Shellfish was a nice man, an oddity in a business so cruel. He couldn't pinpoint where exactly he got caught up in it. At some point, gutting fish down at the docks wasn't paying the bills anymore. Mob figures had always hung around the union offices with the longshoremen, though he'd never known the exact ins and outs of the mafia presence down at the waterfront. Deeper than he'd ever care to guess, he assumed. 

Sitting in the back of his new restaurant - a seafood place, naturally - he wondered if anyone knew of the blood that had spilled in building it. The seed money, the strong-arming of health and zoning regulators, it hadn't been an easy ride, but powerful friends brought the kind of influence he never would have had in his past life. For a while he manned the kitchen himself, until it became clear to him there was too much to do to be cooking up scampi while collections added up. 

It became a mob hangout quickly, as businesses run by mobsters tended to do. The new chef's delicious mussel linguini didn't hurt either. But one day it all changed for the man they called Shellfish, as the bell on the door rung to signal the arrival of a particularly powerful, dangerous customer...

Scarface who hangs around the streets a lot noticed a new place. He thought he should pay a visit. " Hello is there an owner around here?"

Scarface is hoping to meet a new friend.

Nevermind Scarface thinks to himself but he leaves his card on the counter. It reads

                                                         Scarface member of the Karma crime family.

Then he leaves wating for a call.

"Fella left a card for you, boss"

Shellfish scanned it quickly, his brow dripping with sweat from the heat of the kitchen. He'd been in inspecting a couple of the chef's new menu ideas. When it came to food, he liked to be hands on. Scarface...he wondered if this guy could prove to be a good connection. It was worth getting to know these kinds of guys. In this business, one day you're just driving the boss around, the next day you could be having your ring kissed. He pulled the door open and got into the phone booth outside.

It rang, waiting for TheExecutioner to pick up. Let's see what this guy could do for me. 

Mr_Keating walks over to ShellfishThompson and starts to talks....

"Shellfish, don't be selfish.  Let me have some of those animals.  I've got me a pet-store over in Vegas, and I want as wide a selection as possible.

Do me a solid on this, and I'll see you right for poetry.  Hell, I'll even educate your children.  I'm a bit busy at the moment with an active investigation that I have going on, but I can do either of these things for you sooner or later.

Now, I believe that the consumption of animals that have been factory farmed is totally immoral.  So I have to ask about your ethical standards.

Tell me about the lives your lobsters lived?"

The phone rang and rang one afternoon.  "Hello. Yeah how you doing?  Yes this is Scarface. I dont trust speaking over the phone with what I need I'll drop by. Yeah see you soon." He runs to his car. This is one intresting day he says to himself. With that he pulls off and heads back to the resturant this time with more exciment.

Shellfish tapped his fingers on the counter as the phone rang and rang, waiting for his new friend on the other end of the line to pick up. Finally a voice crackled over the static:

"Hello. Yeah how you doing?  Yes this is Scarface. I dont trust speaking over the phone with what I need I'll drop by. Yeah see you soon."

Shellfish fiddled with an absolutely devastating shrimp cocktail. He knew he was dealing with a real player here. He would wait here until TheExecutioner announced his arrival once more with a ring of the bell that hung over the door. The cajun chef, Marcel, a great big fat man with a temper like a rhinoceros, was quick to point out he had another visitor. 

"Ah tell ya wha', big boss, you gon' pass a good time ova o' dem dere fella by da bah dere, boss", he said. Thompson's eyes darted quickly over to the businessman, who began inquiring about their produce. Marcel shook his head disapprovingly at words like 'factory farmed' and 'ethical standards'. This was a man who grew up slapping catfish against the trees that lined Toledo Bend. 

"Mr_Keating, whether hauled from the icy Bering Sea or harvested in the warm waters of the Carribean, all of our seafood is harvested with integrity. I won't stand here and tell you these lobsters were offered scholarships and college degrees," - he paused for a laugh from the diners, who ate Shellfish's food with as much passion as they clowned on these liberal yuppy types - "But I'll tell you what, we bring in these Maine lobsters because of their large claws, sweet flavor and tender texture, and we are proud to work with suppliers who are committed to fishing practices that help protect and preserve their ecosystem and population for generations to come."