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The Release of Sonny Franzese Started by: SonnyFranzese on Oct 06, '23 17:05

Sonny did as he should have. He'd kept his mouth shut. He'd served his time, 20 years in the federal system for the honour. Back in his day thats what you did. You did the crime you served the time. You came out and got right back to it, but the world had changed a lot since he went away. This thing of ours had grown.


Sonny stepped out of the prison transport bus onto the bustling streets of New York City, he still had contacts amongst the families, but having spent so long away he wanted to get the lay of the land. An old friend had given him the name of the local godfather. He knew he could get quick work from Fenton's crew so started doing odd jobs just to pay the bills. After a week of scruffing it down at the docks, hustling fur coats from transports he was approached by another old friend.


"Hey Sonny, I had to come see this for myself, been a long time," Quini remarked casually, a lit cigarette at the corner of her mouth.


Sonny turned smiling, "Quini, you haven't aged a day in these last 20 years. I see you've come far in this life of ours."


"I'm just glad you're finally out. Fenton asked me to come down to see if you were looking for a home," she remarked. "You always drove a hard bargain, I'd be glad to join," responded Sonny who walked towards Quini's waiting car.


Sonny lit up a smoke as the car sped towards Fentons HQ in the Bronx.

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Welcome, Sonny.  You're doing well, son.  

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Seated in my dimly lit office, the soft glow of cigar embers creating fleeting patterns on the walls, I pondered Sonny's reputation. It had preceded him, and the fact that he maintained connections within the families even after all these years spoke volumes about his credibility. News of his release had reached me, and I held the belief that he possessed the potential to become an indispensable asset in our ever-evolving world.

Quini 's involvement in this unfolding scenario didn't elude my attention. She had always displayed resourcefulness and an innate ability to forge connections with influential individuals. Her presence in this situation served as a reassuring link between our storied past and the new challenges we faced.

I dwelled on the prospects that Sonny's return offered. It had the potential to infuse new vigor into our operations, but it also carried inherent risks. I recognized the need for caution, a meticulous assessment of Sonny's commitment to the family, and a deliberate consideration of how he might align with our future plans.

Snuffing out my cigar, I rose from my seat, preparing to meet Sonny face-to-face for the very first time. This meeting represented an opportunity to scrutinize his character, discern his intentions, and ascertain whether he could indeed be a valuable addition to our organization in these turbulent times.

It was time for Fenton to meet the man they call SonnyFranzese

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Sonny entered the dimly lit office. The godfather that sat across the table from him indicated that he should take a seat. Removing his coat and fedora he sat in a comfortable leather arm chair and waited, if he'd learned one lesson from a life spent in the mafia it was to know when to keep his mouth shut. The godfather retrieved a Cuban cigar from a desk draw, cutting the end he passed it to Sonny, who lit the cigar and savoured the strong taste of tobacco. Godfather Fenton laid two glasses on the surface and uncorked a cap of prohibition era Canadian whiskey. He poured a generous portion in each glass and slid one over to Sonny.


"Figured you'd like some of the old stuff, none of this swill the Irish produce, hell you helped bring enough over the border during your time," smiled Fenton.


Sonny took a swig, savouring the dark liquid as it hit his throat. Still he waited, knowing better than to talk too much. While Sonny had been a caporegime for the Profaci crime family back in the 30s his boss was now dead, in fact most of anyone who gave a damn about who he once was now lay dead. The bloody street wars which had engulfed New York during that dark period had left few alive to tell the tale.


"The strong silent type, I know that well. I'll cut right to the chase. The books are closed at the moment, but if you put in the work I'm sure we can find a place for you in this thing of ours," continued Fenton, only pausing to gulp his whiskey down in one shot and take a long pull from his lit cigar.


Sonny took the news well. He knew he'd have to climb the ladder again, and anyway he had some schemes already in mind to start earning serious cash. He'd already reached out to a couple of cops he knew from back in the day, they'd point him in the right direction of easily corrupted officers. Once he had them on the pay roll he could move more freely about the city.


Taking a pull from his cigar Sonny responded, ​​​​​"whatever you need boss. A man is only as good as his word, and you've mine." 


"Then that's settled, you are now an associate of The Expendables.  I'll have Quini set you up with a place to stay and a car. Just remember I am watching you, any slip ups and I will know," responded Fenton.


Sonny understood, loud and clear. With a nod he stood, retrieving his fedora and coat he left the dimly lit office. Outside Quini waited, she passed Sonny a set of keys and a wad of cash.


"I put my neck out for you today Sonny, please don't disappoint me or the family," warned Quini.


Sonny nodded in response. He hadn't made it 20 years in Americas roughest prisons by being careless. Hopping into the waiting car he turned the engine over and sped out into New York's busy streets. It had been a long day, Sonny needed  a good night's sleep. Tomorrow he would begin his climb.

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SonnyFranzese - I was organising a crime earlier and you declined to get involved.


Care to explain yourself, son?

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Sonny leapt into the waiting car with sacks of stolen cash bundled under his arms. He knew he'd been pushing his luck, having already hit multiple banks this week. Security had been tighter than usual, and it had taken all his guile to escape with his life. Ever since his last arrest back in '32 he was reluctant to involve others in his bank robbing schemes, barely trusting his driver not to rat him out if the law came knocking. 


"Go, go, go," he shouted to the waiting driver.


The driver hit the gas and the wheels spun as it sped away. Sonny kept his ski mask on, watching anxiously for any cops on his tail. He'd paid the local beat cops to patrol another area of New York's busy streets, but not all the cops were on the pay roll and there was always the risk of a nosy cop picking up his trail. 


The driver slowed down and Sonny removed his mask. Finally happy they'd got away. As they waited at a busy Brooklyn intersection Sonny was surprised as GordonGekko walked up and tapped on his window.


"Hey Sonny, I'm running a loan sharking operation, you want in?" GordonGekko asked. 


"I'm a little busy right now Gordon," Sonny responded pointing at the cash filled sacks.


The Boss's eyes lit up as he recognized what Sonny was up to, he backed away from the car with a smile. 


Sonny indicated that the driver should pull into a nearby alley. Handing him one of the bags as he readied himself to leave the car.


The driver turned to Sonny, "Looking a little light, why don't you throw me another one of those bags."


Sonny slowly shook his head, things really had changed. Back in his day no one would dare try and change the deal after the job was done, let alone a driver ask for more cash when all they'd had to do is drive down a couple of street blocks. Sonny turned and observed his surroundings, checking no one was near. Reaching into his trench coat pocket Sonny retrieved the wire garrote. He maintained eye contact via the rear view mirror, acting like he was counting out some more cash. With lightning fast reflexes he spooled the wire around the drives throat, pushing his knee against the chair he pushed back with all his weight. The driver thrashed and struggled as the life was drained out of him.


Packing the cash bags into a duffel bag Sonny walked away from the car. He carefully checked for no witnesses before dipping into the subway. Lighting a smoke he casually sat down on the waiting train, which was headed back to the Bronx. 




Sonny climbed the stairs to his studio apartment, keen for a stiff drink to unwind from the days frustrations. As he walked into the corridor of the apartment complex he noticed a shady looking character waiting at his door. Keeping his cool he reached for the gun he kept stashed in a shoulder holster. 


"The boss has a message for you, best we talk inside," the waiting man began. 


Entering the studio unit Sonny dropped the heavy duffel bag onto a counter, taking off his fedora and trench coat he walked up to the drinks cabinet, "What's your poison?"


