The dust had barely settled from the wheels of the last trash wagon when Gordon turned up for the opening ceremony of his latest acquisition. A queue of onlookers gathered at the front of the building whilst children sat on the fenders of parked cars waiting for a glimpse of someone from the mob. The sun shone high in the sky warming the coldest of hearts as several men in clean cut suits with bow ties busied themselves dusting down the ornamental features beside the doorway.

The building had been sanctioned for use by the Red Cross however; a missed detail in the planning department of city hall had resulted in an opening for a quick cash sale. Gordon liked cash sales.

The fine Italian marble steps led to a revolving door clad in brass and polished to a mirror like finish. The windows were huge and gave anyone who passed the premises a glimpse of the beauty and extravagance within. The lettering on the windows had been hand painted in gold leaf by a local artist giving the place an almost regal appearance.

Two large men stand beside the door and as you enter the first thing you see is the bar. Extending some thirty feet its highly polished surface reflected the array of glasses and tankards that hung above. The bar staff were all dressed smartly with the “Peach Pit” emblem sewn into their jackets. The floor was the finest imported Axminster and Wilton carpeting and the seating arranged casually, offering seclusion should some patrons require. Oxblood coloured leather was everywhere and the pictures that hung around the room were of members of the mob. Unknown faces to anyone outside of Cosa Nostra, men and women from the present and the past gaze silently upon the elegance of the room.

The restaurant area was towards the rear of the building. Made up of private booths with personal lighting the smell of the leather and woollen carpets gave the place a homely feel. Each booth catered for up to ten people with personal waitress service to each, and the menu and wine list elegantly bound in red and placed prominently upon each table.

The menu was as diverse as possible, able to cater for the most exotic of palettes to the simple steak and fries which was particularly favoured by many members due to their busy, hectic lifestyle.

Gordon stood proudly before the crowd and cut the ribbon at the door........

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may we offer you the elegance and finesse you crave. The Peach Pit is now open for business.”

After hearing from some family outsiders that Gordon_Zola had opened a restaurant and bar establishment, Joey decided to visit the business. After going to address told to him, he saw Gordon proudly proclaiming the opening of The Peach Pit. He then approached his good friend.

Hey, Gordon, how's it hanging? Nice joint, by the way.

"Hey Joey, great to see you. Come on in my friend I`ll show you around......"

The two men pass through the bar area as Joey comments on the portraits hung across the walls....."Hey isn`t that Colin there, and Derek.....oh and Roman yeah, there`s some great stuff in here."

"Yes Joey, you`ll find some of the greats hanging around here. Raoul! a couple of bourbons here if you please......this is my good friend Joey from back home."

The barman smiles as he places the the two mens drinks on the bar.

"Recognise this portrait Joey?" asks Gordon.

"Indeed I do. AlabamaWorley. She`s gonna do great things for the city of Detroit for sure."

"Sure is, she gave me the nod to open this place. Although she did insist on having some weird food called haggis on the menu for some strange reason. Apparently its from Scotland?"

Sitting at the bar the men discuss the possible origin of such a dish as they are re-filled again, and again, and again.........

Although the two had probably drunk the quarter of all the drinks in the bar, Joey was not that drunk. In fact, liquor had just started to make effect on him, as he was a man who needed a really big amount of alcohol to be really drunk. Suddenly he felt that he was hungry, so he summoned the waiter.

Hey, kid! Come over here. Get us something to eat, will ya? Bring me a steak, some fries, a salad and that new food haggis, or whatever it's called.

TwoFace walkls in the bar. hey bartender. may i have four round of scotch and a box of cubian ciagars we want   them now.twoface sits down and waites for his drins and smokes.

As Favara placed a couple of dollars in the valet's hand, he looked over to his luxury Series 75 Cadillac Town Car and winked to the young boy..

You dent the car, I dent you! Capisce?

After venturing through the beautifully maintained revolving doors and into 'The Peach Pit' proper Favara was amazed about how much effort and attention to detail had gone into the refurbishment of this previously old, dilapidated ruin of a building. The carpets, the leather seating, even the numerous portraits of the old moustache Pete's, everything was done perfectly and it could be seen by all that Gordon had invested a lot of his valuable time and hard earned money into his new venture in the Motor City

This'll do, this'll do very nicely..

Feeling extremely hungry from his flight from the West Coast, he quickly approached the nearest waiter and requested a table. But before he could sit down and tuck into a five star meal, he saw Gordon_Zola, the owner of this fine establishment waving him over.

Hey, how are you Gordon. Nice place you've got yourself here, hope it didn't set you back too much, eh? Anyway, can you recommend me something from your menu I'm dying here!

