The man looked like the kind of guy who served you pizza with plenty of anchovies. The suit he wore looked like an after thought. Not so with Al, the suit was his first thought. Still, the bum had just delivered over 25 G's in an envelope. Inside were two more things. A letter, some friend of his old man had died. He remembered the guy, not for who he was, but for what he drove. The second item was a key. Yeah, he remembered that car alright, it was a bad ass ford. He also remembered his father saying he had more in common with, what's his name, than his own father. Who knew, his mother was a real looker by most accounts. Maybe this guy had known. It probably didn't matter one way or another, he was dead and Al_Anastasia gets 25 large and a car.

He hopped a flight to Philly hoping to get some shut eye. But it seemed like the moment he shut his eyes they were there. Trying to find a room proved impossible. The only place was boarded up and oddly enough it appeared to have had a monopoly on rooms for the entire city. Al couldn't help but wonder if that would make a man a fortune, or strangle the life out of a city.

He decided to walk to the address, it was only down the street a couple dozen blocks. The landscape was deserted, a war zone without the war. Warehouses that used to be filled with goods and union workers now sat mute. Docks idle. Hell the only business he could see was cops and lone hustlers. He remembered this guy used to tell his old man stories about New Orleans, must have been a place like this in those days.

He neared the warehouse and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area. This would be as good a place as any to try and take him out. On the way to Philly he had learned that the inheritance he received had come with more than cash and a car. In the bars and coffeehouses he had visited, he had met hostility, indifference, and outright hatred. Some fool even tried to pull a tommygun on him. Actions and words calculated to intimidate or infuriate instead helped to solidify him and made it easier to understand who he was.

He strode up to the large doors unaccosted and peered in. There they were. Two cars sitting under tarps. He walked over to one and pulled off the cover. Underneath was a dusty ford. The key was in the ignition. Al leaned over and turned it, nothing. Dead battery. Dust covered the entire car. It has sat for some time unused by whoever owned it. Al remembered the story but not the names. He pulled the tarp off the second car. It was spotless, the car had been stripped and refinished with chrome and red paint. Obviously the engine had been reworked. Al took out the key and leaned over the car. The ignition turned and the car lept into life. He walked around the the front of the automobile saw a personalized plate bolted there.

Deuce

Hmm, he would change that soon enough. He looked over and found a cabinet with jumper cables and some paint. He jumped started the other ford and let it run to charge it's own battery. The tank was full. He topped off his own car from a couple cans laying around. Finding a board he painted a sign and set it on the seat of the dusty, stripped ford.

Rourke

Jumping into his new car, Al turned her around and drove out of the building and into the streets.