant he had no idea who would have or why. Now the list grew to everyone they ever came in contact with. Or what if it was someone not connected to them? Richard remembered reading about the Villisca axe murders back in high school. No one knew why someone killed two parents and six children with an axe, or why one of the daughters appeared to have been violated. His heart clutched. What if someone had just seen Clara and wanted her? How could he find her if he didn't even know where to start looking?

He forced himself back into the moment. Jimmy was ordering Doyle to wrap the chains around the butcher, securing him to the pole while Jimmy slipped his trench knife from his boot.

Jimmy turned and looked back at Richard. Silently they agreed. The butcher had nothing to do with Clara.

Manny Horvitz still had to pay for Angela. For her fear. For her death. For every painting that would never be dreamed into existence. For every night Tommy cried for his mother.

The Butcher was a man who tried to live his life in such a way that his word was his bond. What he said, he did. As a passing headlight sliced through the basement window and gleamed off the metal in the boychik's hand he promised himself he wouldn't give Darmody the satisfaction of hearing his screams.

The true measure of a man, however, is taken in his worst moments. And in those moments, the Butcher's last, James Darmody proved Manny Horvitz was just another man whose greatest lies were to himself.

***

It was quite late at night before Legs, whom Charlie couldn't fucking stand, called and told Meyer that AR would meet with them at 11:30. Meyer insisted they both put on clean shirts before they went to AR's brownstone.

"Gentleman! What news was so vital that you must come to my house at this late hour?" Rothstein smiled his thanks as his butler set a cold glass of milk and a slice of Devil's Food Cake before him.

"Thompson's daughter, Clara, somebody grabbed her from Jimmy Darmody's house. She's been watching after his kid," Charlie said.

"The boy reports that Clara was screaming when taken. She apparently trained the boy to hide, and he did so," Meyer chimed in.

"Someone snatched Miss Thompson from James Darmody's house? The house where his wife was killed only a few weeks prior?" Rothstein asked.

"She ain't exactly Miss Thompson no more. She married Harrow," Charlie said.

Rothstein tapped his finger on his desktop. "Nucky's daughter married the point man of his enemy, moved into the enemy's home to take care of his motherless child, and has now been taken from that very house?"

He thought for a moment, then lifted the telephone receiver, and checked his list of numbers. "Operator, please get me ATLantic 4939 in Atlantic City. Yes, it is an emergency."

"Thompson residence," a lilting Irish voice said.

"Mrs. Schroeder, forgive me for the late hour..."

"Mr. Rothstein? I'm sure you wouldn't call at this time without good reason. Although it's Mrs. Thompson now."

Rothstein felt his eyebrows move up his face. "What wonderful news. Best wishes for a happy future. I was calling about the other bride in the family."

"Yes, Clara married her Mr. Harrow," Margaret said noncommittally.

"Are there any updates on the new Mrs. Harrow?"

"Well, it isn't the marriage Nucky would have wished for her, but Clara seems quite content."

Rothstein looked back at Charlie and Meyer with surprise. The new Mrs. Thompson had no idea her step-daughter was missing. How...unexpected.

"Well, certainly Carolyn and I send our best wishes to the Harrows as well. Is there any chance I could speak with Nucky briefly?"

Margaret paused for a moment. "Of course."

She walked to Nucky's study slowly, giving herself time to think. Mr. Rothstein was calling about Clara, but not about her marriage. But something pressing.

"Mr. Rothstein is on the telephone. I believe he wants to talk about Clara," she told her new husband, carefully watching his face.

"Well, there's no telling what trouble Clara has caused now," Nucky said evenly and motioned for Sleater to walk Margaret out of the room.

As soon as Owen closed the door and they walked a step away, Margaret pounced. "Why is Mr. Rothstein calling about Clara?"

Owen looked away. Mr. Thompson's reaction to the news that his daughter had been taken, taken screaming had been...unexpected. After Harrow and Darmody left Mr. Thompson had directed him to go to the Atlantic City Armory and pick something up. A small envelope from an officer Owen knew was on Mr. Thompson's payroll.

The envelope was closed but not sealed. Usually Owen would just let it be but it was not a usual day. He had watched Thompson marry the woman he, Owen, well he wasn't sure he loved Margaret, exactly, but he cared about her. And now Clara kidnapped and Thompson unbothered, all on the eve of Thompson's trial.

So Owen opened the envelope. He saw what it was, and was confused as to why Thompson had sent him that afternoon to pick them up. Lifting them up he became even more confused.

He was holding a replica of Richard Harrow's dog tags.

Back in New York Rothstein replaced the receiver on the hook and stared out the window. Nucky Thompson was rather a cold fish and a troublesome business partner, and yet Rothstein would lay a bet any day of the week that Thompson loved his daughter. However, he was completely unconcerned that his daughter was kidnapped. Not just quietly taken, but, according to her new husband, taken screaming from the home of the man she considered her brother.

The same man who had led a rebellion against Thompson's crown, who had ordered his death. Who had committed treason, and now had married off Thompson's princess to his own most loyal knight.

Rothstein swiveled back in the chair and regarded his errant pups. The shape of a plan began to form his mind.

"Gentleman, let's try something we haven't yet in 1921. Let's try you being honest with me. About Atlantic City. About James Darmody."

Charlie shot Meyer a nervous glance.

***

At some point, Clara forgot about everything except for the horridness of the cold. Even when the cold water was drained and warm water washed over her, her teeth chattered and her mind could only focus on the dread of what would happen when the cold water inevitably came back. There were no windows in the room, no light, no noise. No way for her to mark the time, no way know how long she'd endured it, no way to distract herself. Her skin was cracking which made the assault of the cold water even worse. Everything hurt. And then the door would open again, Clara would be blinded by the quick flash of the light, the woman's footsteps would echo around the chamber, the water would drain, the warm water would rush in. She would lay in it until her muscles partially unseized, although the cold seemed to have worked down to her bones and now never went away, and then the door would open, she would be blinded by the quick flash of light, the woman's footsteps would echo around the chamber, the now tepid water would drain, the cold water would rush in.

Finally, the door opened fully, and the light was turned on. Clara had to close her eyes against the onslaught of brightness. Before she did, she saw tiled walls and other bathtubs with bizarre covers on them. Some part of her brain recognized them the way she might have recognized a dragon or a mermaid. Something from a story which now appeared inexplicably in front of her. The water drained. There were two pairs of footsteps this time, she realized, and then she heard snaps being pulled undone and her neck was free. Hands reached down and got her to her feet, but she was shaking so badly she couldn't stand. Some sort of scratchy nightgown was pulled over her head and she was lifted into a rolling chair.

Ideas began to bloom in the recesses of her mind, but she couldn't string her observations together. In her current state, Clara was no longer even capable of curiosity about what was happening to her.

***

Back in Atlantic City Richard and Jimmy split up. Richard took a deep breath and knocked firmly on Chalky White's door.