Sonny left his office with a spring in his step. He'd just met with Jammin who explained, in person, that Stanley had Salvatore in his possession. The dark cloud which hung over Sonny's head was coming to an end. He could see an end in sight. He just needed Salvatore dealt with and he could put this ugly saga to bed. Walking into the headquarters meeting room he addressed a hit squad that had been assembled upon his call. The men knew their business a bunch of cold blooded professional killers that Sonny called upon to perform his dirty work. The made members of his family were paid well for their services, as well as their discretion. 

"You all know your target, I need this problem dealt with swiftly," Sonny stated to the group.

"Yeah we got it boss, forget about it," responded the leader of the group taking a puff from his cigarette, a scarred capo by the name of Stevie.

"This man has broke every rule in this things of ours, make sure it sends a clear message," Sonny continued with fire in his eyes.

"Fucking rats, can't stand 'em," added Stevie's second in command a made man by the name of Joey.

"I wish you the best of luck, take whatever you need from the armory and the garage," Sonny finished as he turned and left the headquarters meeting room.

****

Salvatore awoke in a strange motel room covered in sweat. His leg ached and his head throbbed as yesterday's drugs left his system. He searched frantically for the bag which contained his stolen morphine but could not see it nearby.

"You looking for this?" asked a fat bastard sat smoking a cigarette from the corner of the dark motel room.

"Give me that you motherfucker," Salvatore begged pathetically. 

"Now, now, now, first I've got some questions," the fat bastard continued clearly enjoying Salvatore's suffering.

"Fucking fine, fire away I need a fix," Salvatore responded he felt like shit and looked even worse. 

****

Sonny's hit squad new their business. They piled into two separate fast cars and sped out into the desert heading for their destination. They obeyed the speed limit while in the city but put their foot downs as soon as they were out of dodge. Each car held three hardened and trained killers. The groups planned to take the driving in turns to ensure they would hit their target in the soonest time possible. None of the men drank, only smoking on cigarettes to keep themselves awake for the long drive. 

We killed Rhys as a token retaliation for your incessant gibbering.  We narrowly missed FatherMacklePenny.

Shut yer piehole or we will kill your people.

Love, The Plumbers.

Stanley was elated, Salvatore telling him everything he needed to know about Sonny's recent actions. Someone would pay handsomely for such information. Stanley knew, deep down, that he would be playing a dangerous game going up against Sonny and his crew, but he was a gambler at heart, and he felt the odds were stacked in his favor. First he planned to hand Salvatore over to Sonny's goons, then he'd move onto his next payday. Hell he might even take a trip down Las Vegas and spend all of Sonny's hard earned cash in the casinos. 

Checking in on Salvatore he was satisfied to find the man in a deep morphine induced coma, Stanley had never been a man for taking drugs and had no fucking idea how much morphine the man needed to fight off the worst of his come downs. Hell, if the man died in his care Sonny couldn't exactly blame him, a dead rat was a dead rat after all. 

****

Salvatore stayed deadly still on one of the motels two single beds. That fat bastard was watching him again with hungry eyes. In between his morphine induced slumbers, in the few moments of clarity that came to his broken mind, he'd began to plan his escape. He began to think he was better placed with the FBI, suspecting Stanley of working for the mob. He seemed like the type, a fat corrupt bastard trying to get a quick pay check. 

Sensing his moment as the fat bastards phone rang, Stanley made his move. If he'd had any sense he would have crept out of that motel, maybe stole the bastards keys and made his escape. Instead he rushed the man from behind, wrapping the motels telephone wire around his neck and pulling back with all his might. Stanley fought back as the breath was pulled from his fat ageing body, but Salvatore hadn't spent a life growing up on the streets not to have a few tricks up his sleeve. With his spare hand he punched the man in the kidneys knocking him to the floor, the weight of Stanley pulled the phone off the wall but Salvatore kept his grip. The plastic sleeve around the phone began to break exposing a slither of wire, Salvatore used the wire to garrote the man's neck sawing it left and right.

With a final strangled grasp Stanley fell to the floor heavily, his jugular severed and his life's blood pumping onto the tiled floor of the sleazy motel. Salvatore reached into the man's pockets and retrieved the keys, grabbing his precious bag of morphine he climbed into the car and sped into the night.

****

Sonny listened to the report from one of his capos. He'd phoned through to the number Stanley had left them and had heard the man be attacked from behind. Sonny swore to himself, he knew that dirty rat Salvatore was lethal with his back to the wall. Stanley had been careless, and he'd paid for it with his life. The situation was getting out of control, with Salvatore free he knew the damage the man could do if he fell into local law enforcement, or god forbid back into the FBI's hands. 

Agent Smith was furious. He'd taken a brief toilet break before returning back to his car parked in the hospital car park. He knew something was wrong as staff came charging outside, someone clearly missing. Walking to the desk his worst fears were confirmed, Salvatore had escaped. Over the next couple of days he'd watched the streets, looking for that junkie bastard. 

Sat at an intersection waiting for the lights to change he watched as a wild driver sped past. Looking into the drivers seat he laughed aloud. Salvatore that snake high tailing it out of town. Throwing caution to the wind he span the car around and chased after him.

****

A pair of heavily armed FBI agents watched the exit to the town as per Agent Samson's instructions. They'd been given free reign to do as they pleased, outside the usual laws which bound them. Agent Samson wanted Salvatore brought in to his care as soon as possible, and warned the men that a pair of rogue agents currently had him held in their captivity. The two agents were less scrupulous to the morale duties of the FBI and cared little to spilling bloodshed, as long as it was authorized by the higher ups in the FBI, hell they'd probably enjoy it. 

While watching the north exit out of town they noticed a car veering all over the road. The driver clearly intoxicated barely able to stay on the road. Reading the profile on Salvatore they knew such action fit the bill. Turning the engine over they prepared to follow from a distance, just as they were went to pull onto the road they noticed a dark Cadillac tailing the intoxicated driver. Smiling to each other they knew this was their man. 

****

Agent Johnson arrived in town late at night. Walking to the train station attendant he asked if there were any messages for a name he and Agent Smith used during clandestine operations. The train attendant checked and handed him a letter. Agent Johnson walked away from the desk and tore open the letter. Reading its contents he swore aloud, Salvatore had escaped and Agent Smith was in pursuit on his own. Walking to a nearby car he wrapped his jacket over his hand and smashed the window, hot wiring the engine before shooting out onto the street. Agent Johnson took a quick guess as to a direction, trusting that north would be the best option. The roads further south were less passable and offered less of a chance of a quick escape. 

Drawing his gun from its holster he checked the magazine was loaded as he raced down the streets. They could not risk Salvatore getting away, without him they were just two agents going rogue in the wild, their reputations would be in tatters, and he doubted whether they'd even have jobs to return to. 

****

Agent Smith kept his distance as he followed Salvatore down the dark road which acted as a highway in this rural state. The road had been dug between a great forest which covered the road at either side. Agent Smith knew he had to act quick, Salvatore was clearly intoxicated the man barely able to keep his car on the road. He was pulled from his thoughts as a dark car sped past at speed, fucking redneck hillbilly could have ran him off the road. 

