Often, people are unwilling or unable to change. When that change requires lessening one's power or self-importance, it almost never happens willingly. Such changes were happening now all throughout the varied boroughs and neighborhoods of New York City. Premeir had been established as the unquestioned Godfather of New York. Young men and women looking for a break and a way to prove themselves flocked to the Big Apple. And the low level crooks, street gangs, and Wise Guy wannabes who had grabbed pieces of the pie when the city was briefly empty of an official Family had to be reminded of their place. Men and women peered out of their storefronts and apartment windows as the shining new black Cadillac convertible rolled by. There was a particular group of guys who hung around a particular bar in the Bronx that were talking a big game about not giving up an inch of their new turf or a single penny of tribute. It would be beneficial for everyone involved if they changed their mind. It'd be even better if that happened without having to shoot everyone. Crawford couldn't help but grin, but the slashing cut on his cheekbone flared up, and he winced.

"You should take better care of your face, you know," said Lucia from the passenger seat as she judged him with a raised eyebrow . "And how did you say this happened again?"

"I tripped. On a glass vase. That was flying through the air." he growled as he glared in the rearview mirror

Stifling a laugh and pretending to cough, Lucia turned her attention to the approaching bar.

"This is it." said Crawford, as the car rolled to a stop and he lithely stepped out onto the sidewalk, smoothing down the front of the immaculate grey suit he wore.

As the engine stopped, the snoring from the back seat did as well. Like a lioness from the tall grass, LoveGun's head rose so quickly above the back seat door that she startled an old man walking past her. Crawford sighed and reflexively checked his shoulder holster for his gun, just in case.

Lucía flashed an only slightly nervous smile back to Lovegun as she awoke. There was a routine blotch of spilled rum on her boss's jacket, but Lucía kept her lips closed about it. Now was hardly the time to let her thoughts turn to the fastidiousness of Lovegun's grooming. Instead, she carefully gripped the pistol hidden in her sequined purse while stepping out of the car. As she carefully closed the door, Lucía surveyed the slummy establishment that Crawford had pulled up to. There were dusty clothes a decade or two out of style hanging off of mannequins that were falling apart, but the sign still resolutely proclaimed that the store was open for business. Glancing up, she saw the smoke of a gambling room gleaming in the upstairs windows. Yes, this was the place. She turned quickly to open the door for Lovegun, holding out a hand to help her boss out of the car.

Chuckle walks along the sidewalk. He wonders if anyone around here could play the guitar.

Aldo was enjoying a pint of brandy inside of one of the seedier establishments in New York, when he saw a fellow mob family drive up. One woman exited the vehicle and kept her hand in her purse, static, not searching. He quickly realized what would go down, and quickly walked to the bathrooms to loiter. He took out an 8 inch Columbian cigar and lit it up to pass the time...

Pooblunt played his faithful kazoo, wishing for a nice, gentle breeze to come carry him away.

There was nothing Mr Barkston enjoyed more in life than the mellow sound of the kazoo. True, it did little to settle his constant appetite, but it fed his soul in a way that he could not describe. This was mostly because he was a dog and had a fairly limited lexicon. Still, the kazoo called to him while he was engaged in his nightly patrol of trash cans in the vicinity, and he made his way out of an alley and onto a sidewalk.

Mr Barkston was dismayed to discover that he had unintentionally come across the two people in the world he did not want to see: That Guy He Knew and That Girl From The Boat. He knew that if they were to lay eyes on him, they would immediately take him back to that damn building and lock him indoors, as he wasn't supposed to be out and about without company. The other possibility was that they would force him to tag along on another one of their adventures, and he honestly hadn't enough energy for that. So, saddened by the notion of missing a wonderful kazoo performance, he turned tail and head back to the alleyway.

LoveGun had this new idea of ways to stay cool and as the heat of New York City's summer creeped up on them she played the idea into reality, or at least what she considered reality. As they cruised down the road in Crawford's newest car, a light breeze tickled her face and she closed her eyes to concentrate of pyramids of ice. Before LoveGun knew it she had nodded off for a blissful dream of the arctic. Suddenly though, a penguin was in her face about to bite her nose off. LoveGun jerked awake.

