It was a Monday. It was always fucking Monday. Except very occasionally when it was a Tuesday. Today was a Tuesday, and on this particular Friday BonJonBovi was sat in his office.

“How many jobs has he done?” he shouted to no one in particular.

“Three I believe sir. I’ve been watching him pretty closely.” no one in particular, BonJonBovi’s man servant, replied.

“Well, that’s the magic number isn’t it? That’s when I make contact right?”

“It is sir. Shall I summon the gentleman in question to your office?”

“No, I think it would be best if I found him.”

“As you say, sir.” no one in particular replied, drolly.

That was right, BonJonBovi thought, he did say it. BonJonBovi was always impressed at the way in which no one in particular could recognise when he had said something. It was key, BonJonBovi continued to think, to a good working relationship. Where would he be if every time he spoke, no one recognised or acknowledged it?

He thought about that for a moment longer.

“Probably creating some street theatre.” he said out loud for no reason at all.

BonBonJovi carried on his way to meet the potential new recruit. He had been very impressed at the way in which he had fulfilled the jobs required. No fuss whatsoever. He’d got straight down to business and done everything asked of him. Very, very impressive.

Almost too impressive. But that was impossible. You couldn’t be too impressed anymore. Not since President Harding had outlawed it anyway. They had gone on quite the outlawing spree recently. Alcohol had been the main focus of the Feds, but being too impressed was a close second. It had killed more people than tuberculosis.

Anyway, BonJonBovi had already caught up with the potential new recruit a while ago now and had been watching him, hidden, silently finishing his thoughts. But he’d done that now, so he started his recruitment spiel.

“Hey.” BonJonBovi hissed from a nearby bush. For dramatic reasons it was best to stay hidden until the big reveal he always found. BonJonBovi was a showman, everyone said it. “Hey, you!”

The man looked around confused.

BonJonBovi continued, “HEY! You look like a Fiddler!”

The man’s eyes widened and darted around.

“We know you did some Fiddlers work.” BonJonBovi whispered, overly loudly, from his hiding place. “We just want to talk to you.”

Panicked, the man started to scurry from one side of the alleyway to another. If you had to describe it to someone, it would be like when you finally cornered a wild horse.  It wasn’t going to give up trying to find an escape, but likewise, it was too stupid to find the right path.

BonJonBovi watched the embarrassing scene with interest. This clearly wasn’t working. Maybe he should stop being covert about everything and just come out and say that they wanted to offer this gentleman an opportunity to run with The Fiddlers crew out of Chicago.

Maybe he should.

He did.

“Me and my friends just want to have a quick word with you about what you’ve been up to recently.” BonJonBovi said more directly. “You know… the Fiddling.”

The man bolted.

He ran and ran and ran. Never once looking back.

“Well, fuck.” BonJonBovi said out loud, emerging from his bush. “That’s the 4th time that’s happened. How are we supposed to create the strong army of Fiddlers Chicago, and most importantly OLAS Grin-07, demands, if no one will even fucking respond? Surely it’s common fucking courtesy? Even to just say, ‘no thank you, I don’t approve of your lifestyle’. Even that would be better than silence. Bastards the lot of them.”

The Fiddlers were in somewhat of a recruitment depression. He would have to discuss this when he got back to the HQ.

BonJonBovi sure hoped someone would be there.

Hopefully.

There wasn’t.

Goldust was still on the razz, he'd been partying hard all night all across the nation and was currently doing the walk of shame, you know that walk, it's the one where you have been out all night, on the piss, perhaps shackled up with someone you shouldn't have, perhaps half your age, with really firm buttocks and unlimited stamina, and now, hungover, you were sidling home in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday, eyes like pissholes in the snow.

He passed by the one man in the 7 cities who made him look less of a deviant,BonJonBovi, he stopped and ensured he had pronounced his name correctly in his own mind, otherwise how would Bon know that he had been thinking of him? The man was hiding in the bushes fiddling as usual. This in of itself was not necessarily a bad thing, after all there was no law against fiddling, there had been several in that Irish bar he'd been in in Vegas, playing Little old wine drinker me, whiskey in the Jar, when Irish eyes are smiling and Oh Danny Boy, it had turned into quite the Cèilidh or possibly even a Fleadh, when did a party stop being a party and become a festival? On top of that, it wasnt as if fiddling was some kind of sexual deviance like futtering was. It could be strange how language evolved over time, words seemingly innocent would take on a meaning before here unknown, words meaning happy would take on a meaning completely different, a bundle of sticks could become a derogatory term for a sexual preference, and a term meaning the player of a fiddle could end up meaning anyone of several sexual deviances. As Larry Grayson would one day say, what a gay day indeed. 

Momentarily making eye contact with Bon, Goldust grimaced and gave a half hearted wave, the kind that you could almost deny having given, before continuing his sidling back to the HQ... perhaps one more drink to help wash the taste out of his mouth first?

"there is only one name that interests me - Lord Alfred Douglas.  the love that i have for him dare not speak its name"

Grin-07 strummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for BonJonBovi to finish his report. "All quiet, honestly," he was wittering, all the while his beady eyes were flicking around the Grin Gang HQ covetously.

"I see," Grin said, bored and unimpressed in equal measure. "And why is it you coming to tell me that the rackets I gave you still in working order and not Fidd himself?"

BonJon let out a squeak, somewhere between a surprised hand on the arse and cold drink splashed down one's front. "Erm. He's er, out recruiting, boss."

Grin snorted. "Recruiting? Last I heard you were stalking people in bushes and I was having to pay the good Captain another 2 large not to arrest you." BonJon had the good grace to look sheepish. "At least you've got your pants on this time."

"Come on, boss. It is fucking hard. And these ignorant fucks...granted, there was that one time where my approach was probably a little too direct, if you catch my drift," BonJon said with an entirely unnecessary hip thrust in Grin's direction. "But I don't know what more we can do. They do our jobs. They take our change and when we ask them if they want something more, they don't even look back over their shoulders."

Grin sighed. "Do you think it is because you're calling The fucking Fiddlers and your idiot boss hasn't even fortified the HQ?"

BonJon scratched his chin and looked wistfully through the window at the 20' perimeter wall surrounding the Grin Gang's Loop operation. "You might have a point..."

"Aye, shock fucking horror." Grin stood up from his chair indicating the meeting was over. "Right, you've got a point. These ignorant Thugs should at least let you know they've found work elsewhere, rather than just blanking you. It is rude and we're all about manners in this Gang. Still, Fidd's a sack of shit."

Taking the not very subtle hint, BonJonBovi was already nodding and agreeing as he minced out of the door so spectacularly, even Goldust would have been proud.