The two agents raced ahead of Salvatore and his tail, knowing their only chance was in speed and overwhelming violence. As the road bent round to the right, they prepared their ambush. Jumping out of the car they pulled across the two lane highway and pulled shotguns out of the trunk of their car. 

****

Salvatore was busy tying off a belt around his arm with a needle in his mouth as he kept his foot glued to the floor. Plunging the needle into a waiting vein he felt the morphine flooding his blood stream. He started to nod off as he rounded the next corner, he awoke to his car smashing into another vehicle parked across the two lanes. The impact of the vehicles meeting threw Salvatore out of his seat, through his front window and out onto the cold nights asphalt, he barely felt a thing. 

****

Agent Smith barely pulled his car over as he rounded the next corner. It was the sound of the crash that first alerted him to danger. Swerving his car round so his driver side door was facing away from the crash he dove out of his car as round smashed into the space he had just occupied. Pulling out his pistol he returned fire, aiming just above the hood of the wrecked car which had been pushed out of the road. Agent Smith counted one shooter which surprised him, keeping an eye on the tree line he returned fire only stopping to reload his revolver. 

"You are firing at an agent of the FBI, put down your weapon and come out with your hands up," Agent Smith shouted knowing the time for secrecy was over. 

His words did not have the desired effect as further pellets hit the side of the car. Agent Smith was glad for the heavy engine block currently sheltering him from the worst of the damage. As he stood up to return fire he was hit in the side by a shotgun fired from the woods edge. The force of the blast knocked him against the car, he span round trying to change the direction of his fire but was hit again square in the chest. Agent Smith fell to floor, his breathing labored as he tried to pull in air through his pierced lungs. 

Out of the trees the unknown shooter approached with his gun up, Agent Smith tried to raise his gun to end it but didn't have the strength.

****

"Agent Samson sends his regards," the agent smiled as he put a final shotgun shell in Agent Smith's heart. 

Searching the car the man grabbed Salvatore's bag and searched for the man. He found him shortly after unconscious on the road bleeding from multiple wounds. Dragging him by the scruff of his neck he pulled him to side of the road. Their car was a wreck, the force of the crash leaving them incapable of driving it. The pair of agents discussed their options, they could wait for a passing car and steal it, but the chances of another car appearing tonight would be slim and they'd run the risk of being caught by the law, or they could make for the woods, set up shelter for the night and set out tomorrow to find help. The pair of agents agreed on the latter option. Walking a short distance from the crash they entered the wood and set up a small camp and fire. Using supplies from the back of their car they set up camp and tried to tend to the worst of Salvatore's wounds. 

Agent Johnson stopped his car as he rounded the bend and found Agent Smith's car parked in the road before two wrecked cars. Pulling his revolver out of its shoulder holster he rushed towards the car with his torch shining into the trees. His heart dropped as he spotted a pair of legs sticking out from Agent Smith's car. Checking the body for a pulse he felt his heart dropped as he shone the torch into the victims face. It was Agent Smith, his closest friend and partner for as long as he could remember. Killed in cold blood alone by God knows who.

A dark rage settled over Agent Johnson's shoulders as guilt away at his heart. This was his fault, he should have never left the town and never left his partner on his own. As he checked the nearby wreckage he spotted a patch on the asphalt, the dark liquid shining in the torches light. Inspecting the liquid he confirmed it was blood and from the angle of the splash he confirmed it had come from the driver of the car who's front was crumpled from impacting the other cars side. Checking inside the car he noticed the smashed windscreen and started to piece together a picture of what had happened. 

Scanning the nearby trees Agent Johnson guessed that the attackers had fled on foot, having no means of escape. Checking the road once again he could see no tire marks leaving the scene of the wreck. Searching the nearby road side he noticed fresh boot marks and smiled to himself, maybe he'd be at least able to avenge his friend, as all thoughts about finding Salvatore left his mind. 

****

Salvatore awoke with his mouth as dry as a desert and his head pounding with agony. He felt dry blood already crusted on his head, but couldn't remember how he'd opened up the wound. The morphine, which had hidden the worst of his pain, had started to lose its edge. He turned his head and projectile vomited all over the floor next to him. 

Having emptied the contents of his stomach, mainly bile onto the forests floor Salvatore raised his head and noticed two men watching him from the other side of a fire. He recognized the hunger in their eyes but did not recognize their faces. He began to complain about the pain in his head searching around desperately for his bag full of morphine. The two men laughed and called him pathetic, but both knew a drugged up prisoner was less likely to try and escape, so after mocking him mercilessly they passed him his bag and watched as he prepared another shot of morphine.

As the drugs entered Salvatore's veins he stopped caring about why he was under guard in a dark wood, or who his new captors might be. Instead he slipped into an easy sleep riding the waves of a morphine high which stole away all his pain and worries. 

Sonny's hit squad drove none stop to the address he had left them, only stopping for gas. Pulling their car into the motel late at night Stevie swore as he saw the door left open. Telling the others to keep their eyes peeled he hopped out the car, reaching into his shoulder holster he retrieved a colt 1911 and crept his way to the door. Inside he found Stanley in a pool of blood with a phone wire wrapped round his neck. Stevie guessed Salvatore had escaped, climbing back into the cars he warned the others of their predicament. 

Thinking quickly on his feet he told the two vehicles to split up. Telling the other car, drove by his second in command Joey, to enter the town and try find out some information. Stevie knew he didn't have long before the motel owners noticed something was up. Taking a torch out from the glove box of his car he began to search the surrounding area. Finding a set of tire marks burned it the ground where a careless driver had wheel span away. Well fuck it he thought, he had no better leads. 

Stevie had known Salvatore for a reasonable amount of time, but never enough to realize what a fuck up he'd become. He put himself in the man's shoes and presumed he would have taken the north route out of town. Leaving a note at the place where he'd agreed to meet Joey and the others he set off on the road north. Getting out on the open road he pulled over as he noticed a wreckage in the distance. So it would seem Salvatore's leaving hadn't gone unnoticed. Stevie climbed out the car and began to check the wreckage while he waited for the rest of his squad to catch up with him. He kept his hand on the gun in its holster at his shoulder, prepared in case of an ambush. 

****

Sonny sat down in his headquarters office and picked up the phone. A muffled voice greeted him, someone on the other side clearly trying to mask their real voice. The voice gave him directions to a nearby pay phone and told him to await a call. Sonny knew the risks of obeying these instructions but also knew he was in a tight spot. Any information could prove invaluable given his current predicament. A message had arrived via secret channels that Salvatore had escaped, so time was of the essence. Calling ahead to the reception desk Sonny asked for his car to be brought round the front. 

Climbing into his Rolls-Royce Sonny directed his bodyguards to the nearby payphone. Pulling up opposite he told his guards to drive round the corner and to keep an eye out for anyone acting suspicious. Sonny had taken part in enough mafia hit squads to know when to be cautious. The phone began to ring so Sonny answered.

"I hear you're looking for a certain someone," the muffled voice began on the phone. 