"I'll take a whisky, straight," responded the mobster. 


Sonny poured them both a drink careful to keep his back to the wall. He remained calm, but ready to act on a moments notice. It always paid to remain alert in this life of theirs. 


"The boss has a hit on NadaOrochena he's holed up in Queens, we need you to take him out before the Feds can transfer him out of state to turn witness," the mobster stated flatly.


The mobster passed Sonny a note with an address as he got up to leave the apartment. 

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Sonny stood at the window of an apartment opposite the address noted on the paper. He watched and waited for his opportunity. Outside his targets building sat an unmarked police vehicle, its occupants gored themselves on donuts and black coffee as they sheltered from the nights heavy rain. He knew he had to move tonight, by morning his mark would be moved out of state, disappearing into a safe house outside the city. Watching the guard who stood smoking at the opposite window, Sonny steeled himself to make his move.


Pulling on his dark trench coat he wrapped a dark bandana around his neck and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. Sonny retrieved the Colt 1911 from his shoulder holster and pulled the magazine release, pulling back the slide he inspected the breach for any signs of a jam. Checking his coat pockets he ensured his spare magazines were loaded, and pushed one of them back into the gun. Finally he screwed on a suppressor, knowing if it came to a fight, his only chance would be to remain quiet. Sonny pushed the gun back into its shoulder holster, the familiar feel of the cold steel pressing against his armpit added an extra layer of security. 


Sonny watched his step as he circled round the back of the opposite apartment building. He walked with the usual rush of someone desperate for shelter from the rainy night. Ducking into an alley way he crept up to the buildings fire escape. 20 years in the federal system had kept his strength, climbing onto a dustbin he grabbed onto the ladder and climbed onto the fire escape. Careful not to make too much noise Tommy made his way up the fire step, counting the floors until he reached the correct window. Prying the locked window he ducked into the corridor and pulled the bandana up covering his mouth and nose. 


He walked casually towards the door once outside he retrieved the suppressed 1911 from its shoulder holster. Checking either sides of the corridor he picked the doors lock. As his hand was hovering over the door knob an officer walked around the corner, dropping the coffee and donuts he was carrying he reached for his piece. Before he could utter a word Sonny put two rounds in his heart. Sonny swore to himself, there was no way this was going to be a clean kill. Concerned that his mark may have heard the ruckus he opened the door into a dark studio apartment. The only light emitted from a TV screen, where his mark snoozed on an armchair. The guard who stood at the window turned to the opening door, clearly expecting the other officer to be back with fresh snacks, instead he was met with hot lead, as Sonny put a round in his skull.


Waking his mark with with a shove Sonny stated, "The Don sends his regards", before putting two bullets in his chest and a final round in his skull.


Sonny charged out of the room and ran back down the fire escape. He jumped into a car he had parked in the alleyway and sped out into the empty Queens streets. He raced his way back towards the Bronx, heading to Fenton's HQ. Sonny was surprised by the lack of traffic. The night seemed stilled by some unnatural force. The usually busy streets empty. 




As Sonny's car rounded the street of Fenton's HQ he slammed on the brakes. He was shocked to see the HQ alight, the flashes of automatic gunfire spattered into the burning building as armed mobsters unleashed hails of bullets. Sonny swore to himself, pushing the car into reverse he sped away from the chaos. At every turn Sonny saw more evidence of an ongoing mob war. Buildings burned, cars and bodies littered the streets as a brutal war spread across the city. He raced towards the George Washington Bridge knowing he had to leave the city immediately. Careful to avoid roadblocks as gangs of armed mobsters closed off all exits to the city. He white knuckled the steering wheel as his pulse raced.


Once over the Washington Bridge he lit a smoke, the immediate tension easing somewhat. He made his way to a safe house he had stashed away in New York state. 



Following the long twisting dirt track which led through the heavy forest Sonny pulled his car up next to the lodge. Grabbing the supplies he had stashed in his car in the event of needing to hide from the law, he made his way into the wooden lodge and lit one of the lanterns. He removed his drenched rain coat and lit the rooms only fire, using kindling and logs from his supplies. As the fire raged he finally slumped into the homes only armchair. Lighting another smoke he retrieved a bottle of old Canadian whiskey he'd kept stashed in the run down lodge. He poured himself a glass sinking into the chair, his nerves on edge. What the coming days would bring he did not know, but for now at least he was safe. 

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Sonny awoke with a start, reaching for the revolver he kept stashed under his pillow he crept to a window overlooking the dirt track which led to the lodge. He slowly engaged back the hammer and inched back the heavy curtain to let in a slither of light. All was still outside, the mornings first rays were creeping into the sky. He stood and waited, his senses keened to any noise or disturbance in the surrounding forest. After a short time he was satisfied there was no one nearby.


Now dressed, he walked to stove and stoked last night logs, adding more he warmed his hand by the fire. Filling a container with water he waited for it to boil. With a warm coffee in hand he sat back in the rooms only chair. Lighting a smoke he sipped at the coffee and started to think about his next moves. His momentary peace was disturbed as the sounds of an approaching vehicle filled the woods. Birds awoke from their nests at the sounds of the heavy engine. Grabbing an old tommy gun he kept stashed in the lodge, he fixed a circular drum magazine into the sub machine and cocked the action back into the firing position. Stumping the cigarette out on the stove he charged towards the window and made sure to duck behind some stout logs in case of incoming fire. 


The vehicle stopped at the driveway, a figure dressed in a dark trench coat and fedora turned off the engine and walked towards the lodge. Sonny ducked under the window and put his back to the door. The figure approached slowly, his heavy footfalls could be heard climbing the rough wooden steps. There was a knock at the door, but Sonny refused to answer. For all he knew there could be a whole crew of armed mobsters surrounding the lodge, ready to open fire the second he answered. 


"Sonny open up," the familiar voice spoke out in hushed tones. 


Sonny stood his ground, he knew better than to trust the person outside. The figure, clearly tired of waiting began to pick the doors simple lock. Using the opening door to block him from sight Sonny held his breath.


Taking his chances Sonny stepped forward, "keep your hands up where I can see 'em."


The figure stopped still, his arms slowly raised. Sonny kept his gun pointed squarely in the person's back as he patted him down. He found a revolver at his belt, carefully removing it he threw it to the floor and kicked it to the corner of the room. Taking a step back he demanded the man to turn around. 


The mysterious figure was well dressed, and his hair was close cropped. Sonny recognized him instantly, an old friend by the name of Jammin stood before him. With a sigh of relief he dropped the gun and his guard. The pair had served time together.


"Thought I might find you out here," Jammin began taking the offered cigarette and cup of steaming coffee. 


"What brings you out here, of all the people I was expecting to come knocking at my door, you were one of the last," Sonny returned taking a long draw from his cigarette. 


"Nothing much, I was taking a stroll through the neighborhood and thought I'd come visit an old friend," Jammin responded. 


"So they sent an old friend to do the job, cold but I won't begrudge you. This life of ours isn't for the light-hearted," Sonny sighed. 


Jammin seemed taken back by the suggestion, "that isn't why I'm here. I'm here to invite you to a sit down with Godfather Fluffy_Tummy, I've put in a good word."


The tension lifted from Sonny's shoulders at the news. A sit down, well at least that gave him a chance. He would take Jammin up on this offer. Grabbing his few belongings he opted to join Jammin for the long journey out West. It was a long drive to Las Vegas, but with the immediate danger passed Sonny was excited at what the future might bring. 

