I sat in the passenger seat of the sedan, nervously fingering the hammer of my 1911 resting inside my waistband, rain pattering gently against the window.

"That's him." the Made guy sat in the driver's seat waved at a man stood in a shop doorway, smoking a cigarette.

"I see him." I nodded, peering through the thin sheet of rain. 

The heavyset man was wearing a long red coat pulled tight to protect him from the wet weather. He took a long drag from the cigarette, stubbed it, then threw it into the street before turning and disappearing into the shop.

"Don't take long." he unlocked the doors of the car.

I pulled the 1911 from my trousers and pulled back the slide half an inch, eyeing the glint of the brass that assured me there was a round in the chamber.  I let the top slide return to it's forward position and secured the pistol back into the waistband.  I hoped I wouldn't need it, I could already feel my heart in my chest.

I pushed the car door open and stepped into the rain, strolling towards the shop trying my best to look calm.  

I had been approached by the Made guy from The Rebel Alliance after doing a few small time robberies.  He had a problem with a guy who needed reminding who he worked for.  I was to act as a tough guy on his behalf.  The only thing was, I didn't feel too tough.

I walked through the front door of the shop, a bell ringing above me.  The shop was a book-keepers, a small dirty foyer was infront of me, separated by a long counter with large windows and metal shutters above them.  Behind the desk stood a woman counting money; she looked up and eyed me cautiously as I entered.  Behind her stood the man I was after, in the red coat with his back to me.  

I approached the counter, my hands by my sides.  The woman put the money down and began to speak,

"How can I-" I waved my hand, cutting her off.

I swallowed hard, trying to push my nerves aside.

"I'm here...for him" I pointed at the man behind her.

Her eyes moved curiously to my finger then turned to look at the man.  He stopped whatever it was he was doing and looked over his shoulder, turning slightly.

My hand dropped back to the front of my waistband and I let it rest against the metal outline of the pistol, subconsciously checking it was still in place.  

"Your...You owe..." the man turned to look at me as I fumbled.

The man eyed me with a careless attitude.  I don't think I was fooling him.

"Well?" he questioned me, looking me up and down.

I looked back to the woman who was eyeing the pair of us.  She had taken a step to the side, moving out of the way.  I told myself to get a grip and get on with it.

"You've not been paying what you owe.  You're going to start." I spoke as calmly as I could, ignoring the pounding in my chest.

The man in the red coat smirked, throwing something onto the desk behind him before walking towards me, the counter the only thing between us now.  He rested his hands on the table and lent forward.

"And what, you're going to make me?" he grinned.

I glanced back at the woman for a second time.  She had taken another step to the side, clearing the immediate area around us.  I took a breath and slowly reach to the front of my waistband where the pistol rested.  I was close enough to the counter that he couldn't see my hand.

The man shrugged, "Maybe you should go fuck yourself instead?  Or better yet, run back to that fucking cu-"

I closed my hand around the pistol grip, whipping it from where it was seated and brought it up level with the man's face, pointing it directly at him.  The man stopped talking as he re-focused his attention on the pistol inches from his nose.  My palm was sweaty and contrasted with the cool feel of the metal grip.

The man regained some of his bravado, though not as much as before.  "Oh, so I guess you're a tough guy then, a tough guy with a gun?"

I was starting to hate this guy.

"Yeah, I'm a tough guy. And Ill be back again if you don't start paying what you owe. Understand me?"

He snorted and looked to the woman who had cleared as far back as she could.

"You hear this guy, thinks he can come into my fucking shop and try and tell me-" his sentence was cut short when I slammed the bottom of the pistol grip down onto the side of the man's head, sending him down onto the top of the counter.  Blood spurted and poured for the side of his head where the metal pistol grip had cut into his scalp.

I grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and held him roughly against the top of the counter.

"You pay what you fucking owe and if you don't I'll be back to finish my tough guy routine, you got me?"

The man wrestled against my grip, snorting in pain.

"Fuck you you cocksucker! I'll fucking kill you!" he angrily spat, as the side of his head rubbed against the counter top.

I placed the pistol close to the mans ear and aimed it into empty space behind him.

"Let's try not to be rude."

I pulled the trigger and the blast echoed around the small foyer, the round shooting into the wall behind the counter. The man screamed out as the blast nearly deafened him.  The woman stood to the side screamed just as loud and ducked onto the floor, covering her head.  I lent in close and spoke loudly so he could hear over the inevitable ringing in his ear.