"You've my attention," Sonny responded coolly. 

"This information ain't coming cheap, you give me what I want and I'll hand the man over to you," continued to electronically muffled voice over the phone.

"You know how to get hold of me, I'll need certain reassurances before any transactions can be arranged," Sonny stated flatly, he knew better than to trust whoever was on the opposite end.

"I'll be in touch," the muffled voice finished and the phone clicked off. 

Sonny smiled to himself, seems Salvatore had got himself involved with some serious characters. Thankfully Sonny had reclaimed large sums of money from Salvatore's private accounts, and he'd use these funds to find that rat bastard.

****

Agent Samson put the phone back on the receiver and stashed the voice encoder in his pocket. There was a time where dealing with the mafia would have caused him some disgust, but he'd long since lost such thoughts. He was under the payroll of the Chicago Outfit, while officially he would not deal with another mafia family, this didn't stop him from earning some money on the side. 

His plan was working out perfectly. He just needed to wait for confirmation from his agents in the field and he would have all he needed to get a big pay day. A part of him may have once felt guilt at betraying his old friend Agent Johnson, but that part of him had shriveled and died a long time ago. The men he'd sent out in the field were hardened killers, more than used to the side work Agent Samson provided. They knew better than to leave any loose ends. Agent Johnson and his friend Agent Smith would be lucky to escape the field with their lives. 

Agent Samson's men lounged around their makeshift camp waiting for morning. They'd walked a sufficient distance into the woods for the fire not to be seen by the road, but kept their guns nearby in case of trouble. Salvatore lay in a crumpled head before him, succumbing to his concussion or the effects of the morphine they'd watched him shoot into his arm, they couldn't care less which. Passing a hip flask of whisky between them they took it in shifts to catch a few moments of sleep while waiting for the morning where they would try to hail down a passing car for help. 

Their attention was drawn to a noise from the direction of the road, one of the agents climbed to his feet and headed back into the woods away from the camp in the direction of the disturbance. 

****

Agent Johnson had followed the men's trail by the light of the low moon. Trusting to his skills as a hunter he kept to the trail and noticed a smoking fire in the distance. Breaking a branch underneath his feet he crept back into the wood and waited to see if he could lure either of the men into his trap. With his back to a great oak tree he stilled his breath and waited, with the trained patience of a hunter. 

A man appeared on the trail, shining his torch into the trees looking for the source of the noise. He carried a shotgun and kept it pointed down the trail in case of any surprises. Agent Johnson waited for him to walk past and used his bulk to grab the man by the neck and pull him deeper into the woods. The man struggled trying to bring the gun to bear, but Agent Johnson used his strength to hold the man in place, knocking the gun from his grasp and smashing his fists against the man's head to knock some sense out of him.

Once tucked away in the darkness of the forest Agent Johnson pulled his knife from his belt and held it to the man's face. He needed the man to know he meant business, and he did. He'd gut this fucker if he tried to call for help. In hushed whispers he demanded to know who had sent them. The man remained tight lipped so Agent Johnson drive the knife hilt deep into his leg, pushing his heavy hand against the man's mouth to prevent his scream from echoing through the woods. 

Agent Johnson wiped the blood from his blade on the dead man's shirt. Checking his pockets he found an FBI badge and swore to himself. So it was true, Agent Samson had sent these fuckers to kill Agent Johnson and his partner. Agent Johnson swore to that dark forest that he would see his vengeance fulfilled. He would make Agent Samson pay for his betrayal.

****

Stevie flagged Joey's car down and pointed to the tree line. The rest of his men piled out of their car and took up firing positions using the vehicle as cover. Confident with the rest of his squad providing cover Stevie searched the crash site, finding a man with a bullet in his head sat next to a nearby vehicle he checked his pockets. Inside he found an FBI badge and called Joey over. 

"This is the bastard who was trailing the boss," Stevie stated passing Joey the badge. 

"Looks like it, got some balls icing an FBI agent," Joey whispered in a heavy Brooklyn accent. 

"Salvatore's got himself tied up with some serious people. Looks like a roadblock and whoever was driving that car tried to go straight through it," Stevie continued nodding at the nearby wrecked car. 

Reaching into his pocket for a torch he checked the first vehicle who's front was a mangled wreck. The front window was smashed where the driver had been thrown from the car. Stevie found a patch of blood on the road and a pair of tracks leading into the woods. Calling over his men they set off into the woods as the sun's first light was creeping over the horizon. Stevie left one man with the cars to keep an eye on the roads. 

As they entered the dark woods, they heard a strangled gasp from within. Stevie crept forward towards the noise, careful not to disturb the still dawn, his men moving like phantoms behind him.

****

Agent Samson's remaining agent guts told him something was amiss. He hadn't it made this far in life by ignoring his gut feelings. Waking Salvatore roughly he told the man to get moving. Their position was compromised, his fellow agent hadn't returned and was likely dead. The first rays of sun were creeping over the horizon and they needed to get the hell out of dodge. Salvatore was slow to respond, either due to his severe concussion or the volume of morphine he'd been injecting directly into his veins. With a curse the agent slapped Salvatore awake and pulled him to his feet, heading in the opposite direction of the road.

Agent Johnson watched from a hidden position as Salvatore was pulled to his feet and dragged further into the woods. His attention entirely focused on his front, hadn't notice Stevie and his trained killers approaching from behind. The rough looking mobster held a gun to Agent Johnson's head and told him not to move a finger. Agent Johnson held up his arms and turned to face his captors.

"I trust you are Agent Johnson having found your friend back on the road there," the rough looking gangster began with his gun held firmly to Agent Johnson's head.

"Fuck you," Agent Johnson spat in response.

"Now, now, did your ma never teach you any manners?" quipped the gangster.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but we've a date with Salvatore, I'd rather not put a bullet in your head, but you seem like the kind who isn't going to make this easy," continued the gangster with a smile, Agent Johnson so dearly wanted to wipe that smile off the man's face.

"Fuck Salvatore, I'm after the bastard who killed my partner," Agent Johnson responded, surprising himself that he no longer cared about the fate of Salvatore. 

****

Stevie paused for a brief second as he processed this information. In the dim light of the forest he judged the man in front of him. Agent Johnson was many things but even Stevie could tell he was a man of conviction and doubted he would lie to save his life. 

"Well, I've got a proposition for you, how's about a temporary alliance, once we catch up with them you can have your man and we leave with Salvatore," Stevie continued keeping his gun aimed at Agent Johnson to emphasize his point.

Agent Johnson nodded slowly in response. Stevie turned to his men and gave them a shrug, he was thinking on his feet. While he wasn't against killing an FBI agent, he didn't feel it was entirely necessary to their current problems, and anyways he could always put a bullet in his head after the fact. The group of men rushed through the forest in pursuit, knowing that they needed to catch up with Salvatore sooner rather than later. Stevie dropped to the back of the group, allowing his best tracker to set the pace while keeping an eye on Agent Johnson for any signs of deceit. 

