The Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn made a full stop in front of Michael. He had been waiting for a little under 10 minutes. The chauffeur of the car came out of the driver’s seat to open the back right door, but Michael slid a few 100s in his jacket pocket, patting it twice while tightening the chauffeur’s tie, kindly letting him know that the pleasure would be all his. When Michael opened the door he held his hand out to assist his friend from the British made car. Out came a dashing strawberry blonde female. She wore a black lace flamenco-style Coco Chanel dress, accompanied by a pair of two-tone slingback heels; heels no one had ever seen yet. It was a gift from Coco Chanel herself and would hit the market in a couple years. 

“You look stunning tonight, Sydney.”

“I’ve seen you look better Mickey.”

They both laughed. Sydney was a great friend of Michael’s. Upon entering the restaurant, they were greeted by Pasquale Scognamillo. He was the owner of Patsy’s, the infamous Italian restaurant located on West 56th Street. Michael’s father had been a childhood friend of the chef, and gave him the money to start up the restaurant in the 1940s. Pasquale seen Michael grow up like he was one of his own.

“Michael! It’s so nice to see you my boy! And I see you brought your beautiful friend with you. Sydney, it’s so good to see you again. The others are in the back waiting.”

The duo made their way to the back of the restaurant and into a red door. A square marble table sat in the middle of the secret room. This room was reserved for members only and had seen its fair share of history. Two decks of unopened cards were on the table along with two buckets of ice and champagne. Michael pulled a chair from the table allowing Sydney to sit before he made his way to his own chair. He removed his black tuxedo jacket, placing it on the back of his chair before sitting. He sat adjacent to Sydney. In the other two seats were members of New York’s criminal underworld as well. They were both members of Richard’s crew, but that was the thing about the city that never sleeps. It was like one big extended family that was only separated by bridges and water. Octavius opened a pack of cards and removed the 2 jokers from the deck. Tonight was the weekly Spades game. $500,000 each seat. First team to 7 games won takes the pot. But the time wasn’t only used to play card games. This is where members of New York also met up to discuss their next organized crimes. Octavius was the first one to break the silence.

“Word on road is there will be a truck transporting some rare goods. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be but apparently Matty was drooling at the mouth when he told Richard about it.”

Octavius picked up his cards and started organizing his hand, as did the other players at the table.

“I didn’t really care to ask what it was once Richard told me how much we’d be scoring from the job… Hey Zephyra, I have 3 books, how many do you have?”

“I have 3 too”

“We’ll go 6. So anyways, I tell one of my guys down at the truck stop to be the eye in the sky for me. No problem. Sydney should be calling you when we’re ready. Make sure you’re glued to your landline like white on rice. We need you there… if anything goes wrong it’ll be your ass on a shish kabob stick.”

RRNNNNGG! RNNNNGGGG!!

Michael picked up the phone without saying anything. It was a habit he developed throughout the years of stardom. Prank calls from crazy fans who found ways to get his landline was a frequent thing. All he could hear on the other end of the phone was some sort of heavy breathing. Then the phone was hung up from the other end. It was Sydney. This was the signal.

East New York, Brooklyn was known to have a lot of trucking stops. If there was one thing that truck drivers loved, it was hookers. Those long hours driving routes meant no time for family, and a man with a lot of cash but no time had a problem spending it. That was Steve’s problem. Instead of indulging on his own time, Steve loved to shop for candy on the company’s time. That meant frequent dates in whatever truck he had on his route. Steve made a right down Pennsylvania Avenue, and his eyes almost fell out of his head. Walking across the street was a blond in red lace, black high pump heels, and all the curves to run a Daytona 500. He pulled up to the curb and waited for her to get into the truck. 

“That’ll be $100.”

The truck driver smiled and gave the money to Sydney. He drove a few blocks until she told him to make a right into a dark alley she was familiar with. He turned the truck off and started unbuckling his pants but when he looked to his right, Sydney was already holding her handgun to his face. BANG! Blood and brains splattered everywhere. BANG! The second one was for good luck.

Zephyra and Michael emerged from the bushes. They ran to the back of the truck. 16 minutes. That’s how long they had to unload the cargo from the truck and into the van that Octavius had just pulled up in. Michael cut the lock off the tailgate and lifted the door eager to see the cargo when suddenly you could hear Zephyra screaming.

“Are you fucking serious?! Cottage cheese?!?! COTTAGE CHEESE?!”

Octavius and Sydney busted out laughing. It didn’t take long to load the van, and before you know it the gang had fled the scene. Legend has it that Zephyra is still screaming ‘cottage cheese’ till this day.