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Although the drive back to Las Vegas was a long one, it gave Jammin and Sonny a chance to reconnect and familiarise with each other once again as it had been a while since they were in jail together.  Jammin was waiting for the right time to bring up about what happened to Sonny’s friends and loved ones in the last city mob war. But there’s never a good time to talk about losing friends and loved ones so with a deep breath, Jammin looked over at Sonny in the passenger seat…

Listen, Sonny… my condolences for what happened. I know you lost many friends but at least you’re still here, at least you’re still alive” said Jammin. 
“You’re gonna love it in Vegas, there’s plenty of opportunities and a new life for you there. We just need to get you a face to face with the boss to get approval, myself and a few others have spoken highly and vouched for you, including BigEasy…you remember BigEasy, don’t you? 

“Try to get some sleep, it’s gonna be a while till we get there “ said Jammin to Sonny.

A few hours later…


Giving Sonny a few nudges..”Sonny, wake up..we’re here”


As Jammin and Sonny walk up to the front entrance of GF Fluffy_Tummy's HQ, the 5 heavies standing guard gave Jammin a nod as he walked past them heading towards the front door.


Where do you think you’re going, huh” Said one of the heavies to Sonny as the other four grabbed him by the scruff off the neck and pinned him against the wall.


“Easy, fella’s” screamed Jammin as he tried to unhook his friend from the goons grips. “His with me” said Jammin…”We’ve got a meeting with the boss, he’s expecting us”


As soon as the goons finished patting Sonny down checking for any hidden weapon, Sonny gets the nod to enter the HQ. Sitting in the waiting room anxiously waiting for the go ahead from one of GF Fluffy_Tummy’s hands to enter the meeting room, a door begins to open and they both stand upto make acquaintances.

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BigEasy stood just behind the door to the main meeting room. He didn't know exactly what was going on but he had heard that SonnyFranzese would be meeting with the boss today and he thought a jump scare would be just what the situation called for. After waiting behind the door without anyone coming in or going out he peered from the edge of the door to notice that many guards, Sonny, Jammin, and Fluffy were all shaking hands and being cordial. All at once he realized this was not the right time for a jump scare and made his way out a side door and towards the front of the building...

"Maybe I'll just walk in the front and act like I had no idea what was going on...yeah, just play dumb. That'll work for sure. You can do this"

He wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead and nervously headed towards the front door. 

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Sonny's nerves had settled somewhat following his and Jammin's long journey out west. They'd stopped at motel's where possible, sleeping in the car when needed. Sonny felt refreshed leaving the dark sights of New York at his back. As they sped towards the Las Vegas Strip Sonny smiled to himself, this strange city which had sprung up in the inhospitable desert represented a new life, new hope and new opportunities. 


Pulling into the lot of a grand building, Sonny followed Jammin inside. After a less than gentle man handling he had sat and met the Godfather Chairman of the city, who while calm and respectful had left him with little chance of refusing. Sonny knew he was fucked without the Godfather's protection, and keenly agreed to become an associate of their family. Sonny also knew he would need to prove himself to his new Godfather. 


Jammin drove Sonny to his knew apartment in one of the newer casinos, the Tropicana. Sonny dropped his meager belongings onto the studio apartments counter and walked to the well stocked bar pouring himself a drink. He offered Jammin one but he explained he had important business to attend to. Jammin left Sonny a wad of cash on the counter and made his exit. 


Sonny sat down on a swanky leather chair which overlooked the casinos pool. He lit himself a smoke and took a swig of the whisky from the tumbler in his hand. He felt some of the pressure which had fogged him for the past few days lift. A new city, a new crew and hopefully new opportunities. He poured the rest of the whisky down his throat and decided it was best to get some rest. It had been a long couple of days, and he knew the following days would be spent hard at work, earning his patch in this new city. 


Taking off his suit and trousers he climbed into the bed, sleep came to him easily, and he was gone before his head hit the pillow. 

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Sonny donned a light shirt and trousers from his well stocked closet. He tied his polished loafers and retrieved his fedora before leaving the warm apartment.


The sweltering Las Vegas sun was just rising onto the already busy strip. Stepping into his cherry red Chevrolet Bel Air he fired up the engine while lighting a smoke. Turning onto the strip he approached the first business on his run, prepared to collect the protection money they owed his new Godfather. The first few collections were routine, everyone knew better than questioning the people he worked for. 


As he pulled into the lot of the last casino on his run, he noticed a commotion brewing outside. A group of local wannabe gangsters, dressed in leather jackets with slick backed hair and dark sun glasses, waited outside harassing people as they came in and out of the casino. Sonny sighed to himself and climbed out of the car. 


The youth stepping in front of him shouted, "What do we have here then?"


Sonny ignored them and barged the nearest youth out of the way. He continued walking into the casino without another word. Approaching the front desk he nodded at the clerk who handed over a bag laden with cash. Sonny turned and walked back out the door. The group outside watching him keenly. As he opened the door, one of bikers reached into his pocket and pulled out a revolver pointing it at Sonny's head. 


"Hand over the cash, otherwise I'll paint this window with your brains," he shouted nervously.


Sonny ducked below the wavering gun, pushing it aside it went off with a bang over the top of his head. He drove his fist into the bikers sternum, knocking the wind from his lungs. The rest of the group, at first stunned by the sudden burst of violence jumped in to help their leader. Sonny unable to fight half a dozen goons at once was knocked to the floor, covering his head as heavy boots were stomped and kicked into him. The leader having recovered from his winding shouting at his goons to grab the money and run. They leapt onto their waiting bikes and sped off towards the desert. 


On unsteady legs Sonny got to his feet. Spitting blood to the pavement he walked back into the casino and asked to borrow their phone.


In a calm tone he spoke to the person on the other line, "We've got a problem. Meet me down the strip and bring a couple of our little friends." 


Sonny handed the receiver back to the waiting receptionist with a smile, thanking her he left the building. Driving his car round the corner he parked it in the casino's car park and waited. Lighting a cigarette he plotted his revenge. There was no way he would ring the family for help. The money he'd lost was his responsibility, and the mob didn't employ fools. A dark buick pulled up in front of him. Stepping into the car he gave the driver directions. It only took one further phone call to figure out where these wannabe gangsters were hiding. 


The car sped away from The Strip heading out into the less populated parts of the desert. Their destination a dive bar the bikers called a Club House. The sun had set by the time they pulled up into the car park. The gangs motor bikes were parked outside the establishment. Their numbers seemed to have swelled to the point where they barely fit inside the club house. Gangs of leather clad men hung around outside, drinking and smoking to the sounds of rock and roll. Sonny and his driver stepped out of the car, walking to the trunk the driver pulled back a heavy sheet revealing a wooden crate. Inside were two Thompson machine guns, a number of spare magazines and some molotov cocktails. Retrieving the weapons the pair walked casually towards the front door.


The driver turned a bottle stuffed with cloth upside down and shook it, with a smile he lit the molotov cocktail and threw it into the nearest window. The bar awoke to a roaring fire as Sonny opened up with his tommy gun. Lighting another molotov cocktail the driver threw it onto the roof. Sonny knew the only reaction to such a slight was overwhelming violence. No one fucked with the mob in Las Vegas and got away with it. His companion opened up with his own tommy gun, heading away from Sonny he began to circle the building as they both filled it with hot lead. Sporadic return fire shot out from the building, Sonny was not concerned, no bullets were even coming nearby. The sudden chaos left the occupants incapable of pinpointing their attackers. 


