The cars arrive from across the 8 cities.  Several men, having arrived separately, make sure that no-one is looking and then enter into a Los Angeles bar.  Inside, Kuklinski is talking to an underling.  Before entering, the men hear Kuklinski say “it was a well organised kidnapping.  We stormed into the pet shop and got him.  He didn’t manage to rollerskate away and we fit him in one of the animal’s cages.  We’re keeping him in there just now, he’s round the back – but be careful; he gets very angry”.   The men look at each other, knock and enter.  Inside, Kuklinski is drinking a Cognac.  He starts to speak;

Hello my friends, come in, come in.  Here are the guns – they’re clean; untraceable.  We want the hit to go down just like the last one.  Remember that?

We drove down to Las Vegas.  We watched Whiskey go into his tiny apartment.  Strangely, for such a low ranked ‘man’, he had a lot of bodyguards with him.  But, hey, we’ve come this far, right? His protection was all over the street – we couldn’t get too close. So we watched and we waited.  He went to bed early.  Lights out. Still, his bodyguards were everywhere – we can’t risk a full frontal assault.  We waited and waited – then we saw one of his guards turn his back.  One of our men took his change – he darted across the road, fixing a silencer to his gun on the way, and blew his brains out.  He was walking down the street, unnoticed, before anyone even realised that they were a man down.  And still we waited – we weren’t going to be happy until we had hurt Whiskey – even if it was just his wallet.  After all, what are these guards costing LV?  Two million?  Every killing that we carry out is a reminder of the illegitimacy of their claim and every action we carry out is a protest against their ways.  Buoyed by these thoughts, the next member of our group made his move. Inspired by a notorious shop assistant mobster, he slipped on a pair of rollerskates and glided towards a group of the guards. Whizzing past, our man fired one shot and a guard dropped to the ground.  The killing was noticed by another bodyguard who cried out “rollerskates!”.  We listened from the car as the guards discussed who did it.  It was RJFuller, cried one.  Are you stupid, cried another, our friend’s murderer was at least 6ft tall – it wasn’t RJ.  The guards huddled together, scared and nervous.  We accounted for yet another one – and over the next two days shot two dozen more.

My friends, that was a good night.  And I wish I could have used by gun to help you.

Just then the men cried out, almost at once and in unison, like it was practised;

“But Kuklinski, you are a man of words – not of action.  We need you to direct us, to help us.  To inspire us.  To keep our money safe in case we are killed and to negotiate with the tyrants.  No, Kuklinski, you cannot be a trigger man.  We know that you are brave – but your talents, your huge talents, lie elsewhere”

Kuklinski, a tear tricking down his face starts to speak

“Friends, that means so much.  You are right – training a gun is a bit menial for a wordsmith like me.  I’ll stick to what I am a world leader in and leave you to take all the risks.  And please remember, I keep all of your money on the credit marketplace where it is safe.

There are your targets boys – go and take care of business.