****

Salvatore felt sick to his stomach. Being pulled through the heavy trees was not helping his banging head, his whole body was shaking as the worst impacts of a morphine withdrawal were taking hold of his weakened state. The man to his front was certainly in a rush, he could barely recall how he'd ended up in his current predicament. He fell over a hidden branch and crashed heavily to the ground, the gash on his head reopening and blood ran freely down his face. 

His captor turned back and shouted at him to get to his feet. When Salvatore did not respond he began kicking him in the stomach making Salvatore throw bile up all over the forest floor. The blows suddenly stopped and Salvatore risked raising his head. The man had ducked behind a nearby tree and drawn his gun, he stepped out and fired shots into the still forest. 

Stevie watched as one of his men was cut down by a shotgun blast from a small rising ahead. Shouting at his men to take cover he returned fire from his revolver, only ducking back into cover to feed rounds into the cylinder while his men continued to lay down suppressing fire. Stevie shared a look with Joey and nodded towards the flank. Joey sensing his intentions turned to his nearby man and told him to keep the fuckers pinned. As automatic gunfire smashed into the tree line Joey began to flank their target. 

Smoke filled the forest as gunfire was exchanged between the two sides. Stevie looked around but could not find Agent Johnson. Stepping out from behind the tree he returned fire in the direction the shotgun blasts were coming from. Their target had a solid position atop a nearby hill with dense tree cover surrounding him. Stevie knew time was not on their side, looking to the man next to him he nodded at him, and sprinted into the forest expecting a shotgun blast to take him in the chest. 

As he crested the hill he was surprised to find the gunman had disappeared. Joey approached from his flank with his gun up and an eye on the forest. The pair searched the nearby area, seeing a set of tracks which led further into the forest. The tracks split up after a short distance and Stevie decided to take the right hand tracks. Nearby they found Salvatore hiding within the crevice of a rock trying to shoot up some morphine. Joey shook his head at Stevie and they bundled the man up and headed to the road.

As they walked past Stevie asked, "Where the fuck'd that FBI bastard go?" 

Joey shrugged in response, "Fuck him, saves us the job of killing the bastard."

****

Agent Johnson ducked behind a nearby tree and kept his hand firmly pressed over Agent Samson's man's mouth. He smiled as the two mobsters grabbed Salvatore and walked back towards the road. Pulling his bowie knife out of the sheath at his hip he turned to the doomed man and got to work. He wanted answers out of this fucker, and he was willing to draw out the manner of his end. 

Wiping the blooded knife on the dead man's sodden shirt Agent Johnson rested on a nearby tree. He'd got all the answers he needed. He knew who had ordered the hit, he knew for certain that his old friend Agent Samson had betrayed him. He couldn't look at the corpse, every time he glimpsed towards it sickening violent images flashed into his head. Climbing back to his feet he walked towards the road, he needed to pay Agent Samson a visit. The thoughts of avenging his dead friend providing the necessary focus to drive him forward.

****

Sonny sat in his headquarters office awaiting news on Salvatore's capture. This mysterious caller had gone quiet, and he hoped his hit squad were the reason for this. Pouring himself a whisky and lighting a Cuban cigar he sat back in the comfortable leather chair and tried his best to relax. It felt like he'd spent weeks worrying about these issues, and he needed to focus his energy onto his crew and their legitimate business fronts. 

His thoughts were disturbed by a knock at the door, his trusted left hand man Jammin walked into the room and took the offered seat. Sonny poured him a glass of whisky and offered him a Cuban cigar. Jammin took a moment to light the cigar before delivering his news. The hit squad had just called and they had Salvatore in their custody. Sonny smiled at the news and considered the manner of the man's death. He dearly wanted to do the deed himself, to watch the hope fade from Salvatore's eyes before he put a bullet in his head, but swallowed down the desire. The further he was from the mess the better, he knew better, and knew his position demanded more. 

Jammin nodded as Sonny gave his orders. Salvatore had to go, his continued existence was an affront all they had built together. There was only one fate for a rat and he dare not risk Salvatore falling into the grasp of the FBI or any of his rivals. Jammin got up and left the office, leaving Sonny to consider his next moves. In a matter of moments Salvatore would be dead, and he could once again look to the future and hopefully escape the continued attention of the FBI and its overzealous agents. 

Agent Samson followed the directions left by the mysterious caller. Pulling up to a nearby pay phone he picked it up as soon as it rang. 

"We've some unfinished business," Agent Johnson stated flatly.

Agent Samson recognized the voice of his old friend, "John its good to talk to you, I trust Salvatore is still in your care." 

"Fuck Salvatore, I've bigger fish to fry, did you really think I wouldn't find out?" Agent Johnson shouted down the phone.

Agent Samson felt the walls closing in on him. He'd taken a gamble betraying his old friend and like a lot of his gambles it had turned to shit, "I sent some additional agents to help secure the witness," he continued trying hide his worries.

"Bullshit, you sent cold stone killers, my partner is dead with a bullet to the head," Agent Johnson spat back. 

"Not under my orders, my men may have acted recklessly and they will be dealt with accordingly," Agent Samson returned in his thick Chicago accent. 

"You're a real bad liar you know that, I made sure to get the truth out of your men before I slit their throats," Agent Johnson returned and put the phone down.

Agent Samson felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. His breathing was labored as he struggled to process the information. He needed to get out of the city and into hiding immediately. He suddenly felt very exposed stood out on the busy streets of Chicago. He imagined Agent Johnson standing on a nearby roof with him sized up in his scope. Rushing with the grace of a buffalo he climbed back into his car and sped back to his apartment. His debts would have to wait, he had a rogue agent on his back, and he could tell by Agent Johnson's tone that he'd crossed a line of no return. The man was out for blood and would stop at nothing to avenge the death of his partner. 

****

Stevie waited in a clearing at the side of the road. He'd sent Joey back into town to take their injured man to hospital and to pass on the message that Salvatore was in their care. Salvatore was passed out in the back of the car. Stevie watched in the rear view mirror struggling to comprehend how such a pathetic waste of a man could have caused so much trouble. After pulling him from the woods the pathetic bastard had cried and whined but not for his life, just for another fix. Stevie doubted whether the man even cared about his current predicament. 

Climbing out of the car Stevie kept his hand on the revolver tucked into his shoulder holster as a car pulled off the highway and drove down the long dirt road towards him. As the car drew nearer his nerves settled, it was Joey returning from his trip to town. He stayed near the car as Joey climbed out and walked towards him.

"I trust Vin's in good care," Stevie asked after their injured man.

"Forget about it, gave the staff a nice little pay out for their silence, they're treating him now. Lucky bastard should be fine," Joey responded reaching into his pocket to grab a smoke.

Stevie took the offered cigarette taking a deep drag before continuing, "Glad to hear. What did the boss want us to do with this fuck, wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to pull the trigger." 

"He wants it dealt with right now, no more fucking around," Joey stated while pulling Salvatore out the car. 

****

Sonny could not relax. He'd spent too much time and energy on Salvatore. The man had to go. He couldn't risk Salvatore turning federal witness. His whole operation would come crashing down if that bastard spilling his secrets. Salvatore had been detrimental in setting up the oil tax scam, he knew the operation down to a granular level having helped Sonny set up the shell companies. Sonny poured himself another whisky and knocked it back in one, it did little to settle his racing mind. 