Gordon greets Favara with both hands............”My friend this is a great pleasure, I`m so glad you found time to stop by, how was the flight?” The two men make their way towards the bar as Gordon beckons towards his chief barman. Raoul was a tall elderly man who could mix any drink, had a way with the women, and knew exactly how to look after the patrons...........

“Raoul, this is my friend and business associate Favara from Chicago.” Raoul bows slightly and shakes Favara`s hand as he snaps his fingers in the air, seconds later a young girl appears with notepad and silver salver. Two generous bourbons are provided in fine cut glass tumblers as Gordon gestures towards Favara.......”This way, we have the finest Aberdeen Angus steaks at the moment, flame grilled with all the trimmings, you look as though you could do with something to eat.”

The two men take their drinks and weave their way between the seats as they make their way towards a private booth in the restaurant.

Chuckle was drunk. In some people this might have been a problem, but if anything, it just made Chuckle even better than he usually was. He and Marionette had been out with Bearderus, picking up women. Obviously Bearderus had been knocked back at the door of every club because of how stupid his wispy beard and sparsely covered face looked. This didn't deter the other two, who immediately left him behind to get the night bus on his own, his tears smudging his bus ticket as he went home alone, just like every other night.

"Eh, Marion...et" Chuckle lurched violently to his left, clattering into his accomplice "doesn't that dick Gordon have a place zround 'ere?" He slurred like a champion did Chuckle.

"Gordon? That fucking wanker. I hate him" Growled Marionette.

There was bad blood between Gordon Zola and Marionette stemming back from '22 when they had both been at SexyBeast's wedding. It was a small ceremony, as only the joining of a man and his donkey in holy matrimony can be. Chuckle had been there, being cool as fuck as usual, probably having sex with everyone in the room. Marionette had been dancing with one of SexyBeast's relatives, they had been grinding on each other, all hot and heavy and Zola had been watching them jealously. Marionette was a sexual predator and he was practically having sex right there on the dance floor. He was thrusting his hips into SexyBeast's nephew's bottom provocatively and Zola's eyes just narrowed and narrowed.

Before Chuckle even knew what was happening, it had gone off. Zola steamed out of his chair and lamped Marionette right in the chops, sending him crashing to the floor. He didn't let up and was quicking on top of him, his fists crashing into Marionette's face, drawing grunts from the mounted man. Luckily, Brent had been on hand to land a foot right into Zola's balls, knocking him off Marionette. They had pulled Gordon outside and kicked the shit out of him, some even said that Brent had branded him with his signature on his ass, a corpse fucking a dog.

"Aye, I forgot" Chuckle ushered them on, remembering the rage on Marionette's face as little Walter had tended to Zola's deflated left nut and tattooed ass when they'd pulled him inside, having forgotten all about his wounded dance partner. He had never forgotten.

"Lets..." Marionette swayed wildly "Let's find his place and teach that African bastard a lesson" Zola wasn't African, he was almost milk white, but Chuckle let it slide.

"Sure man, I'd be up for that" He agreed. He was game for almost anything was Chuckle, it was one of the many things people fucking loved about him.

"I think it's called...the ball bag or the nut mine, something shit..." Marionette trailed off and sniggered to himself.

Chuckle saw a rundown shanty, piece of shit, dilapidated shack. It had a spray painted sign with most of the words misspelled. It was supposed to read "The Peach Pit" and Chuckle guessed this was the place. It certainly matched Gordon's shabbiness.

"'ere this must be it" Chuckle said, looking round for Marionette. He noticed him striding towards the steps of the place and dropping his pants. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Right." That was all Marionette said, before he started to squat on the doorstep. It took a minute for Chuckle to realise was Marionette was doing, then he broke out laughing.

"This'll teach that bastard." Said Marionette as he grunted with the effort.

Chuckle heard a faint but unmistakable slap of turd on pavement, shortly followed by another several seconds later. He looked up to see Marionette's smug face as he left two steaming logs of shit on Gordon Zola's doorstep.

As Marionette pulled up his pants, he suddenly realized something was abnormaly wrong with his digestive system. Drunk, sweating, and now in a full-fledged panic, he pulled open the door of The Peach Pit and dashed inside. It was a pitiful establishment, looking even more shabby on the inside than on the outside, and it stunk worse than Bearderus' undersized nuts. Marionette scanned the room, looking all around for one simple word that would make all this misery go away 'RESTROOM'.