The building shook as ammunition inside exploded. The entrance to the bar had collapsed as flames engulfed it. Sonny ordered his driver to wait out front, while he set up position out back. They waited with fully stocked magazines, guns locked and loaded. Sonny knew the leader would do his best to save his own tail. As predicted Sonny detected movement by the rear exit of the bar. An ash covered figure fell out the door, in his arms the stolen cash. With menace in his eyes, Sonny walked up to the biker who was coughing trying to clear his lungs of the heavy smoke. 


Sonny pulled the biker's leader to his feet and knocked out his teeth with the barrel of his tommy gun. He grabbed the bag, still heavy with cash and threw it to the driver who had approached from the buildings side. Kicking the downed bike he took a step back and opened up with the tommy gun, filling the biker with hot lead. 


The pair retrieved a gas can from the back of the car and doused the motor bikes which were parked at the front of the bar. Throwing a match they sped off into the cold Las Vegas desert. 

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Sonny left the HQ having dropped off the weeks protection money. The Godfather's RHM had passed on a message asking him to head out of town. The flight was already booked, knowing better than to refuse an order he made his way to the airport and boarded the plane for Chicago. Sonny knew he'd have to lie low following his gun fight with the bikers, while the mayor and the local police were on the Godfather's payroll, it was not wise to tempt fate. After a long flight the plane's wheels touched down on a wet and windy night in Chicago. Grabbing his belongings from the overhead compartment he regretted not bringing a heavier coat as the nights chill hit him. Hurrying along to the terminal he was met by a couple of local mobsters, dressed to the nines with fedoras and loafers to match.


"We've been asked to pick you up, got some business that needs handling," the first mobster began. 


The trio climbed into a dark cadillac which sped off into the cold night. Stopping at one of the mob's bars they were ushered into a private booth by a waiter, who took their drinks orders and hurried about his business. Dishes were ordered and the trio got to know each other better. Sonny helped himself to some of the local cuisine, and was satisfied with the waiter's wine selection. With his belly full, a lit cigarette in his hand and a freshly poured whisky sitting on the table in front of him he waited for the mobsters to get down to business.


"We've a little problem," began the taller of the mobsters cryptically, ironically called Fat Vinny, even though Sonny couldn't see a layer of fat on his lanky body.


"I'm sure you've heard of Chicago's troubles of late, the Mayor's coming down hard on us, we're all known to the local police and even the officers on the payroll are under suspicion," continued Franky, the broader mobster sat to his side.


In hushed tones Vinny continued, "We need a local politician taking out, he's got a rock on for the mob, one of those puritan types all fire and brimstone. My employer will provide you with all you need to get the job done."


"We just can't have this coming back to us, you'll need people outside Chicago to help," finished Franky. 


Sonny took a long draw from his cigarette, and a sip of his whisky before nodding in approval.


"I'll need his movements and a couple of days to prepare," Sonny returned.


"Ring this number, they'll be able to facilitate anything you need," Franky slid over a note with a number scribbled on.


Sonny stashed it in his trouser pocket and finished his whisky.


"Take the cadillac, the plates are clean and from outta state. We've got you a room in the Lexington. If you need anything all you gotta do is ask," smiled Vinny.


Sonny shook both their hands and left the bar. Walking into the car park he found the cadillac and turned over the engine, racing into the cold night he nodded his approval. The mobsters having clearly modified the engine, the car would do well in a chase. Already in his mind he was formulating a plan, who he would call for assistance. A job like this would call for a team of three at least. He knew just the man he'd call to be the driver and his lookout. He'd put together many a Mafia Hit Squad in his time in New York before his confinement, and to be frank he looked forward to the prospect. 


Pulling into the Lexington's car park he walked to the reception desk. After a short exchange he was handed a set of keys and taken to his room. It was richly furnished and afforded a great views of the loop. His room looked out over Lake Michigan, Sonny stood at the window, watching as the wind and rained swept in from the expanse of water. His thoughts were distracted by a knock at the door, reaching for his piece he walked to the door and was surprised by the sight of a beautiful woman at his door. Dressed in a fur coat her long blonde hair left loose. Sonny smiled to himself, inviting her in before offering her a glass of wine. 

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The next day Sonny awoke to the beautiful blonde in his arms. He gently removed himself from the bed and got dressed into a plain suit and trousers. Careful not to wake his visitor he left the apartment and climbed into the dark Cadillac. He drove out of the city into a nearby town as the sun crept over Lake Michigan. Finding a pay phone he parked up his car and called the number scribbled onto the note in his pocket. 


A thick Chicago accent answered the other line, "We've been waiting for your call. Meet us down by the docks in the South Side."


Sonny stepped into a nearby deli and ordered himself a sandwich and a coffee. With his hunger and thirst satisfied he climbed back into the dark Cadillac and drove to the docks in South Side. As he pulled into the car park he noticed a car flash its lights at him. Turning the engine off he walked towards the waiting vehicle. The driver nodded at him, indicating he should get into the back of the car. Sonny clambered into the back of the waiting car and found a revolver pointing at his face. 


"You wearing a wire?" the waiting mobster demanded.


Sonny lifted his shirt, turning so the mobster could inspect his back. Now satisfied the mobster put his revolver back in its shoulder holster and nodded at the drivers rear view mirror. The engine roared as it turned over, and the vehicle inched its way out of the car park and drove towards the direction of The Loop. Sonny lit a smoke and waited.


"Apologies for the rude introduction," the mobster began, he was dressed in a ruffled shirt and trousers. His shirt had dark patches below his arm pits and looked like he hadn't changed it in days. 


"This new politician is putting heat on our business across the city, he's squeezing the unions trying to wrestle them from our grip. The usual hitters are all under heavy surveillance," he continued while nervously glancing behind them checking for any tailing vehicles. 


The mobster handed over a Manila envelope, stuffed with papers and pictures. 


"All our intel is in there along with a safehouse where we've stashed all the necessary weapons. I wish you the best of luck," finished the mobster. The car suddenly pulling to a stop Sonny took his leave and stepped out. 


They'd left him a short walk from his car. Sonny retrieved a wad of cash from his pockets and walked into a nearby suit shop. Purchasing himself a navy blue suit and accompanying trench coat he left the shop and strolled back to his car. As he turned the engine, he heard an unfamiliar click engage, swearing under his breath he dived out the car as a planted bomb exploded. The fire ball lifted him from his feet and sent him spinning to the floor. 




The hitman sat across from the planted car bomb waited and watched. A well dressed gentleman hopped into the car a moment later. Smiling to himself the hitman watched as the car exploded. Turning the keys to his car swiftly he gunned the engine and sped away from the burning wreck. 




Waking in a daze he blinked the stars from his head and pulled himself to his feet. His ears rang with the explosion and his vision blurred as he walked on unsteady feet away from the blast. He climbed the stairs of a nearby train platform, using the rail to steady himself. Jumping onto the waiting train he slumped into a chair. His hands shook as he tried to light a smoke. Taking a second to still his beating heart he took a glance both ways down the carriage to check he hadn't been followed. Patting himself down he was amazed that no shrapnel was lodged into his body. He'd been lucky, having planted a few car bombs in his time he knew how unreliable their triggers could be. 


After a short train journey Sonny walked down the stairs and hailed a nearby cab. He asked that the cab driver drop him off a couple blocks away and walked to a nearby pay phone. The first person he called was BigEasy, asking that he get hold of Jammin and meet him in Chicago. BigEasy knew better than ask over an unsecure line and said he would be there by tomorrow at the latest. Satisfied Sonny continued to walk towards the address left on a scribbled piece of paper found in the manila envelope. 