Climbing out of his comfortable leather chair he paced the length of his office deep in thought. Any moment now he was expecting the call that Salvatore was dead, but a part of him still expected that slimy bastard to escape. The man had survived numerous attempts on his life so far and escaped the clutches of the FBI on numerous occasions. Sonny worried over what he had told the FBI already, half expecting the door to his office to come crashing in as federal agents swarmed.

Salvatore awoke to a crisp cold morning. He'd just been having the best dream. He'd finally escaped the clutches of the men that hunted him. He'd made his way down to Miami and was living his best life, with a needle in his arm and a spoon held to his nose. His morphine induced dream was interrupted as reality hit him hard in the face. He felt like he was falling when suddenly reality settled back onto his weary mind.

He landed heavily, face down in the dirt. The gash atop his brow opened once again and blood began to run freely down his face. He blinked away stars as the mornings light shone directly into his eyes. As his vision cleared he saw two mobsters stood opposite him with guns drawn. Swallowing down his fears he thought it best to at least plead his case, as he went to open his mouth the first shot rang out. He heard the gun go off, saw the flash of the muzzle and flinched as the sound entered his ears.

The first shot was followed by the second, and the third, and the fourth. His body jerked as each bullet entered, he wanted to cry out in pain but found he could not. He gargled out a strangled plea but his mouth quickly filled with blood. As the fifth bullets entered his chest the men changed their aim, pointing the gun directly at Salvatore's head the lights went out for good as the two bullets entered his eyes and blew out the back of his skull.

****

Stevie and Joey reloaded their revolvers and continued riddling Salvatore's corpse with bullets. After they'd both emptied their second chambers of bullets they stopped. The sudden silence only disturbed by the crows who began to circle above. Joey walked to the trunk of his car and poured petrol all over Salvatore's corpse. Throwing his lit cigarette onto the body the pair walked away as it set alight.

Stevie turned to Joey and suggested they'd best get out of town, given the hell they'd caused. Joey smiled in response before climbing back into his car and speeding back to town to pick up their injured man from the hospital. Stevie got back on the road, it was a long drive back to Las Vegas and he was eager to tell Sonny the good news. 

****

Sonny sat back as Jammin told him the good news. Salvatore was dead his corpse left burning in a field to feed the crows. Sonny felt a giant weight lifted off his shoulders. With Salvatore dead he could put this unfortunate chapter behind him and focus on the future of The Las Vegas Outfit. Walking into the Outfit Casino bar he ordered everyone present a drink on the house. Tonight he needed to unwind, and after a couple shots of whisky he finally began to relax. 

Sonny sat back in the private booth of the Outfit Casino and toasted the men who sat about him. Stevie, Joey and their hired killers had gone above and beyond. Sonny had paid each man a small fortune for their actions, and thanked them personally for their discretion. The small group drank expensive wine while eating prime steak. Sonny had a few surprised in store for the men, a party prepared in their honor with the whole crew in attendance. 

Having finished their dinner Sonny suggested they retire to his headquarters office for more drinks. Climbing out of the private booth the group strolled through the casino before entering the head quarters via the armored doors. As Vito led the group down the series of winding corridors which led deeper into the headquarters. Sonny walked straight past his office and headed towards one of the many large storage areas. 

Opening the door Sonny welcomed the men inside. The cavernous warehouse had been converted, with tables and chairs littering the room. As Stevie, Joey and their men entered the room it erupted with a cheer. The most prominent members of the Las Vegas Outfit welcomed the men at the door passing kind words for a job well done. 

Sonny walked to the small stage that was set up at the end of the room. Waiting for the men to return to their seats he began his speech.

"As you all know one of our men turned out to be a rat, had he succeeded he would have threatened this thing of ours," Sonny began pausing for dramatic effect.

****

Agent Johnson walked into the FBI headquarters in the city of Chicago. Doubts crept into his mind as he expected to be arrested by armed guards but it seemed no one was aware of his conversations with Agent Samson. Checking in with Donna on Director Stevenson's status. The man was in hospital fighting for his life from the wounds he'd received by Salvatore and his armed mob. Agent Johnson checked in with acting director, reporting his failure to capture Salvatore. 

"That problem has been dealt with," responded Director Thompson, the ageing man who had taken over for Director Stevenson.

"A man fitting his description was found dead on a farm in Wyoming, we suspect the mob to have caught up with him," Director Thompson continued gauging Agent Johnson hoping he had no involvement.

"If you've any suspects put me back in the field, I'll find them and bring them to justice," Agent Johnson responded, keeping to his act as a legitimate agent.

"That won't be necessary John, I think you need a bit of R&R you've been out in the field for a long time," Director Thompson stated flatly offering no chance for argument.

"Thanks sir, I've been trying to get hold of an old friend, a man by the name of Agent Samson, do you know where he is?" asked Agent Johnson.

"Agent Samson hasn't reported in for some time, the last we heard he had no active field operations," Director Thompson responded.

"Thanks sir, if you need anything you've got my number," Agent Johnson returned as he stood up and left the office. 

Walking back through the FBI office Agent Johnson began to piece together a plan. He knew where Agent Samson lived in the city and would have to go pay him a visit. 

"This thing of ours is built on trust, La Cosa Nostra will surely die if not for this trust. You have all sworn a sacred oath to uphold the omerta and any man who challenges this will meet the same fate," Sonny continued to the silence of the crowd, men were nodding their assent to Sonny's words.

"In order to deal with this problem of ours, a group of men led by Stevie and Joey were sent out into the wilds. These men dealt out swift justice to that rat bastard Salvatore. Without their actions our operation would be brought to its knees," Sonny watched as Stevie, Joey and their men were patted on the shoulders and backs by their follow gang members. 

"I can not thank these men enough for dealing with such a delicate problem. I'm sure they will all tell you the tale of how they captured a man already in the bastard FBI's custody. Such actions will go down with the legends of the Las Vegas Outfit," Sonny paused again as his bodyguards entered the room dropping huge sacks of cash onto Stevie, Joey and their hit squads tables, this extra cash Sonny felt was necessary due to their discretion and exemplary behavior. 

Sonny waved Stevie and Joey forward to the stage, "Stevie you have served this thing of ours for many years, you are a respected capo and a good earner, for your actions you are being promoted to Consigliere of the Las Vegas Outfit," Sonny stated to Stevie who nodded respectfully.

Sonny turned to Joey, "As for you Joey you are now a boss of the Las Vegas Outfit," the crowd roared their approval, both men were well respected amongst the made members. 

"Let this be a lesson to any bastard thinking of being a rat or daring to speak to the law," shouted Sonny as he reached for his glass of whisky and called out a toast.

The room returned to loud conversations as the party resumed. Sonny sat down at a table and knocked back his drink in one gulp. He watched as a group of call girls entered the headquarters and walked towards Stevie and Joey's table as planned. The girls pulled the mobsters out of the room and headed to the bedrooms in the back. BigEasy and Jammin sat to either side of Sonny, each nursing a glass of old Canadian whisky and smoking fine cigars. 