"What the fuck? Doesn't this shithole have an actual shithole???" Marionette screamed out. He was even more enraged now, and began clenching his ass cheeks together when he moved, pinching out a pathetic bit of flatulence every few steps he took.

Chuckle, now inside, was pointing and laughing at Marionette and his miserable plight. "Nothing worse than the beer shits!" he said to his sidekick, as he began rummaging through Zola's poorly stocked bar.

"Get fucked, you lanky streak of piss!" blurted out Marionette, as a few more farts squeeked out. As he looked to see what Chuckle was doing behind the bar, he noticed a small metal rubbish bin sitting next to the corner of the creaky old bar. Without batting an eye, Marionette made a dash for it, passing rank gas as he made his way to the bin.

Just as he reached the bin, he dropped his pants and sat down, and within seconds was letting out an explosion out of his ass that could be described as nothing short of catastrophically destructive. A shit-piss of epic proportions shot out, filling the can up a quarter of the way, and reaking of raw excretion and lubrication.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... much better!" said Marionette. All Chuckle could do was shake his head and toss his friend a dirty bar rag, so he could wipe his ass and they could continue on their merry way.

Favara watches these two horrible assailants commit their heinous acts of shit terrorism in awe, but carries on with his lovely Angus steak regardless.

After he polishes it off he leaves a more than generous tip for the lovely waitress with a nice arse and heads for the door. Giving a slight nod to Gordon and his chief barman Raoul, who are now left with the gruesome task of clearing Marionette's arse rubbish up out of his makeshift toilet.

Night Gordon, I'll ermm.. drop by sometime, when you've... aired the shit smell out of this place.

As he walks outside into the cold night's air of Detroit City, the valet brings him back his lovely vintage towncar.

Thanks kid, here's a few more dollars for your troubles.

But before the adolescent valet can thank the great Favara he legs it down the street in fear, almost cacking himself like Marionette had done mere moments before.

Favara was dumbstruck, completely baffled by both the actions of Chuckles shit-stooge and the valet in the employ of the "Peach Pit", until he looks towards the far side of his lovely car given to him by the almighty SexyBeast. A big sodding scratch running all the way across it.

That little BASTARD!!

Pedestrians diving out of the way into the middle of the road looked on as the enraged Boss of the Cheese Syndicate pursued this little teenage pikey .38 in hand

Gordon_ Zola was a well known figure  within the upper financial circles of the mob for his tenacious enterprise, skilful dealing, not to mention his debonair looks and immense physique. He played down his manly magnetism as always however, several members of his crew had been known to take exception of this particular facet of his personality, and had openly ridiculed the Consigliere on more than one occasion. Gordon took pity on these individuals who, after several bottles of light ale would muster the courage to express their jealousy of this mountain of a man.

Raoul had passed the word to Gordon that the four legged failure commonly known as Chuckle and Marionette, had been seen lurking around the back of the Pink Coconut gay and undecided bar, again, down on Madison. The two men were mainly seen out together. Chuckle could be spotted from a mile away, casually dressed with a limp Panama hat and mauve cravat, whilst his devious, sexually inexperienced sidekick would be one step behind, usually flatulent, with his trademark incontinence stain around his crotch area. Women would take pity on the two hapless heroes and offer their services for free providing the sex took place in a darkened room. Little did the two men know that their so called exploits actually consisted of the two of them buggering each other in the dark whilst the local whores sneaked out of the building giggling to themselves. They would revel in stories of how they screwed a dozen wenches into submission whatever city they were in at the time. Anyone who was anybody in the world of prostitution and money laundering knew this took place. Probably, that was the reason why the two of them were still being lured into the same trap time and time again.

Gordon walked out of the bar to greet his associates from back home. He made for the revolving door and was met with the sight of Marionette, squat within the doorway, midflight through an evacuation of his lower bowel. Gordon smiled, as he pushed the door with all his might. The force at which it rotated took Marionette by surprise as the heap which he had deposited got swept between the door and the floor. The door continued to rotate and took Marionette with it, wiping the contents of his rectum over the concrete floor. After several revolutions Marionette had just about collected all his deposit over his trousers, shoes arse and back. Gordon looked through the door to see Chuckle the other side mesmerised by the turn of events.

“Greetings Favara my friend” said Gordon as the Consigliere passed by............

”Hey Gordon, need a hand with that?” he replied. The two men spun the door even faster bowling Marionette within like a doll in a tumble dryer. His scrotum now bruised and torn and covered in his own faeces the man looked wasted and dishevelled.

 “That`ll teach the bastard to shit in my doorway” growled Gordon. He and Favara gave each other a high five and looked toward Chuckle who quickly turned, tilted his panama, and wandered off into the night with his cravat blowing in the breeze.