Arriving shortly after caution demanded that he not try and enter the supposed safe house. Instead he broke into an abandoned factory building facing the safe house and sat waiting. Setting himself up in what must have been an old office on the top floor of the building he watched. As expected a group of cars pulled across the road. Armed henchmen stepped out kicking in the front door. Sonny's attention was drawn to a figure who waited by the car. Dressed in the local police's uniform he stood out amongst the armed mobsters who ransacked the building. Sonny ducked away from the window and crept out the factories rear exit. Sneaking into the night he found a nearby motel and paid for a room. 


His options were limited. He'd taken on a contract by the mob, he would be expected to fulfill this regardless of this new heat. Something didn't sit right with Sonny.

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After putting the phone down he knew it was urgent. SonnyFranzese didn't say much and that was more than enough for BigEasy to know that much at least. He had just been given new duties as a MadeMan which were to take him out of town anyway..."A quick layover in Chicago could be that special touch that lets the Boss know I'm good for it", he thought to himself. 

He handed a folded envelope stuffed with money to a young man

"Run this down to the corner and make sure he knows its for myself and Jammin. Two private flights to Chicago, TODAY!"

He peeled off a couple hundreds and handed them to the kid. 

"These are for you. Make sure your mother sees half."

He grabbed a few things then headed out to collect Jammin. 

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Sonny busied himself over the next week preparing for the hit. He was forced to keep his movements limited, marked as he was by this dirty cop out to kill him. For the moment he preferred to let the bastards think he was dead. He sent his trusted men out to perform the jobs he couldn't. BigEasy worked on getting them a stockpile of weapons and a couple of modified get away vehicles. BigEasy's father had been a prominent mobster in the city, using his contacts he'd managed to get them some Thompson sub machine guns, a WW2 surplus M1903A4, a scope to match with a healthy stockpile of ammunition. They'd broken in to another abandoned factory on the outskirts of Chicago and set up shop.




Using the information compiled in the manila envelope Jammin spent the next week learning their marks movements. Watching his security detailed he knew it would be tight. The politician rarely appeared in public, mainly spending his days between meetings, and his evenings spent at home or at local dens where the rich and famous frequented. Jammin was just about to call it for the night when he overheard a conversation between two people stood nearby on the streets. They spoke about a union meeting due to take place on Friday. As luck would have it the politician was set to be a key speaker. Jammin smiled to himself and rushed back to the factory to tell Sonny the news. 




Sonny nodded in agreement as Jammin told him the news. Getting into one of their waiting cars he turned over the engine, deciding to check out the area the union meeting was due to take place. Pulling into a nearby car park he got out of the vehicle and pulled on a tattered coat, having dispensed of his usual expensive suits, trousers and shoes. He wore a simple shirt, rough spun trousers and heavy work boots. The leather coat he pulled over his shoulders was stained and thread bear. He walked with with a drunken gait so that any observers would just see one of the many dock workers making their way home to their wives on a cold Chicago night. 


Armed police patrolled the perimeter of one of the warehouses on the docks, Sonny marked this as the location of the coming union meeting. He walked around the building take odd glances to check for vantage points. A fire exit ran up either side of the building. Ducking into an alleyway he slowly climbed the metal stairs. Reaching into his pocket he jimmied the lock and entered the building. A gantry ran around the sides of the building, with two walkways running along the building. These gantries gave access to the overhead cranes used to lift the buildings heavy goods into waiting vehicles. Sonny crept to the gantries edge and peered into the warehouse below. Men busied themselves erecting a stage down the buildings one side. Political slogans were being hung about the building. Sonny smiled to himself knowing this would be their only chance. 


Ducking outside again Sonny carefully crept down the fire escape and jumped to the floor. Returning to his drunken gait he walked back to his car, hopping in he gunned the engine careful to obey the speed limit he took a circuitous route back to the abandoned factory, careful to avoid any tails. Pulling into the factory he jumped out the car and outlaid the plan. Jammin would wait with the car, while BigEasy acted as back up. 




Sonny rested his rifle on the gantry and waited. Work crews had hung heavy industrial lights below the gantry to light the stage, providing the perfect cover for Sonny. Anyone who dared look up would be blinded by the heavy lights, unable to see the silohuette of the lone gunman. He'd found a guard perched back on a chair asleep along the walk way. Not wanting to risk any disturbance he'd strangled the police officer and left his body, feet still resting on the guard rail with his hat covering his face. Sonny reached into his coat for his pocket watch and checked the time. The politician would begin his speech at any moment. Pulling back the bolt of his rifle he inspected the breach for jams and carefully loaded 5 .30-06s into the chamber. Pushing the bolt back into position he put his eye to the scope and slowed his breathing. He watched the politician climb to the stage with the aid of his bodyguards. The politician walked with the steadiness of an overweight 60 year old, who'd spent an easy life drinking himself into frailty. 


With a booming voice at odds with his ageing frame the politician shouted, "The days of terror are behind us. No longer will the good workers of this city have to fear the heavy hand of the mob. With your support in the coming elections I will abolish the rights of the unions which control these docks. I pledge to you fair workers, the life blood of this great city that you will no longer need to live your work life in fear." 


Sonny waited for the crowds response, a roar which swept across the factory. He hovered his finger over the trigger as he placed the politicians heart in the center of his scope. With an exhale he pressed the trigger. The familiar kick of the weapon and his mark fell to the ground with a gaping hole in his back where his heart had once sat. Sonny had timed the shot perfectly, as the shot echoed out it was followed by a further explosion from the small bomb he had planted on the lighting rig. The rig and crane fell into the crowd below, further adding to the chaos as buildings occupants rushed to the nearest exit. Sonny grabbed his rifle and charged towards the fire escape. He cursed as the gantry began to tilt, the explosion had been more destructive than he planned. The metal gantry lurched as the supports buckled under the extra weight. Sonny barely kept his footing as he slammed into the fire exit. With a resounding crash the gantry fell into the warehouse behind him. 


Charging down the stairs sporadic gunfire started pinging off the metal rails forcing Sonny to keep his head low. Throwing the rifle to the floor he reached into his shoulder holster and retrieved his Colt 1911 taking pot shots at the guards who ducked in and out of cover below. The warehouse was aflame, crowds of people charging out of every exit blocked the majority of police officers from opening fire. Sonny threw himself off the fire exit landing heavily on the floor below. Grabbing the dropped rifle he jumped to his feet and ducked into an alleyway with bullets at his heels.


Sprinting for the alleyways exit he was glad to see BigEasy waiting at the other end with a smile on his face. Sonny turned on his heels taking the offered Tommy Gun he cocked the action into the firing position and ducked around the wall opposite the mouth of the alleyway. At the sound of approaching feet Sonny nodded to BigEasy and they both stepped into the alley and opened up with their tommy guns. They filled the alleyway with hot lead, the police officers caught in the middle of the alleyway had no cover and fell under the heavy barrage. Sonny dropped the empty magazine, catching a spare from BigEasy he ran back towards the waiting car. 


Jammin pushed the car into gear and sped away from the scene. He kept his foot down only slowing to swerve in and out of traffic as they hit the busy streets of Chicago. They stashed the car into the factory. Sonny and BigEasy busied themselves dousing the building, car and weapons in gasoline, while Jammin turned over the engine of their replacement vehicle. Sonny set the timed triggered explosives and stuck it under the stashed cars petrol tank. He poured an extra portion of gasoline for good measure. Throwing his thread bear clothes into the back of the car he quickly changed into his navy blue suit, suit and expensive shoes. Jumping into the back of the new vehicle they drove out into the streets of Chicago, heading for the suburbs and out of state.