The ride back from Brooklyn to Queens was quicker than usual. In the city that never sleeps, you were bound to find cars on the street at any time. But not tonight. Tonight it was unusually quiet. Not a car. Not a person. Not even a mouse. Zephyra was behind the wheel and Frank Sinatra was on the stereo. This was enough to make the pretty boy of Queens doze off in the passenger seat. Instead of opening his eyes to the luxurious condo that the record label had gotten him, he was awoken by tapping noises on the window and bright flashlights in his face.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.”

Michael’s mouth was dry and his vision was distorted. What the fuck was actually going on? As he stepped out of the vehicle he seen Z on the side, palms planted face down on the car with her legs more than shoulder width apart. The last thing Michael remembered before closing his eyes was dropping Octavius and Sydney off to their respective cars. All of this for some… cottage cheese? The first officer squinted hard.

“Hey, ain’t you that famous crooner? Tonight must be our lucky night. A world class musician, and a real wise ass. Hands on the vehicle and spread your feet shoulder width.”

The second officer made their way to the car. A female. The badge on her uniform read ‘Crotty’. She had gloves on as she approached Zephyra.

“You’re right about the wise ass. This one’s name is Zephyra. Hot shot with the big case against the Upper Management Union. They all make me sick but I especially hate her kind. Thinks she’s above the law. Ok, surfboard body. Don’t move as I frisk you.”

The officer was quick with Z. Acting as if she had cooties.

“Ok pretty boy. Don’t move.”

Instead of patting him down the female officer went straight for his crotch. She took her time. At this point she was basically giving him a good ol’ spit and shine. Hopefully they’d be on their merry way soon since the male officer was busy going through the merchandise. I mean, it was only cottage cheese right?

Wrong. Apparently the cottage cheese containers were a decoy. Everything happened so fast and had Mickey knew what was at risk, he’d probably settle for a shootout. The interrogation room was cold and if another hour went by he wouldn’t mind biting his tongue off to take his own life. The door swung open and a female walked in. She held a thick envelope closely to her chest as she walked to her side of the table. Instead of taking a seat she stood behind the chair. A piercing look shot through Michael’s soul.

“I’ll get straight to the point. You’ve been linked to 33 crimes. Pictures. Logs. Blueprints. Percentages. Accomplice names. We have everything.”

The lady with no name dumped the folder onto the table. Sure enough everything was there. How could this be? The New York crime scene ran a close knit operation. Not even Michael himself had met everyone. Someone had to have ratted them out. Octavius? Zephyra? Maybe Sydney? Impossible.

“We’ve been watching you for some time. The good news is, we don’t want you. Things aren’t looking too good for you. There’s enough clear cut evidence to put you away for three generations, but we’re willing to make a deal with you. If you agree to wear a wire and lead us to the head of the operation, we’ll set you free. We’ll provide you with every and anything you need. Full immunity and witness protection. However, the deal only stands if you take it right now. Once you leave this room without agreeing to our terms, you can kiss your freedom goodbye.”

There would be no more threesomes. No more late nights at the gentleman’s club. And the press? They would be all over it. This would headline the papers for months to come. The endorsements were definitely out the window as well. But what was Michael supposed to do? Go out like some shmuck? His dignity. His family’s legacy. The camaraderie. These were all more important than freedom on a leash.

“Fuck you. I’d like my lawyer.”

The lady smirked.

“Have it your way, pal.”

She took the cuffs off her waist and motioned for him to stand up with his hands behind his back. She took him out of the interrogation room and they made their way to the back of the precinct, but instead of going into the bullpen they were going into another room. Michael lifted his chin high. There would be no option of life in prison. This was the end. He had heard all too well about the gangsters who met their demise to the hands of police. He’d be another statistic. The room was dark and quiet. The lady turned on the light and to Michael’s surprise there were other people in the room. In fact there were familiar faces, and faces he had not seen before.

“Thank you, Norella. More importantly, thank you Michael. My name is Matthew Snuffleupahus. My friends call me Matty for short. Here next to me is Richard Harrow. The others you know already. The lady in the interrogation with you is Don Norella. As she mentioned, we’ve been watching you. You’ve contributed greatly to the city of New York. And tonight? You cemented yourself as a true member of the underground world. Most people would’ve caved. Not you. Had you caved, it would be a completely different outcome. As you can see the reach is far and long. Hopefully it doesn’t have to be used against your favor, and rather in your favor. I’ll cut the speech short. Welcome to New York. Congratulations on becoming a button man.”