Marionette stolls up the front steps of The Peach Pit, still recovering from the effects of a three day drunk with old Chuckle

"Hey Gordon, how's it going? Why does it reak of shit in here, and why the fuck are my nuts scabbed over?"

Marionette glances up to see Gordon, shaking his head in disgust

"Can I get a scotch on the rocks, please?"

Marionette crumbles up a few old pieces of paper in from his pocket and tosses them in the small metal rubbish bin next to the bar

Lily stepped into the building, smiling as she took in the swank of the place. The hostess seemed too smiley, but she mostly ignored the girl, only muttering that she wanted a drink before breezing toward the polished bar. She glanced over the wine list before ordering a glass of Merlot. As the bartender poured her a glass, she glanced impassively around the room, taking in the various clusters of mobsters, looking for one that she might recognize. As she sipped her wine, she adjusted herself primly on the stool, straightening the pleats of her skirt.

Wandering down the dark back alleys of Detroit, CM Punk stops as he sees a brightly lit bar, sound pouring from the building. Walking up the marble steps, he shook his head derisively at the excess splayed before him.

He pushed the door open, momentarily blinded by the light within, eyes adjusting as he took in the even richer interior, showing off the worst of this lifestyle, grandeur and gaudiness as far as the eye could see.

HEDONISM.

You there, with the alcohol, you truly want to poison yourself? This is what it means to be mafioso, drinking and drugging and... random sex? Surely you can be a member of the mafia without these.... toxins, filling your body, killing your soul.

My name is CM Punk, and I am here to save you, to bring you to another way, a better way, a straighter way. A way free from impurity and vice, to be the mafioso I know you can be.

Drugs and alcohol are for the rabble, those who we are better than, for us to make our money off their misery - not for us to imbibe ourselves, not for us to become those pathetic wretches.

Come with me, my brethren. And I. Will. Save. You.

He stands in the doorway, arms outstretched, waiting for those who want to be saved.

Most of the patrons only paused for a second to look at CM_Punk quizzically before turning back to their flirting and drinking. Lily, however, squinted and leaned forward. She knew this guy--had seen him around the HQ all the time. She slipped off her barstool, still carefully clutching her wine glass, and took several steps toward the man. She raised her glass in a mock toast and crossed her arms, a bemused look on her face.

Punk, how are you this fine evening? Would you like to step into the restaurant in the back? She motioned casually behind her to the sleek door leading to the quieter dining section. I'm certain that a steak would help you out of this tizzy you've been thrown into.

Not used to being ignored, but aware that most of these "patrons" would be dead within the year due to the willingness to poison their own bodies, CM Punk stared around the bar until a slight woman teetered towards him.

I see you Lily Evans, stumbling around because of the toxins you imbibe. Surely one of my own family would understand the danger in poisoning yourself, surely you know what you're doing and how it affects you.

Come with me, Lily. Turn away from the demon drink, let me save you.

He raises his voice again, shouting towards the crowds of patrons, trying to be heard over the music.

I can save all of you, let me show you the way. Help me help you!

Stumbling? Lily stifled a chuckle and glanced into her drink. I would hardly say I was stumbling. This is my first drink, you see. She sipped it and smiled. My mother has always drunk a glass of wine before, during, and sometimes after dinner. Says it's good for her circulation. I just keep up that tradition, usually. She glanced around at the merriment about them. Most people need something to unwind, you know? Take their minds off of business-- Her green eyes suddenly snapped back to CM_Punk. Especially if it's business like ours. She stepped very close to CM_Punk, looking up gravely into his face. Don't you see their faces, too, at night? Right before you-- She made a small motion with her finger, as though shooting a gun. No one wants to think of that. A shot of whiskey or five might be the only way to keep them out, you know? She tilted her head slightly, smiling. Not that I'm saying you have to drink it. Just--stop making a spectacle of yourself and trying to convince others. Her soft smile suddenly turned into a harder smirk as a hint of cruelty entered her eyes. Or why don't you go round up some ladies at the Anti-Saloon League, if you want to be more persuasive?

He stares disdainfully at the glass of wine in Lilly's hand, fingers clenching into a fist as he tries to refrain from knocking it away, even the smell of alcohol invading his senses, makes his nose twitch.

I daresay that the reason you lot are able to sleep so well at night is not because you can drink away the faces of those you kill, but because you are all so inebriated that your shots go wild and you never manage to kill ANYbody.

As for how I sleep? Just fine. The degenerates I kill were already dying, poisoning their bodies, suffering a slow - painful - death. I simply shepherd them on their way.