The trio kept to the back roads, careful of any pursuit. While the hit hadn't gone exactly to plan they had killed their mark and escaped with their lives. Pulling into a motel on the outskirts of Illinois they ordered a couple of rooms and sat down exhausted. Jammin switched on the TV to the state news, and they watched as a presenter outlined the events. The group gathered their stuff and left quickly without returning the keys. They took it in shifts to drive the car throughout the night, not stopping until they'd put some serious distance between themselves and the days events. 

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Sonny sat down on the bed of his new Las Vegas apartment. Events had taken a turn he couldn't have expected. The shit show he'd overseen in Chicago had amused Fluffy greatly. So great was their amusement that he'd become a made man on the spot. Sonny had made the oath of omerta and sworn his life to the Stargazers of Sin City. With this new role came rules and responsibilities. Taking a sip of whisky Sonny called one of the goons. The man seemed reliable having spent a life working around the mob. He knew how to take orders and when to keep his mouth shut.


"Call me when your downstairs," Sonny asked and hung up the phone.


Meeting the mobster in the lobby they made the way to Sonny's car. Firing up the engine they sped away from the Strip and parked outside a diner on the outskirts of Las Vegas. A red sports car pulled up opposite them blaring rock and roll out of the speakers. Sonny sighed to himself, fucking amateurs. He nodded to the mobster sat beside him who took the queue and got of the car with a duffel bag stashed with cash. Through an old connection in Miami Sonny had set up a delivery of Colombian Cocaine. Back in Sonny's day such deals were frowned down upon, but a lot had changed since his incarceration. 


Sonny kept his eyes glued to the Colombian gangsters who climbed out the sports car. They acted jovial approaching his man, opening the trunk they displayed their goods openly. Swearing to himself Sonny shouted out a warning as one of the gangsters pulled out a shotgun and demanded his man put the cash in the trunk. Sonny's man kept his nerve asking who the fuck they thought they were dealing with. The scene turned chaotic as the gangster, clearly having sampled his goods too readily, put a shell into his chest. 


Leaping out the car Sonny opened fire with his Colt 1911, ducking behind the hood of his car moments before the gangsters returned fire. Sonny's blood was up, he popped back up and put a bullet in the nearest gangsters arm. The other gangster seeing his friend hit the ground jumped into the sports car. Sonny walked towards them opening up with his whole magazine he managed to clip the mobster in the car, but was forced to dive out of the way as the car slammed into reverse and drove straight at him. 


Climbing to his feet, Sonny sprinted to his downed goon, finding he was already dead. His rage now boiling, he walked up to the downed gangster, grabbing him roughly by the hair he smashed his Colt 1911 into his face knocking out his teeth. Dragging his prone body to the car he man handled the unconscious gangster into the trunk and gunned up the engine. Driving to a nearby safe house he tied the overweight gangster to a chair and threw a bucket of cold water onto his face. The gangster awoke slowly, his eyes darting about nervously and he realized his predicament. 


"Who the fuck sent you?" Sonny asked in a menacing tone.


The gangster coughed and spat blood onto Sonny's expensive shoes. Sonny drove his fist into the gangster's midriff, taking out his anger in controlled bursts. The gangster coughed violently, his tortured lungs sucking in deep breaths. Reaching for a wickedly sharp Bowie knife Sonny held it to the gangsters face whose eyes glanced nervously at the sight of the blade. 


"Not so tough eh, now tell me who the fuck sent you?" Sonny shouted further losing his cool.


"Who the fuck do you think cabrón," spat the mobster in heavily accented English.


This was all the confirmation Sonny needed. He'd suspected his old connection had tried to fuck him. Sonny drove the knife hilt deep into the gangsters heart and kicked the chair over onto the heavy plastic sheet which covered the basement. Walking back upstairs he got into his car and sped away from the secluded safe house. Pulling up to a nearby pay phone he called his crews local cleaner and left him with the address. Next he called Fluffy's RHM and explained he was leaving town for a bit. His third call he made to another one of his goons, instructing him to hand over a stash of cash to the Godfather, covering his tribute for a couple of weeks. 


Driving to the local airport he boarded a flight for Miami, with vengeance on his thoughts and fury feeding his heart. 

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Sonny took a long pull from the cigarette held between his teeth. Exhaling he knocked back the shot of whisky the air hostess had just handed him. He sat back in his chair and tried to relax, to no avail as hatred burning through his veins.


Sonny thought back to the early 1900s, when he'd first arrived in the city of New York, having left Sicily as a young boy. He'd immediately joined up with a gang of fellow young Italian, Irish and Sicilians, bonded together by the shared experience of racism doled out by the Americans long established in the city. It was here he had met a boy by the name of Patrick Feenan. The boys were inseparable, growing into their teenage years their lives were separated as they'd joined into the well established structured gangs. Their heritage set them apart, but they had always remained close. Working with one another where possible, always having each others backs in a fight. Sonny had met Patrick again while serving federal time, and had always arranged to meet up again outside. Sonny felt no suspicion when Patrick had contacted him, and offered to set up a deal. Sonny swallowed down the memories, now was not the time to be sentimental, now was the time for fire and blood.


Landing in the City of Miami Sonny retrieved his few belongings, hastily stuffed into a travel case and exited the plan. He was immediately hit by the humid heat of the city. Once outside the terminal he hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to a hotel in downtown Miami. The driver pulled up outside of the Miami Colonial Hotel, Sonny tipped the man well and made his way to the reception. Ordering a room he was glad to be led to an air-conditioned room overlooking the beach. Having not slept on the plane he sat down to enjoy a whiskey, exhaustion finally catching up with he climbed into bed.




Awaking the next day, Sonny set about reaching out to some local mob contacts he'd heard had moved into the area. One of them, well established in the area, invited him down to a local illegal gambling den he was running near his hotel. Sonny, spent the day exploring the area and enjoying the sight of women tanning themselves on the beach. Sonny decided to buy some more weather appropriate clothes, and bought a couple of lightly colored shirts and trousers, not yet prepared to don a pair of shorts in the sun. 


As night approached Sonny headed to the address. He was stopped at the door and refused entry. Sonny explained to the heavily muscled goons that he had an appointment with an old friend by the name of Vito. The goons, clearly more muscle than mind began to patronize Sonny, whose patience finally reaching its end laid in to the two bouncers. At the sound of commotion armed goons rushed out from the bar, one of which was Vito himself.


"Sonny the fuck are you doing?" asked Vito with a smile.


Vito had aged since Sonny had last seem him. His once fine hair was now balding and touched with grey. The years adding bulk to his once slender frame. His hands were covered in expensive rings, and a glittering watch hung off his wrist. 


"You look old and fat," Sonny responded. 


"You hear this? The fucking cheek on this kid," Vito clipped back. 


His goons seemed on edge, prepared to give Sonny a good beating the second their boss gave the word. They were surprised as the pair embraced warmly, having ran together in New York back in the 20s.


"What the fuck are you lot gawping out, get these idiots off the floor and get my Sonny a drink, I take it you're still a whisky man?" Vito clapped his hands to emphasis the point, his goons rushing to complete his orders.