****

Agent Johnson knocked at the door of his old friend Agent Samson's house. An elderly lady by the name of Maria that he recognized as Samson's wife answered the door, she asked after him as they exchanged pleasantries. Agent Johnson accepted the invite into the house glad to be out of the wet Chicago streets. He sat down at the kitchen table as Maria prepared a cup of coffee. He asked after her husband and was surprised to find that she'd kicked him out years before. His gambling habits had left the family in financial ruin. Agent Johnson was taken aback by the news, the man he'd known all those years ago was as solid as they came in the agency. 

Maria gave Agent Johnson a motherly bear hug as he grabbed his things and left the room. She'd given him the last known address of Agent Samson, which was enough of a lead for Agent Johnson to follow. Climbing back into a car he'd taken from the FBI Headquarters he drove out of the loop towards the address he'd scribbled down onto a piece of paper. 

Climbing the apartment steps Agent Johnson was surprised at how ran down the area was. His old friend really had fallen far to be living in this neighborhood in a low rent part of the city. Drug users and alcoholics lounged around the corridors of the apartment block but none paid him much notice. Reaching the apartment number he retrieved a lockpick from his pocket and made short work of the door. Entering the dark ran down apartment he was shocked at how far his friend had fallen. The place was a disgrace, discarded packages, pill bottles and whisky bottles littered the floor. 

After searching the apartment Agent Johnson could find little of use, but began to build a picture of his old friends comings and goings. He was a degenerate gambler who drank himself into a stupor and loaded up on painkillers to fight off the worst effects of alcohol consumption. This made the man vulnerable. Agent Johnson had the names and numbers of nearby bookies and loan sharks, with the right pressure they might be persuaded to give up information regarding his old friend. Satisfied that he had enough to work with, Agent Johnson left that shit hole of an apartment and climbed back into his car. 

Agent Samson sat in a car opposite his old apartment. He knew it had been a risk coming here, but he was willing to take the gamble. He watched as Agent Johnson climbed back into his car and drove away, smiling to himself. Maybe it wouldn't be as difficult as he first thought. Maybe he wouldn't need to leave Chicago after all. All he needed to do was find the right place at the right time to kill his old friend, then he would be free again. Turning on the engine of his pearly white Cadillac he drove towards a nearby bookie, he had a couple of bets to make then he'd be able to focus on that bastard Agent Johnson. 

****

Sonny awoke in his penthouse suite with a banging headache. He'd partied late into the night with the made members of his crew, celebrating the death of Salvatore. He'd even gone as far as sampling some of the call girls who worked in the brothels in the surrounding area. He'd paid a small fortune for their services, booking them out for the entire night. Rolling onto his side he reached for a bottle of aspirin he kept on a bedside table, knocking them back with a gulp of water. 

Climbing out of bed he walked into the nearby shower and was glad for the steaming water as it ran down his face and back. He felt some of the hangover dissipate as the steam filled the room. Once outside the shower he began his morning exercises. Stretching out his ageing aching muscles before performing a series of push ups to get his blood pumping. Sonny had to admit he felt like a new man. The weight of Salvatore's betrayal seemed to lift from his shoulders. 

Dressing himself in an expensive grey shirt and trousers he tied his loafers and reached for a fedora from the hat stand. Taking a second to check himself in the mirror he couldn't help but smile. Taking the elevator down into his headquarters he laughed as he spotted the men too drunk to make it back to their rooms, instead passing out in the headquarters corridors. Well damn, it had been a good party, but he would need the men back on their feet soon. There would be much to do over the coming days, as Sonny planned to expand the Las Vegas Outfit's business across the country. There was money to be made by those willing to go the extra mile to make it. 

****

The new Director sat back at his desk and thought back to the his conversation with Agent Johnson. The man had an exemplary record from a long career as a field agent, and had never strayed from the path of a righteous agent of the law before. Leafing through Agent Johnson's report he had picked out the missing parts. There was no mention of their activities after taking Salvatore into their custody, as reported by the local PD who had been present at the arrest. No mention of Agent Smith's death in the state of Wyoming. Did he really think they wouldn't know know about the murder of one of their own agents, or did he simply not care? 

Director Weiner hadn't climbed the ranks of the FBI by putting things down to coincidence. He formulated a picture of events in his head. Agent Johnson and Smith had turned rogue, deciding to take Salvatore for their own devices, probably selling the bastard back to the mob. As with most of these deals it had turned sour with Agent Smith being killed in the process. Agent Johnson was now a rogue, using his status as an FBI agent to protect him from the clutches of the mob. He would need to keep tabs on Agent Johnson's movements from now on, he couldn't risk a scandal this early in his position as director. 

Reaching for the next file he leafed through the pages and began to build a picture of the man Agent Johnson had asked for. Agent Samson was another anomaly. A career field agent with a history of great successes. No mention of any corruption or suspicion regarding his activities. The man had made his name during the 1930s and the height of prohibition. Director Weiner knew there was something linking these two men. Either way he would need to be found and observed. Calling ahead to two reliable field agents he gave out his orders and settled back into his chair troubled by the days events. 

Sonny spent his day dealing with family business. He'd organized a sit down with a couple of made men who had a dispute regarding some business dealings. One of his own made men, an ageing mobster by the name of Alfonse contested that a member of another crew was stepping on his patch. Setting up a rival brothel and stealing his customers. Sonny hated to admit it, but this was the bulk of real mafioso work. Dealing with petty disputes trying to stop all out war breaking out over bullshit. Respect was a big thing in this life of theirs, and once slighted it was hard to repair. 

Standing up Sonny shook the hand of Don Vineto and asked after his family. Exchanging pleasantries while Sonny poured him and his man a drink. Alfonse shook the hand of Don Vineto and continued to glare at his rival. Once they were all seated with drinks in their hands the sit down could begin. 

"Don Vineto thank you for attending this sit down, a made man of my family here believes that your man has set up shop within our district and is stealing our customers," Sonny began minding his words knowing it best not to offend anyone more than necessary. 

"The brothel in question is built within our area, I see no problem there," Don Vineto responded coolly while sipping at his whisky.

"Sure but his whores operate out of the strip," Alfonse blurted out.

Sonny silenced him with a glare, "Apologies Don Vineto my man spoke out of turn, but his statement holds. They are operating in our area, taking our customers." 

"Can't blame the customers for wanting quality, not the shriveled up old whores Alfonese is pushing," Don Vineto's man laughed with utter contempt, his attitude put back in place as Don Vineto turned and whispered something into his ear. 

"It seems neither of our men can hold their tongues, what do you propose Don Franseze?" Don Vineto continued as the accuser and the accused sat glaring at each other like sullen children. 

"A simple cut for the use of our area, there's enough to go around, how's about 70% to operate on the strip with the lions share going to Godfather Fluff as tribute?" Sonny continued while taking a long pull from his Cuban cigar. 