Sneering around the room at all the patrons continuing to drink, ignoring his attempts to bring them all to a better life, he executes a snap turn, heading for the door.

Very well, I see no one willing to be saved in this poor establishment, I will try somewhere else.

If you get tired of dying the slow death, you know where to find me - whether you wish to be saved... or shepherded.

He flings the doors open and vanishes into the dark night, a loud bang echoing through the bar as he shepherds some poor, unfortunate drugged out wretch on their way.

SexyBeast had received the call late that night from Favara that all hell had been breaking loose in one of Gordon_Zola's fronts. Two of his top men had gotten drunk and made a scene there. This is not good for business, and attracted negative attention from the law that a man in SexyBeast's position could not afford.

SexyBeast slammed his fist down hard on his desk. "Dammit!" he seethed. He hated trips to Detroit. Klasky made him uncomfortable and the city's primary export was grain alcohol, which of course is awful. From across his HQ, insane_killer called over to SexyBeast "What's wrong, Boss?"

"Get the car" SexyBeast grunted back. "And bring some muscle along. These guys have been drinking Shirley Temples again, and you know how they get. Then they sent poor Bearderus home on a bus, which ended up driving off a cliff. To make matters even worse, he survived the crash" insane_killer nodded. He knew what needed to be done. Minutes later he pulled the car around. Mayhem the Enforcer opened the passenger side door for SexyBeast and the sped off to DT.

The smell was atrocious. It smelled like AlabamaWorley's laundry basket on underwear day. SexyBeast stormed inside, ignoring the blatantly obvious passes being made to him by the fiery redhead LilyEvans. He surveyed the scene. He was embarrassed. He walked passed Marionette. Marionatte braced himself for the barrage of abuse he would surely be receiving for publically soiling himself. Fortunately SexyBeast didn't find the condition of Marionette's pants any different than every other day of the week and stormed towards Chuckle instead. He was mostly embarrassed for Chuckle, who was clearly still drowning out his childhood memories with teh shitty DT grain alcohol. SexyBeast knew all about Chuckle's demons. Chuckle would drone on and on about them whenever he drank. Chuckles_Mum had been hard on him as a boy. In Chuckles_Mum's defense, it wasn't that she was a bad mother, she was just poor and was forced to raise him by herself while working double-shifts at the town dunking both, which due to the dunking mechanism not working, she was forced to sit there over a tub of water while the townsfolk would pay a dollar to walk over and punch her in the face rather than lob a ball at the target. She also always hated Chuckle too which didn't help matters.

SexyBeast nodded at Mayhem who leaped into action, applying a painful full-nelson on Chuckle, who whimpered girlishly. Marionette staggered forward... "Thats a Made Guy you're putting your hands on!!!" He yelled, however insane_killer gave him his trademark icy-stare, which stopped Marionette dead in his tracks. Marionette had seen that stare before and knew that insane_killer meant business. SexyBeast nodded at insane_killer.

SexyBeast walked over to Gordon_Zola and patted him on the back.

"I'm sorry about this my Friend. I'll have Bearderus down here first thing tomorrow to clean this up. His chores around the HQ can wait. But this is unacceptable behavior. I am appalled by what I am seeing here, and I will not stand for it. I am of course referring to your pants, Gordon. They are dreadful. This is a Mafia Family, not a circus. Shame on you. Give me a shot please. Anything other than grain alcohol"

Gordon stood at the bar of the Peach pit completely pissed out of his head. Well, slumped against the bar really. Unable to converse coherently he smiled at everyone who spoke to him and offered them a drink also as he burst into several well known English sea shanties, unaccompanied as usual.

Looking around his once regal establishment which had fallen into complete chaos, he was reminded of the evening’s events by SexyBeast. His boss sat cross legged beside the crackered Zola, offering help towards the clean up process and also making comments with regard to Zola`s choice of pants. Rich really, coming from a guy dressed in skin tight mauve cycle shorts and tan Doc Martens.

Zola gained sufficient consciousness to accept his boss`s offer and also greet LilyEvans whose ability to stay calm and collected whilst chaos erupted around her, was inspirational.........”My dear, your tab is on me this evening, drink all you can...........hick.........who was that guy anyhow........hick.........the one shoutin` about drugs and the effects of........hick.......dr..dr.....drink?”

Lily smiled as Gordon slipped, spun through 180 degrees and continued the conversation with another patron who was completely oblivious to the whole event.

His composure and suave exterior now completely smashed, Gordon ordered some grain alcohol for SexyBeast as the room rotated at an alarming rate.........