Vito led Sonny into a dimly lit bar, decorated with plush carpets and drapes. Down one side a long bar with well dressed bartenders serving drinks. Tables filled the rest of the venue, where drunken gamblers played games of cards and roulette. Money switched hands regularly, under the gaze of Vito's goons who patrolled the area making sure there was no trouble. Vito nodded to the nearest bartender and held up two fingers, leading Sonny over to a door at the back of the bar. Once inside he was sat down in a dark leather arm chair, while Vito walked around the large oak desk and sat down on the other side. 


"Nice place you got here Vito, I see the legality of gambling in this state isn't holding you back?" asked Sonny with a smile.


"Some things never change Sonny, the cops in this city make the old New York beat cops look clean by comparison," laughed Vito. 


One of the bar tenders entered the room with two glasses of whisky and the bottle to follow. Depositing them on the desk he made his exit. The pair raised the glasses to each other and declared, "Saluti."


Pouring another glass Vito asked, "So what brings you out here, last I heard you were working with Godfather Fluffy over in Las Vegas."


"Here to visit an old friend," Sonny returned with fury in his eyes.


"Well fuck, dare I ask if this is a friendly visit," Vito enquired.


"Got a few scores to settle," Sonny responded cynically. 


"Well give me a name and I'll put out the word," Vito put forwards simply.


"Thanks Vito, but some things are personal," Sonny began as he lit up a smoke, "And anyway, I wouldn't want to trouble you."


"Come on Sonny, how long have we known each other, it'd be no trouble," Vito slid over a tumbler filled with whisky.


"A location is all I need, this man betrayed my trust, killed some of my crew. I can't go back to Fluffy with my tail between my legs," Sonny stated flatly.


"An Irishmen by the name of Patrick Feenan," Sonny continued pausing only to gulp down his whisky. 


"Well fuck, some things are never sacred now a days. I'll put out the word," Vito shook his head as he digested the news. 


"I trust your guys will be discreet, I'd rather he not know I'm coming," Sonny asked.


Vito laughed heartily, "If he has any brains he'll already know you're coming. He must be desperate to lower himself to such a betrayal. Well good riddance to him."


Sonny rose and embraced his old friend. Satisfied that he would have a location soon. As they embraced he asked if he knew anywhere he could buy some guns discreetly. Vito's response was to laugh and say he knew just the place. Scribbling the address on piece of paper he handed it to Sonny as he made his exit. Sonny returned to his hotel and sat down in a chair near the window overlooking the beach. His need for vengeance building with every passing moment. 

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Busying himself in preparation for his next moves, Sonny barely registered the wonders of the Miami setting. Instead he watched and waited. Vito had been true to his word and give him the movement of Patrick and the Colombian gangsters. They had set up deep in the everglades. Taking over an abandoned fishing compound, and reinforcing it with a chain link fence and heavily armed guards. Sonny observed boat loads of cocaine, weapons and cash streaming in and out of the compound. Patrick never left the compound, preferring to secret himself inside. Sonny knew he didn't have long, he would be expected back in Las Vegas soon, his hand forced he would need to move. 


Standing slowly he worked the cramp out of his aching limbs. The area was alive with the sounds of insects which bit at his exposed skin and creatures which he knew lurked below the water line and in the surrounding trees. The sparse trees provided cover between patches of long grass that he utilized to remain hidden. Sonny crept back away from the compound, walking back towards the trail where he had stashed his borrowed car. He wiped the dripping sweat from his brow, he could never understand how people would choose to live in this sticky heat. 


Sonny stopped in his tracks, a tanned Colombian gangster was checking his car. Sonny walked slowly towards the man, careful of where he was putting each foot while the gangsters back was turned. Grabbing the gangster by the throat he smashed his head against hood of his car. The gangster dropped to the floor. Sonny checked his surrounding making sure the commotion hadn't been heard. Taking some rope he kept stashed in his car he tied the gangsters hands and legs, before throwing him the trunk of the car. Driving back towards the city, Sonny parked his car in an abandoned warehouse he had taken over as his base of operations. 


Man handling the gangster out, Sonny tied him to one of the support beam which held up the metal roof. Waking the gangster Sonny went to work, finding out information regarding Patrick's operations. The gangster more than happy to give up all the information on his associates. Sonny learned that Patrick spent his days snorting cocaine and sampling Colombian women that came in by the boat load. Patrick was paranoid and kept his circle tight, rarely leaving the compound. The Colombians used Patrick's network of criminals to smuggle their drugs into city across America. They suffered him at best, none felt any loyalty to this strange Irishman who treated them with disdain. Sonny left the gangster tied to the post, stuffing his mouth shut with a rag he put a heavy sack back over his head and returned to the office which overlooked the abandoned warehouse.


Sitting down in a rough threadbare chair Sonny reached for a glass and a bottle of whisky. Pouring himself a generous portion he lit a smoke and considered his options. His chances of infiltrating the compound were slim. Even with an army of mobsters it would be a blood bath, the compound heavily defended, its only weakness would be an attack from water. Sonny didn't have the time nor resources to arrange such an attack. He couldn't risk pushing the limit of his and Vito's friendship. Taking out the scrap of paper Vito had given him, Sonny would first need weapons. Finishing his drink he walked down the metal stairs which led to the office and pistol whipped the tied gangster. Putting him in the trunk of the car Sonny drove back into the everglades and dumped him into the swampy water, knowing the alligators would take care of the rest. 




Sonny nodded as his hired muscle explained the success of their most recent venture. Having driven to the address Vito had given him he'd stocked up on arms, a boat and asked for a place to hire some reliable muscle. Vito's man was more than happy to accommodate, given the arsenal Sonny had purchased from his stores. The muscled hired goon by the name of Henry had parked their boat and waited for one of the Colombians' shipments. The Colombians were taken by surprise as small arms fire tore into their boat, killing all on board. Henry had boarded the boat stealing the cocaine and weapons on board. Dragging the boat he stashed it in the everglades and rushed to their arranged meeting point. Sonny patted Henry on the back and gave him a brick of cocaine as payment. The rest he piled into a duffel bag and took to one of Vito's street contacts to sell. The next day Sonny gave Henry a stash of cash with instructions for him to use the profits to find more like minded capable men looking for a quick buck like himself.  


The recently hired goons gathered about the abandoned warehouse Sonny was using as a base of operations. He'd used the profits from the recent cocaine sale to purchase more boats, more arms and more men. He had the goons split into teams, each would take a boat and await shipments arriving to the compound by the sea. He appointed each boat a captain, one of the men he felt he could trust. They were instructed to bring the profits back to warehouse, where Sonny would reward them for their efforts. Each man already paid a stack of cash to encourage their loyalty. The men, having heard tales of the riches waiting to be earned gathered their arms and left the warehouse to board the waiting boats.


Sonny turned to the first goon he had hired, a hulking slab of muscle by the name of Henry and stated, "Keep them in line, we hit the Colombians where it hurts."


Henry, a man of few words simply nodded and left chasing after the others. Sonny felt he could trust the man's greed, if not his intentions. Satisfied that chaos would reign tonight, Sonny donned a dark suit and trousers and left the warehouse. Chaining the shutter door shut he got into his car and drove towards the compound. Making sure to park his car far away he crept through the wood, his ears keen for any out of place noises. He had grown use to the call of local birds and the sound of predators at night. Keeping to dry ground he burst onto the track that led to the compound. From here it was easy to locate, as loud music blared out from the compound as the Colombians lurked within. Sonny steeled himself and drew his suppressed Colt 1911 and Bowie knife. 