"70% fuck this Don Vineto this is robbery," shouted Don Vineto's man, he was knocked to the floor as Don Vineto back handed him for the disrespect, "Watch your fucking mouth, embarrassing me in front of a rival family, you're lucky I don't knock your teeth out," responded Don Vineto sitting back down at his chair, "Apologies Don Franseze, if he speaks out of turn again I'll put a bullet between his eyes myself," continued Don Vineto.

"50% and we'll call it a deal," Don Vineto bargained.

"65% is the lowest I can do," Sonny responded taking a sip from his whisky. 

"Sonny, I respect you, I'll do 60% that's the highest I can do," Don Vineto held up his hands in mock defeat.

"That can work, call it a deal, and I trust that our men will put away their differences for the benefit of our families," Sonny stated shaking hands with Don Vineto.

The two Don's turned to their men and nodded indicating that they should shake hands too. The men knowing the alternate was a beating swallowed their pride and shook hands reluctantly. It would do for now. Both men knew that their grudge was settled. A resolution had been made, should either of them be found to be going out of their way to break this bond then there would be trouble to pay. 

Sonny thanked Don Vineto and clapped him on the back as he led him out of his office. They briefly discussed when these funds would be collecting, trusting in their men to uphold the peace. Turning to Alfonse Sonny reminded the man never to talk out of turn when in front of other families. He allowed his made men considerable leeway in his presence, but he could not risk being disrespected in view of the other families, or even worse let the other families think he was a weak leader. 

Agent Samson held up his hands while trying to plead his case, forgetting that he owed the man from losing his last bet. Well shit it seemed like he'd ran out of favors in the city. He'd tried three different bookies and barely escaped without a beating from each one, but the current bookie looked like he was going to break his neck. Agent Samson was a worm in their eyes, crawling along on his belly begging for more credit, well this particular bookie had long had his fill of Agent Samson's pathetic attempts at pity. 

****

Agent Johnson watched from his car as Agent Samson was thrown out of the bookies. The man who ran the operation kicked him while he was lay prone on the floor. The man really had fallen far. He couldn't imagine his old friend being in such a state, but times had clearly changed. Leaving the confines of his warm car he sprinted out onto the road heading towards Agent Samson who was busy pulling his weight from the floor and brushing away the worst of the dirt from his clothes. 

Rushing towards Agent Samson, Agent Johnson pulled his piece from its holster, not wanting to cause a fuss he pistol whipped the old bastard on the bridge of his nose. The satisfying crunched helped temper the fire which burned at Agent Johnson's heart. Grabbing the dazed man by the scruff of the neck he dragged him towards his white Cadillac. Reaching into the man's pockets he took the keys, opening the drivers seat he threw the fat bastard inside and climbed into the back. 

****

Agent Samson groaned as he came to sat in his char. His eyes were blurry with tears and his nose ran freely with blood. Spitting onto the floor he reached for a handkerchief and tried to wipe the worst of the blood from his face. Looking around he locked eyes with someone sat in the back of the car. His heart stopped as he recognized that cold stare. 

"Drive," the coarse voice barked. 

"But... I..." Agent Samson went to respond as he felt a gun being pushed into his back from behind.

"I said fucking drive you rat bastard," the coarse voice continued, barely contained rage simmering at the surface of his words. 

Agent Johnson kept his gun pointed firmly at Agent Samson's back. His muscle fibers tensed ready to shoot the bastard in the back should he try anything. Driving through the busy streets of Chicago they hit traffic ahead. The car slowed to a halt with passengers wandering past.

"John, whatever they told you was a lie," Agent Samson begged.

"Shut your fucking face and keep driving before I knock your teeth out," Agent Johnson growled in response, the rage which swelled inside him demanded he put a bullet in the bastards back. 

"If its money you want I can get you money John, I've got a wife and kids I just want to go home," Agent Samson continued begging.

"You're a real bad liar, I paid your wife a visit, she thinks your a bigger sack of shit than I do," laughed Agent Johnson in response. 

Agent Samson swore to himself, he knew he was fucked. He'd spent the last decade worming his way out of difficult situations, but he couldn't find his way out of this hole. He really had fucked up. He frantically searched for something he could do to save his skin. The traffic began to move so he released his foot from the brake and onto the accelerator. The car began to inch forward as an idea entered his head. It would be a risk but he was more than use to rolling the dice. As the traffic ahead began to speed up Agent Samson smashed his car into the vehicle in front. He was thrown forward, his already broken nose smashing off the steering wheel. 

****

Agent Johnson awoke in a daze, smoke was starting to pour in through the cars vents stinging his throat and further limiting his vision. Coughing against the smoke he braced his foot against the mangled back door and pushed with all his might. As the smoke thickened he began to kick at the door desperately trying to get out, just as he was about to pass out from smoke inhalation heavy hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out the car. With the help of passerby he was carried away from the burning wreck.

Coughing the black smoke out his lung he asked the man who'd pulled him out of the fire, "Did the driver get out?"

"Yes sir, he seemed in quite a rush he headed in that direction," the man pointed to a nearby alleyway. 

Thanking the man Agent Johnson stumbled in the direction of the alleyway, he was in no state to attempt a pursuit, but would not see Agent Samson escape. As his head began to clear he picked up the pace, wincing after each step from a sharp pain in his ribs, he guessed it was broken but didn't have time to give it much more thought. Swallowing down the pain he set off at a brisk jog, following a trail of blood into the alleyway. He stopped swearing to himself as he noticed that the bloody trail came to an abrupt end. Something seemed off, he reached into his holster and found his gun was missing. 

****

Agent Samson watched as his old friend John walked into the alleyway. He smiled as he watched him searching for his firearm.

"Looking for this," Agent Samson smiled as he appeared from behind a nearby wall with the gun pointed squarely at John's head. 

"Move a muscle and I'll paint the wall with your brains, you're a real piece of work you know that John?" Agent Samson coughed.

"That's a good booy, hands up walk that way," Agent Samson mocked pointing further down the alley with the gun.

As Agent Samson turned the gun to point in the direction he wanted Agent Johnson to walk in he reacted instantly, throwing his weight into Agent Samson as the gun went off over his head. Using his greater strength he pushed the gun into the air as Agent Samson finger, caught on the hair trigger and continued to unload the gun. A wicked smile split Agent Johnson's bloodied lips as he heard the gun click empty. Grabbing Agent Samson arm he snapped it so it bent at an unnatural angle, he cried out like a wounded animal dropping to his knee in pain. 

Agent Johnson stalked his prey basking in the man's suffering. The darkness which ate away at his heart demanded retribution, he didn't just want to see Agent Samson killed, he wanted the bastard to suffer. Reaching for the bowie knife he kept sheathed at his back he pulled out the wickedly sharp blade and showed it to Agent Samson. 

****

Agent Johnson walked out the alleyway covered in blood. A crowd had gathered at the entrance to the alleyway, alerted to Agent Samson's desperate cries for help. None of the crowd dared approach Agent Johnson, the madness in his eyes enough to still any attempt, and the bloodied knife still in his hands enough to make them back away slowly. 

"Stop where you are sir and put the knife down," a police officer shouted as Agent Johnson walked down the street. 