"DON'T - MAKE - ME - COME - BACK.  O.K.?"

The man was gritting his teeth and snorting heavily, blood still dripping down the side of his head.  I pushed him back behind the counter and let go of his hair and he slumped to the floor.  I replaced the pistol into my trouser waistband and half-walked-half-ran towards the exit.

Back in the car the Made guy handed me a $100 dollar bill, smirking.  

"Nicely done kid, keep it up.  I'll call you if I need you again."

I stood under the tree atop the hill overlooking LA, the twinkling lights of the city rising up from below.  The car my contact within the Rebel Alliance had loaned me for this job was parked about 20 yards away, in the empty outdoor parking lot, facing towards the city.  This place was a favorite for midnight-lovers, but tonight I was alone - and for good reason, it was cold enough to snow.  I pulled my thick coat tighter around me, trying to fight away the chill.  I wanted desperately to climb into the warmth of the car and shut the door, but I didn't fancy anyone creeping up on me.

I stayed where I was, eyes peering into the darkness, going over the instructions I had received from my employer.

"There's a consignment of goods coming in from down south," he had told me,  I need you to make sure it gets here smoothly."

I figured it was a shipment of moonshine, the stuff passed through here fairly regularly and a lot of money was tied up in the stuff.  Whatever, I just hoped I didn't get caught with it, it was a hefty penalty for moving the stuff.  I guess that was why I was the one taking the risk.

"Once you've taken control of the goods, get it down to our warehouse in Hollywood.  Our people will take it from there." he tossed me a set of keys, "You break it, you buy it. Got it?"

I got it.  My drive up here had been a fairly cautious one, not because I didn't trust my driving ability, but I didn't want to attract any of the wrong attention.  I had learnt long ago that cowboys didn't last long around here.

It had been a couple of hours before I saw the approach of headlights.  I straightened up a little and rechecked the position of my pistol, making sure for what must have been the thousandth time that it was secure in the front of my waistband.  I would have liked to check the chamber but I didn't want to take my eyes of the vehicle. I would just have to get on with it now.

The dark car crawled slowly into the stony parking lot and drew up beside my own.  I could see from the interior light the vehicle had two guys in it, both were scraggly dressed and had dirty faces.  I guessed these boys made the moonshine themselves.

They both peered into the cab of my vehicle, registering slowly that no one was inside.  This seemed to confuse them and they conferred with one another for a moment.  The passenger looked nervous and started talking quickly.  The driver was clearly trying to calm him and held up his hands in a "slow down" kind of manner.  The driver opened the door of his vehicle and stepped out into the night, looking around. 

I could faintly hear the passenger now the door was open, a thick southern drawl echoing through the cold, "Ya'll see anyone?  I'm telling you Dwayne this don't feel no good, where the hell is he at?"

I couldn't help but smile.  I took a final look around, making sure they had no one backing them from a hidden position and made towards them casually.

"I don't see anyone," the driver replied, "maybe he gone to take a leak or somethi-" his sentence was cut short as my footsteps reached his ears.

Dwayne looked nervously into the darkness, generally from the direction I was approaching, his eyes straining to see the dark figure that was coming into view.

"Who's there?" he called out.

I continued to approach casually, "Father Christmas." I joked, I wanted to calm them a bit.  People do stupid things when they're nervous.

I reached the rear of my vehicle and let them get a good look at me, my right hand out of it's pocket, ready to reach for the pistol in my waistband if needed.

The passenger was leaning over the driver side seat, staring up at me. "Ya'll with the Alliance?" he quizzed.

I nodded slowly, "Yep, here to take control of the goods you've brought.  I take it it's some moonshine?"

The pair glanced at each other, puzzled.

"Moonshine?" remarked the southern passenger.

I glanced at the driver, who was slightly frowning at me, clearly bemused.  I guess I had assumed wrong, clearly this shipment wasn't moonshine.  Whatever, I just needed to get it to where it needed to be.

"You guys just going to sit there or are we going to move it then?" I finally said, trying to hide my curiosity. 

The pair had pulled 6 small cases, covered in cloth, from the rear of their vehicle and placed it into my own as I kept watch, my eyes darting between them and the darkness around us.  As they worked, a faint smell of metal and earth reached my nose, coming from the cases.