Having spent the last couple of nights observing the guards routine Sonny was comfortable his plan would work. Sonny spent the evening dispatching any guards who left the fenced in perimeter. His knife took a dozen lives that night, and he left the bodies for the crows to peck at coming dawn. Once back at the abandoned warehouse he waited for his goons to return from their mission. As instructed they'd stolen the boats and cargo of anyone attempting to access the compound. Stashing them in the everglades for later use. Their bounty that night was huge coming across a horde of cash and guns on each boat. 


Each death was reported to Patrick in line with the missing shipments. He swore and gnawed at his fingers as the noose began to close around his neck. He delved into the mound of cocaine stacked onto his desk, shouting at the guards to find whoever was fucking with them. The Colombians who's allegiance was shaky at best failed to find any leads. 




At the arranged time two boats appeared at the other end of the compound approaching from the seas. The boats were met with rough hails from the few Colombians patrolling the shores. Most their numbers focused on attacks from the land. Their friendly welcomes turning to shouts of alarm as the boats continued at speed towards one of the wooden pier which jutted out from the compounds rear. Sonny sensing his opportunity rushed the nearest guard, who's patrol route brought him close to the tree Sonny had been hiding behind. Silencing the guards alarm with a gloved hand over his mouth, Sonny slashed his bowie knife across the Colombians throat and held him still as his life blood gushed onto the dark soil. 


The compound awoke into chaos as the two boats sped into the docks, crashing into the shore. The boats cargo went off with a bang as the explosive triggers erupted. The Colombians grabbed arms and charged to the source of the explosion as confusion spread across the camp. Sonny used the distraction to climb over the wire fence and dispatch a guard whose attention was turned to the shore. Sonny dashed from building to building, using whatever cover he could find. The still water erupted into further gun fire as Sonny's goons opened up on the Colombians crowding the bank from their boats. The Colombians caught in the open were slaughtered, as those at the back dove into the nearest cover. A fierce gunfight ensued. Sonny's goons acting as bait gunned their boats out into the open waters, chased by the Colombians who finally had a target for their aggression. Three boats charged out from the docks chasing Sonny's goons into the night. 


Sonny approached the largest building in the compound, kicking the door in with his pistol drawn. Patrick waited within, grabbing the nearest prostitute he used her as a human shield. Patrick looked like shit, he'd aged badly in the decade or so since Sonny had last seen him. He'd gained a massive amount of weight, nearly as heavy as the bags under his eyes. His hair was thinning, and his fat jowls had whiskers where he'd neglected to shave. This man at odds with the Patrick Sonny once knew, a man who had kept his appearance immaculate and his body tight. 


"Sonny my old friend, what a surprise to see you here," Patrick joked, trying to hide anxiety, but Sonny could see the way the gun wavered in his hand.


Sonny responded by firing three shots towards Patrick's head. Patrick ducked and the prostitute in his arms managed to wiggle free before fleeing from the building. Patrick fired a shot which glanced Sonny's arm, Sonny felt the familiar sting as he charged towards his mark. He wrestled the gun out of Patrick's hands and threw it to the ground. Smashing his head into Patrick's nose he was satisfied to the break of the nose. Driving his knee into Patrick's rounded gut Sonny drove the wind from his body. Pulling the bowie knife from his belt Sonny drove the blade into Patrick's shoulder pinning him to the wooden floor.


"Where the fuck is the money," Sonny demanded pushing the blade further into Patrick's shoulder.


"Over there," Patrick blurted out, "You broke my fucking nose you motherfucker," he moaned.


Sonny cracked his elbow into Patrick's face and searched where he had pointed. Pulling the heavy duffel bag out from behind the desk he quickly checked the contents. A guard rushed into the building, shouting out at alarm as he saw his boss struggling on the floor. Sonny reached for his Colt 1911 and put two rounds in his chest. Retrieving bricks of cocaine he found stashed behind the desk Sonny added them to the cash the Colombians had dare steal from him. Walking up to Patrick he removed the knife and turned to his old friend.


"You can't trust anyone now a days, so much for the old days. I'll miss you my friend," he spoke in a hurry.


Patrick tried to cry out as Sonny put a bullet in his skull. Sonny sighed to himself and quickly made his escape. Racing towards the fence line he threw his heavy duffel bag over and clambered over himself. Retrieving the bag he raced back into the everglades towards his parked car. 


Back at the warehouse Sonny gathered the cargo they had stolen. He split it equally between the remaining mobsters, each getting their cut for their hard work. Lastly Sonny added a stack of cocaine bricks to his share. Giving the order the men doused the abandoned warehouse in gasoline and lit it on fire as they raced into the night all richer for their efforts. It had been a long night and Sonny would be glad to rest back in his hotel. 

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Having settled his score Sonny drove slowly towards Vito's beachfront property and parked up his car. He had asked for a sit down with the local Dons and Godfathers, being a made man it paid to show respect. The house was well guarded, Sonny was patted down and his trusty Colt 1911 pistol was removed from its shoulder holster. He was ushered inside and led down long marble corridors adorned with expensive artwork, lit  by expensive chandeliers. The well dressed mobster in front of him opened the door and indicated Sonny should go inside. 


Entering the well furnished backroom Sonny was sat down on one of the leather chairs which surrounded the large oak circular table at the rooms center. Sonny nodded at Vito, one of the Don's sitting about the table. The others Vito introduced as the Dons and Godfathers who controlled Miami. Sonny asked for the duffel bag he had brought with him to be left on the table. Knowing the Dons and Godfathers would not want to dirty their hands, he had made quick sales about the city exchanging the bricks of cocaine for stacks of cash. 


"I leave you this tribute as thanks for your hospitality," smiled Sonny. 


The Dons and Godfathers nodded, the keener ones opening the folds of the duffel bag to inspect the stacks of cash within.


"Vito kept us informed of your progress, we're glad to be rid of that Irish bastard and his Colombian henchmen," responded the ageing Godfather Chairman that Vito had introduced as Godfather Messina.


"Send our regards to your Godfather," nodded another Don Marino.


With Sonny's business concluded he kissed each of the highly respect men's finger rings before making his exit. Vito followed him out demanding he contact him should he ever visit again.


Sonny fired up the engine of his car and sped off towards the airport, his flight back to Vegas already booked. 




Sonny arrived just after dark. Leaving his wheels in the car park he walked towards the terminal. Before he could enter he was grabbed from behind and man handled into the back of a waiting car. Sonny struggled against the rough hands that held him in place. Bundled into the back seat he was met by a familiar face. Sonny instantly recognized the man, it was the police officer he'd seen raiding the safe house back in Chicago. Swearing to himself, Sonny knew his chances were slim. He relaxed from his struggles and felt the dark dressed man next him to loosen his grip. Stealing his chance Sonny smashed his elbow into the man's gut and wrestled the gun from the man's hand. Turning it round he put a bullet in the man's stomach and dived out the car as it tried to speed away. Rushing towards the terminal he retrieved his dropped suitcase and duffel bag and charged into the airport disappearing among the crowd. 


Passing the waiting attendant a wad of cash, Sonny charged into the departures lounge. His flight having long boarded he barely made it to the gate in time. Stowing his bags in the overhead compartment he sat by the window and kept his eyes on the terminal. The man from the car came charging into the terminal with police officers following him. They demanded for the plane to stop but it was already on the runway about to make its exit. Sonny sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow.


Following take off Sonny ordered himself a whisky and lit himself a smoke. He would be glad to be back in Las Vegas.

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