Lucia was looking at her strangely, a sliver of a smile appeared on the lips of the young woman. LoveGun simply winked at Lucia and turned her attention towards the sidewalk, taking in her surroundings. She liked this part of town, but the man walking up the street towards them looked out of place. As she thought through her thoughts to pin point where she had seen him before a hand was offered to her. The hand was connected to a slender arm which was connected to Lucia. LoveGun dramatically placed her own in the hand and let Lucia pull her out.

From this view LoveGun had a better view of this strange man. Oh yes, the man who sold that newspaper. Knuckle...or Snuckle, er Chuckle? LoveGun couldn't remember, but she did wonder when the next issue would be out. As the man passed LoveGun dipped her hand into his back pocket and fished out his wallet. He didn't seem to notice as he kept walking by them. She placed the wallet in Crawfords hand and smiled. Then she realized both him and Lucia had tensed looks on their faces.

What be up with you guys?

She didn't allow time for either of them to answer and started to walk towards the building in front of them.

As Chuckle was walking, he felt LoveGun's hand slide into his back pocket. He sighed to himself. The women couldn't get enough of old Chuckle. He felt her fish out his wallet. Knowing it to contained only the lyrics from Crawford's favourite acoustic soliloquy, the scribbled love note from SexyBeast and Marionette's picture, he was quite glad to lose it.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the famous musician Crawford, with what looked liked his patented guitar slung over his shoulder, LoveGun and someone else he'd never heard of walking towards the slummy establishment. He thought about going into the building and informing them about the arrival of the guitar star.

Then he decided it was late and headed off to bed.

As Chuckle looked over his shoulder, Crawford glared at him before following LoveGun. Crawford had mentioned once. Once. that he'd been a street musician on the streets of Dublin almost two decades ago when he was a young man. Yet Chuckle seemed incredibly amused by this. Perhaps if he spent the same amount of effort on his newspaper as pondering about people who played the guitar two decades ago, he would have a second issue by now.

LoveGun noticed that Crawford wasn't keeping up. She glared at him until he met her eyes.>

Wha ya be lookin' at?

She questioned him and attempted to follow his gaze down the street. Buckles.

Hey, there be anythin' good in th' wallet?

LoveGun marched past Lucia and plucked the wallet out of Crawford's hand. She quickly went through it. No money, that cheap cheapy. There was a picture though. LoveGun put everything back into the wallet except the picture, which she slid into her pocket for safe keeping.

We be got some business t' be takin' care of.

Lucía nodded to her boss and tossed her hair back, making her way toward the shop door. Shoving it open with her foot, she pulled out her gun and held it to attention, scanning the inside of the former couture shop. No one--at least, not yet. She motioned forward to the other two as she moved toward the staircase behind the dilapidated counter. She hesitated, looking up the creaky stairs and biting her lip. She turned back, smiling with attempted warmth.

"Ready, guys?"

Ciaran wasn't ready at all.  He held his gun gingerly in his left hand as he followed Crawford through the door.  The smell of dust and mould hit his nose and made him sneeze.  He tried to stifle it but emitted a small squeak which made Crawford glare.  He tried to put on his "I'm so serious" face and avoided Crawford's leer as he looked towards Lucia who was already ascending the steps.

A Crawford walks into a bar. With his "I'm so serious face" on. There is a long, interminable staring contest between him and his associates and the stubborn bar patrons. After what feel like two weeks, LoveGun walks through the door and shoots one of the bad guys in the foot. The rest of the bad guys blink and run away.

"Damn", thought Crawford "that was really building up to something good. Oh well."

Grinning, he pockets a bottle of whiskey from the bar and heads back to the car.

Aldo, who is now crouching and is one in away from sitting in urine, hears a gunshot.

Shit, I hope it doesn't hit the fan.

Aldo stands up, and takes cover on the entrances blind side, then takes out his 1911 .45 pistol and cocks it.