Once finished I handed the driver a thick envelope that I had been told to pass to them once the job was done. 

"Pleasure doin' business with ya mister." Dwayne curtly remarked.  "Some advice, drive careful now, ya hear?"

They both climbed into their car and slowly reversed out of the parking lot and back onto the road, headlights slowly disappearing into the night.  I waited until I couldn't hear or see them before turning back to my own vehicle.  

The rear boot was still open and the small cases were resting snugly beside each other.  I thought about taking a look but decided against it.  Why take the extra risk for no gain?

The redneck's words were still ringing in my ears as I climbed into the driver's seat and switched on the engine, "Drive careful now...".

Some very tense miles of driving later I pulled into the warehouse owned by the Alliance in Hollywood and stepped out.  A group of men I hadn't met before approached, one of them ordering the others to set about moving the goods.

He approached me and held out his hands for the keys.  I handed them to him and he in turn passed me an envelope.

"Nice work, kid." he spat, "I take it you didn't get any trouble on the way in?"

I shook my head slowly, watching the men remove the cases, the faint smell of metal wafting from the rear of the vehicle once again.

"Good.  The boss will hear about this.  You'll get a call when you're needed again." He turned and walked to the vehicle, ordering the men to be careful with the load.

I left the warehouse and walked along the street towards the bus station, my mind whirring at what could have been in the cases.  Something told me I'd find out eventually.

I slowly exhaled the cigar smoke and relaxed deeper into the soft cushioned chair where I was on my third white rum now. The music felt distant and the woman dancing in front of me blurry. I didn't even notice the other people around me in the busy club. I closed my eyes and relived past years; green hills of Ireland, cold nights filled with Ale and folk music, a beautiful woman. It all felt so long ago and my spirit yearned for a chance to go back home but, deep down, I knew I never could. I opened my eyes and tried to shake the mist over me. What was done was done.

I had come here to relax and celebrate after being offered a job with Alexus at her organisation NEAT. I was grateful for the opportunity and knew it could be a fairly lucrative business. I wasn't certain how much she believed in the 'robin hood' idea she had pressed so hard on but I suppose it didn't matter, I was her associate and I would have worked for her regardless. Besides, it made a nice change to the way business was usually done around here.

I took another sip of rum and stared, more through than at, the mostly undressed woman trying so hard to earn a tip. I think she was starting to notice I was in a place far away from here. Slowly, she made her way over to me and perched herself on my knee, seductively draping her arms around my neck and leaning in close, the top half of her naked body pressing against my chest.  A sweet scent of jasmine rose up from her neck and her eyes pierced into mine like crystals, the soft touch of her fingers on the back of my neck and shoulder sent an electrifying surge through my spine and legs and the subdued redness of her lips were like that of bedewed cherry, inviting me to taste them.

As if by magic, the distant thoughts of Irish cottages and cobbled streets began to disappear, replaced by this woman's irresistibly sensual demeanour. She placed her lips close to my ear and whispered secretively to me, “Why don't you take me to an empty room?”. I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind once or twice in the past hour but something was dragging me away. I glanced around at the people in the club, laughing and drinking without a care in the world. Whilst I did what I did out of necessity, I knew this would never really be me.

“Maybe another time.” I finally said to her.

She smiled with pursued lips and coolly remarked, “Just make sure there is another time.” She got up to leave and I casually watched her slender figured disappear into the hum of people around us.

After a brief moment I dragged myself from my relaxed position on the chair, stubbed out my cigar and downed the last of the rum before making my way to the bar. My head was a little fuzzy but overall I felt fine.

“Can I use your phone?” I asked the barkeeper.

He reached under the counter and passed me an Ericsson telephone.

“Thanks.” I nodded to him as I began dialling a number I had memorised.

The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

“Yea'?”

“It's me,” I replied, “you got anything for me?”

A hoarse laugh carried down the phone to me, “What's the matter kid? Not been busy enough as it is?”

I didn't reply, I felt it was rhetorical.

There was a short pause before he continued, “Come by the the speak-easy on 16^th, ya know it?”

I told him I did.

“Might have somethin' spinning up, if you feel you're up to it.”

I watched the woman that had tried to seduce me earlier giving the same treatment to two older gentleman sat at the other end of the bar who looked thoroughly contented.

“I'll be there.” I put the phone down and walked to the exit, collecting my coat from the cloakroom and briefly pausing the put it on before setting off once again into the cold night.