Agent Johnson was slow to respond, he continued to walk towards the street ignoring the officers pleas. The officer shouted one more time before discharging his firearm. The bullet hit Agent Johnson square in the chest, felling him instantly. Agent Johnson lay on his back as blood filled his lungs. The officer approached him cautiously kicking the knife away as Agent Johnson spluttered his final breath. 

****

Sonny sat down heavily on the office chair of his headquarters. Reaching into his top drawer he pulled out a Cuban cigar and lit it slowly savoring the heavy smoke. Pouring himself a glass of whisky he sipped at while considering his next moves. His peace was interrupted by a knock at the door, his consigliere Stevie entered the room and took the offered seat. Sonny noticed something was up with Stevie, the man looked withdrawn. He offered him a cigar, knowing the man loved a smoke. 

"How's business," Sonny asked casually holding the man's gaze.

"Good Sonny, good," Stevie answered cryptically. 

"I sense there's something you're not telling me, you're my consigliere now Stevie bad news comes with the job," Sonny continued while pouring the man a glass of whisky. 

Stevie nodded his thanks as he took a sip of the dark liquid, "one of our businesses is refusing to pay up, claiming one of the local crews has been attacking their trucks."

"Inside the city limits?" Sonny asked taking another pull from his cigar. 

"Yeah boss, hitting them as they leave the strip," Stevie responded, turning to the door he whistled and a young mobster entered the room.

Sonny did not recognize the youngters face, but his crew had grown massively since its creation. The made members of his family had the right to recruit their own associates, so it wasn't uncommon for Sonny not to know them by first name. The youngster was of a lanky build Sonny suspected he could only be in his late teens, his typically Italian features were bruised and beaten. The kid was sporting a black eye and cracked lip, but like most aspiring mobsters of his age he wore them with pride, for he had stood his ground and put in work for the family. 

"Sonny meet Vincenzo, he's an associate of Carlos, who's business is being hit. He was running protection the day the business was attacked, bastards gave him a beating on our own turf boss," Stevie continued shaking his head at the disrespect. 

"Vincenzo what did these men look like? Any details will help," Sonny asked turning his attention to Vincenzo who seemed to shrink under his gaze. 

"The man leading them was about same height as Stevie, a bit stockier and he had a scar running down his cheek," Vincenzo responded finding the nerve to hold Don Franzese's burning gaze. 

Sonny nodded slowly, well that described half the gangster population of Las Vegas but he wanted to at least praise the youngster for his actions in trying to defend their business, "you did good work today Vincenzo, keep it up and we'll have a place for you in this thing of ours," Sonny walked towards the youngster patting him on the back and leading him out the room.

Turning to his consigliere Sonny stated, "we need more solid information before I bring this to the Godfather or make any moves. Post some of your guys to watch our business operations, if someone's making a move against us I want to know." 

An ageing made man by the name of Alfonse was doing his rounds, collecting the money owed from local businesses to their family. Some would call it extortion, but in a city like Las Vegas it paid to have a bit of extra protection. Most of its residents had little confidence in the police, who themselves would rarely lift a finger without a hefty bribe. Walking into a local pawn shop he exchanged pleasantries with one of the women working behind the till. She knew the score and handed over a sack of cash for their weekly payment. 

Once outside again Alfonse's attention was drawn to a shady group loitering outside the next business on his collection run. He shook his head as he saw them reaching for weapons, pulling on balaclavas and rushing inside. Committing day light robbery on the strip against a business under the protection of the mob was suicide. Reaching for the pistol he kept in his shoulder holster Alfonse approached the building.

Throwing open the door Alfonse shouted, "this business is under the protection of the Las Vegas Outfit, lower your guns and get the fuck out."

One of the masked men turned but kept his gun up, "fuck you and fuck your..." he didn't finish his sentence as Alfonse put a bullet in his chest.

The cashier ducked behind her desk as Alfonse turned and fired at the next in the group, the third member ducked behind cover and began taking pot shots at Alfonse. He took a bullet to the arm and ducked behind the door swearing aloud. This was meant to be a simple day of collection, not a fucking fire fight, he hadn't even donned his bullet proof vest. At the sign of commotion nearby mobsters came running to his aid. 

Turning to the mobsters who gathered around the door he stated, "Sonny's gonna one a chat with this one, take him alive if you can," as he stepped out the door to get his wounded arm dealt with. 

****

The would-be thief was tied to a rough, blood stained table in the deepest darkest reaches of the Outfit Casino Headquarters. Sonny watched as the man struggled against his bonds. Sonny stood to a corner of the tiled room and observed the man, he had the same scar on his cheek as described by Vincenzo. His face was bruised and bloodied from the beating required to subdue him during his attempted robbery. Walking out of the dark Sonny lit a smoke and stood underneath the rooms only light positioned directly above the table. 

"I'm going to ask you some questions, I expect answers, if I don't get the answers I want, well you'll be introduced to my two friends here," Sonny stated stepping back so his companions could be seen, both wore bloodied aprons one of them wheeled a tray into view that contained the tools of their trade, Sonny watched recognition glint into the mans eyes. 

"Who do you work for?" started Sonny keeping his tone neutral.

"Get fucked," the doomed man coughed back.

Sonny took another pull from his cigarette and stepped back so his men could begin their work. The room echoed to the man's scream as the torturers began their butchers work. Sonny watched it all, not with fascination nor excitement but with the cold calculated stare of a man too used to such actions. Having spent his life in the mafia he knew the tool that terror played. He could not shy away from the worst actions of his family, so instead he watched and waited for his men to indicate he could continue. 

The two torturers stood back from their work and nodded at Sonny who stepped forward again, "who do you work for?" he asked again.

"Go fuck yourself I ain't no...." the doomed man shouted but was silenced as one of the torturers drove his fist into the man's kidney.

Sonny turned from the man and stepped back into the shadows, it promised to be a long night but he would get his answers. 

****

Thanking the two torturers Sonny called for the crews cleaners. The men had made a mess, but their prisoner had proved resilient. Sonny shook his head, he'd sang like a canary eventually, but he'd made them work for it. Walking out of the room Sonny left the cleaners to their work, it would take them a long time to clear up the blood that had splattered over the floor and walls. Sonny needed a drink and to think about his next moves. The man had given him a name he did not recognize. He would need to put the feelers out to find out who this man was and who he worked for. 

Climbing into the headquarters elevator he pressed the button for his penthouse suite and lit another smoke. Walking into his apartment he pulled off his clothes, they would need to be destroyed, which was a shame as he liked that shirt and trousers. Turning the shower on he welcomed the warm water as it washed away the filth of the night. He was far from squeamish but he didn't enjoy watching people suffer. He'd learned a long time ago that respect when slighted must be paid for in blood. This thing of theirs was not built for men with weak stomachs, and Sonny had to send a clear message to anyone who would try to disrespect him or his family. 

Drying himself with a towel he sat down heavily on the bed. Already he knew the body was being bundled up into the back of a car and sent out into the desert. That poor stupid bastard would soon join all the other poor stupid bastards that had fallen foul of the mafia in Las Vegas. Another hole in a desert filled with shallow graves.