I slowed my pace as I neared the side entrance to the speakeasy, which was located on a deserted street with a small, flickering bulb above a battered wooden door. The only other soul around was a large cloaked figure standing beside it smoking a cigarette. He turned to look at me as I approached, the faint look of recognition in his eyes.

“Good evening Max,” I nodded softly as I approached, “I'm here to see Jimmy.”

He nodded as he took a drag and inhaled deeply. “Yeah, he said you might be coming.”

He pulled the door open for me and I stepped inside, “Thanks.”

The dimly lit back corridors of the speakeasy had a faint, musty whiff about them and the muffled sound of booming music reverberated off the walls. I swung a left and walked towards Jimmy's office, the gentleman I had called earlier. Approaching the blank door I began to hear voices behind it, clearly in discussion. I knocked and waited. The voices cut off and a moment later the door opened.

“What?” The portly man before me questioned.

“Vinny's expecting me.” I replied.

A voice shot form the other side of the room, out of sight, “It's cool Vito, he's doing that thing.”

Vito stood aside and I walked into the office, nodding my thanks to him. He just stared at me with mild distaste. Prick.

I turned to Jimmy who was sat behind a desk with a jar of what was likely some kind of alcoholic drink. He had his feet up on the desk and was smoking a large cigar. The air was filled with the smoke and the overpowering smell of tobacco lingered in the air.

“You made it,” he announced, “thought you were gunna bail on me for a moment there.”

Jimmy took a long drag of the cigar and began blowing rings into the air.

I shrugged, “I'm here aren't I?”

He finished blowing smoke rings and studied me.

“You said you might have something for me?” I tried to sound non-confrontational.

Jimmy sat up in his chair and took a sip from the jar of liquid on his desk. Jimmy was a connected guy, but not made. I came to him for work every now and then and he obliged. I'd proven myself to him before and he always paid well.

“I got a problem with some competition. This fuckin' Pollock has opened up a speak-easy right on my fuckin' doorstep!” His disgust at this Polish guy's move into his area was clear. “Down by the park off Meadows Avenue. You know it?”

I nodded, “I know the area, never been to the place.”

Jimmy waved his hand sending cigar ash flying across the table, “It's got a big fuckin' sign out front with a fish on it, you''ll know it when ya see it.”

I looked over at Vito as he slumped himself down into a couch, taking up at least half of the thing. He had a faint smirk on his face.

“Yeah...fine,” I turned my attention back to Jimmy, “what do you want me to do about it?”

Jimmy took another long drag of the cigar and puffed it out obnoxiously towards me, smiling to himself.

“You remember that shipment you brought to the warehouse from those guys that came from down south?”

I nodded slowly, recalling the strong odour of metal and earth that had emanated from the small cases that had been handed over.

“That was a shipment of dynamite, you're gunna take some a blow his place up.” He said it proudly, like a kid showing off to his friends.

I took a moment to take this new information in, glancing at Vito who was staring at me with this stupid grin on his face, watching for my reaction. I let the silence linger for a moment.

“You're trying to tell me I drove halfway across town with a trunk full of fucking dynamite?” I tried hard to hide my anger at this waste of human matter.

He arrogantly puffed more smoke into the air, smiling all the while, clearly pleased with himself.

“Sure did. Now ya gunna use it.”

I took a deep breath, “Fine. Where is it?”

Jimmy threw me a card that he had scribbled an address on.

“They're expecting you. Go pick the stuff up and get the job done. Come see me when you're finished and I'll have something for you.”

I stood on a street corner, tucked snugly against the wall of a building, hidden by the shadows cast by the moonlight. I kept one eye on the speakeasy that Jimmy had described and the other on the street in front of it. The speakeasy was halfway down the street, sitting between a fish-mongers and betting shop, there were no street lights outside it. There had been no activity outside for the past half an hour and the only sounds I could hear were that of alley cats occasionally fighting each other.

I held the brown paper bag containing two sticks of dynamite loosely in my left hand, my right gently resting on the pistol grip of my 1911 that was secured in the waistband of my trousers. All the while my head slowly pivoted along the street, looking for the slightest sign of movement or activity.

I had gone to the address Jimmy had given me which happened to be an apartment in a part of town nearby. The owner looked me over with mild contempt before asking me what I wanted. Once he heard I had been sent by Jimmy he disappeared inside for a moment before reappearing with the brown bag I now held.

“Don't drop it.” He had said to me, before slamming the door in my face.

I checked my watch, it read 2.13am. The street was dead of activity and I had no reason to believe this was a setup. Still, I decided to do a walk-past and get the atmospherics of the place. I did a final check along both sides of the street and stepped out from my dark corner, stumbling along the street slowly, acting drunk. I was on the other side of the street as the speakeasy, which would give me a better view of the place as I approached.

I came level with the speakeasy and casually glanced inside as I sauntered past. It appeared empty, a small light emanating from inside the door of the nondescript establishment. The font door didn't look secure, a simple glass door with small lock. The front of the building was glass also, giving me a clear view inside. The front reception area was lifeless and had nothing inside it to suggest what the place really was. I carried on past and turned left at the next street, picking up my pace.

I did a full route around the building, checking for any sign of security or activity but noticed none. There was unlikely to be any at this time of the morning. I reached my start point and ducked into an alleyway on the street of the speakeasy. I did a quick check around me before opening the brown paper bag and carefully taking out one of the sticks of dynamite. It had a long fuse cord measuring about 10 inches. If this was a slow burning fuse that would give me about 50 seconds of burn time. I cut that in half to account for any inconsistencies in the fuse. That would give me about 25 seconds to light, plant and get away from the thing before I was toast.

I didn't want to run to the speakeasy from here. I would prefer to walk, light the fuse, place it and then get away from it. I checked my pocket for the matches I had picked up from Jimmy's office before I left. I ran through the plan in my head, visualising myself walking briskly to the front of the speakeasy, lighting the stick of dynamite, place it at the foot of the glass door and briskly walking – not running – away from it. 50 meters should do. I'd duck down behind one of the trash cans on the street. Once it detonated, I'd check the damage and see if it needed the second stick. If not I'd dump it in a storm drain and make my way out of the area.

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, doing a final check of everything I had on me. I placed the bag and stick of dynamite on the floor and pulled the 1911 from my trousers, checking the chamber by pulling back the slide half an inch and looking for brass glint from inside. It was difficult to see in the darkness so I angled the pistol towards a street light and got a faint glint of brass. Good enough, I thought. I replaced the pistol and checked my pockets, making sure nothing incriminating would fall out if I had to run.

Taking a final deep breath, I held the brown bag in one hand, along with the stick of a dynamite, and the box of matches in the other. I stepped from the alleyway and walked purposefully towards the speakeasy, my heart pounding in my chest as I approached. I was about 50 meters away, quickly closing on my target. My senses were working overtime, scanning the area to give me warning of the slightest movement or change to the surrounding area.

As I approached - about 20 metres away now – a couple burst from the front door of the speakeasy, laughing loudly and stumbling into the street. I quickly ducked into a doorway, shadowed from the ambient light of street and watched them. They laughed and grabbed hold of each other, embracing momentarily. It was a young woman with an older man. They were locked in a fairly passionate kiss and their hands grabbed at each other desperately. She was the one to break the kiss and she grabbed him by the hand, pulling him along the street, away from me. They were both still laughing and I watched as they slowly disappeared into the night.

I waited until I couldn't hear them any longer, then waited a little longer, allowing my ears to tune into the silence. Finally, I judged it safe again to move and I stepped from the dark doorway I had positioned myself in, continuing quickly up the street.

I came level with the front door and took hold of the first stick of dynamite. I checked the door – hoping it would be unlocked. It was, and opened without issue. I held the door open with my foot and took a match from the box I held, striking it and holding it to the fuse. I held it there for a moment and after a few seconds pause it lit, fizzling as the spark slowly made it's way up the fuse. I dropped to one knee and carefully placed the stick inside the front of the seemingly un-assuming shop-front. I stepped away from the door, letting it close behind me, and walked briskly away, trying to contain the overwhelming pounding in my chest.

I strode the 50 metres I had thought would be safe enough and ducked behind a pair of trash cans, waiting for the initial blast. I close my eyes and opened my mouth slightly, accounting for the overpressure that would come from the blast. I knew I would be safe at this distance but it was force of habit.

It took about 20 seconds before there was an almighty boom, the shockwave of which ripped through the street and crashed off the walls of the surrounding buildings, sending a wave of pressure screaming down the street and through my body. The sound of shattering glass filled the calm night and I heard bricks crashing around me. I waited for the last of the debris to land before standing up again and making quickly for the shop front.

The glass door and front had been decimated and twisted metal was in place of the frame around the front of it. Broken glass covered the street to the front where it had been blasted outwards by the dynamite placed in the reception area. Smoke filled the air and a strong smell of burning assaulted my nose.

I walked into the chaotic front of the speakeasy, deciding a second blast could be needed after all. Bricks lay covering the floor and glass crunched underfoot. I coughed from the thick smoke that was in the air and carefully removed the second stick of dynamite, walking as far into the front of the shop as I could, hitting the back wall where an unmarked door was situated, likely leading into the speakeasy itself.

I lit the fuse again in similar fashion to the last and placed it at the foot of the door, quickly removing myself from the area. I didn't stop to duck behind trash cans this time, but instead continued walking, taking a left down a side street to remove myself from line of the sight of the speakeasy. As I continued to power walk along the street the sound of the second blast reached my ears, reverberating along the walls of the darkened street I was quickly pacing along.

As the distant sound of sirens reached my ears, I stepped into a network of alleyways and took a few turns, losing myself in them. My goal was to move out of the immediate area as quickly as possible. I would go to see Jimmy tomorrow once he had heard about the result of my work. That bastard better have a fat envelope for me this time, I thought.

I awoke with a start, the banging on my door dragging me from my harrowed sleep. I sat up in the arm chair I had dozed off in and grabbed the grip of the pistol wedged between the cushioning of the chair and my thigh. The banging stopped and I looked around cautiously, light was creeping through the partings in the curtain covering the window. It must be at least mid-morning. I stood up, checking the chamber of the pistol in my right hand, a round securely loaded into the barrel of the weapon, then slowly headed for the front door of my apartment.

As I approached I could hear muffled voices behind it, talking casually to one another. I held the pistol pointing forward, towards the sound of voices, my finger resting against the trigger. I peeked through the keyhole and eyed two men in pressed shirts waiting nonchalantly for the door to be opened, one of them smoking. I pressed the barrel of my pistol against the door, pointing at the nearest man and reached for the door handle, opening it slowly a couple of inches and peering out at the men.

I looked at the pair as they both peered through the slot in the door frame, studying me.

“...Hello” I stated, questioningly. My finger stayed on the trigger of the pistol, I couldn't see if they had any weapons.

The non-smoking man spoke, “Get dressed, you're wanted at the speakeasy.” It didn't sound like much of a request.

“Jimmy's?” I asked. What did that arrogant fuck want with me so early in the morning. Wasn't he happy with the work I had done for him last night?

“Yeah,” the man nodded, “but it ain't him that's asking.”

The pair stared at me blankly, sending an obvious, non-verbal message. Whoever had sent for me probably wasn't somebody I would want to say no to.

Less than a quarter of an hour later I left the apartment, my pistol safely tucked into the waistband of my trousers and covered by my jacket. Outside, we stepped into a car and drove the short journey to Jimmy's place in silence, the only sounds coming from the spark from the matches the smoking man used to light more cigarettes once he had finished with the first. I was starting to become nervous.

We stepped into the dimly lit corridor of the back offices of Jimmy's speakeasy. There was no music booming throughout the place today which was odd, even if it was early. A muscular guard stood outside Jimmy's office and held up his hand as I approached. I stopped and he looked at me expectantly.

After a moment's, pause he said, “Hand it over. No guns with the Boss.”

I looked back at the two guys I had driven over with. They stood casually behind me, leaning against the walls of the corridor. Smoking man was sparking up another cigarette and the other was watching me with mild indifference on his face. I didn't have much choice here – if it started to go bendy I'd have to improvise. I slowly pulled the pistol from my trousers and handed it to him. He tucked it into rear of his own and motioned for me to put my arms up. I guess he just didn't trust me.

After a quick, cursory search, he nodded and stepped aside. I took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside the office.

Vito was sat in the same position I had seen him in last night, looking a little more unsettled than he usually did. He had clearly been sweating and his eyes were darting around the room. I turned to look at Jimmy who was slouched in his office chair, covered in blood. Stood beside him was another man of muscular build with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his knuckles bloodied. Behind him stood a well dressed man in a three piece suit, shiny black shoes and a bowler hate. He was holding a cigar casually in his right hand and he turned to look at me as I entered.

He looked me up and down as I stood there, taking in the scene.

“Mr. Hugs, I take it?” He said it more as a statement than a question.

I glanced back at Jimmy, my heart beginning to pound in my chest. I really wish I still had my pistol. My eyes scanned the room, looking for anything I could use as a weapon, if needed. A lamp stood to the side of Jimmy's desk, a dart board with darts was on the wall to my right and an empty glass rested on a low table in front of where Vito was sat.

I nodded slowly, looking at the man with bloodied knuckles who was staring at me with mild intent. Slow, raspy gargles were coming from Jimmy as he tried to breathe, clearly in pain.

“Do you know who I am?” The well dressed man asked me, pointing to himself with his cigar hand.

I shook my head, “No” I croaked.

The well dressed man stepped towards me as he spoke, “My name is Don Leovacchi, I'm with the Alliance. I am aware you are already acquainted with my associate here.” He motioned to Jimmy and took a long puff of his cigar.

I didn't answer, but studied Jimmy's bloodied face, his broken nose and black eyes, ripped shirt and bruised chest and abdomen.

“Ofcourse you are,” the Don continued, “that was your handiwork last night, after all wasn't it?”

I looked back at the Don, my palms starting to feel sweaty. Clearly something had gone wrong with Jimmy's relationship with this man and I was starting to get the feeling it had something to do with the work I had done at the rival speakeasy last night.

The bruiser standing next to Jimmy slammed his fist on the desk, sending a sharp bang through the room, “The Don asked you a question!” he spat, angrily.

Don Leovacchi turned and made a motion with his cigar to settle down.

“It's alright Christopher.” He turned back to me and went on, “As I understand it, Jimmy here asked you to do what you did.”

He paused and I nodded.

“Yes, Don.” I didn't want to upset muscles in the corner again.

The Don nodded, “Well, what Jimmy may not have told you was whilst his place comes under my jurisdiction, so did the other place that you torched. He knew that.”

The Don paused to let that sink in and my heart rate continued to climb, along with my breathing. I was starting to take long, slow, deliberate breaths, preparing myself for a struggle.

“Jimmy was upset that the establishment you blew up was making much more money than him and, going against my instructions, decided to try and remove the competition using somebody not closely linked to him.” He looked at me carefully, “You are, after all, merely an associate of our family.”

It made sense, it would be hard to make the connection between the attack and an associate of one of the Don's own crew.

“He was going to have you killed, I suspect, to ensure you never came back to tell the tale.“ He stopped, turning to Christopher and nodded.

Christopher reached around behind him and produced a pistol. He cocked it, pointing it directly at Jimmy's head. Jimmy, realising what was about to happen, tried to make an attempt at raising his hands, gargling and coughing blood. Christopher pulled the trigger, shooting a round into Jimmy's head which blasted out the other side, sending brain matter and pieces of skull flying against the wall behind him. Jimmy's lifeless body slumped back in the chair, motionless. Vito, who had been sitting silently on the sofa next to me, ducked onto the floor, crawling into a ball.

The Don, who had not taken his eyes from me, continued, “As you can see,” he motioned behind him towards the general direction of Jimmy's body, “I have guaranteed that will not happen.”

Christopher replaced the pistol in his trousers and took out a piece of cloth from his pocket, wiping his hand that had received some splashback from Jimmy's execution.

“I need people I can trust and he fell short of those standards.” He turned his attention to Vito, who was still curled up on the floor, “You're running this place now. Don't disappoint me like he did.”

The Don turned back to me, “I can recognise talent and a capable individual. You've got potential, young man.” He stared at me thoughtfully.

“I want you to work for a friend of ours. He works for me so technically you'll be under my employment. Keep up the high standard you have shown so far and you'll do well in this life.” He turned and walked back to the sofa, picking up a long coat and taking a moment to put it on.

“Yes Don...thankyou.” I replied, fairly shocked and relieved at the strange turn of events.

The Don nodded at me before making for the door, “Respect, that's the only currency that matters in this life, Hugs. He had none,” the back of Jimmy's head was still dripping with blood from the large exit wound, “I hope we'll find more in you.”

The Don exited the office without another word. Christopher followed behind him, pausing momentarily to shove an envelope into my chest. I took it and he departed with the boss. I watched him leave down the corridor until they were out of sight. The guard that had taken my pistol before my meeting handed it back to me before himself turning to exit.