He sat in the passenger seat of of the black Lincoln Coupe, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth blankly staring at the dash in front of him.  His knee bounced up and down rapidly as it had been for the past half hour, he knew it but just couldn't help it.  The thought of driving in the city was always quite off-putting.  All the traffic and people walking into the street like they have some sort of death wish.  The only time he could remember enjoying driving was when he was young at his parents farm, he would sneak out with the girl from across the road and cruise down the empty roads with a pack of Lucky Strike he had stolen from his mother.  His Dad wasn't naive or a heavy sleeper, but had only asked that they stayed safe.  He looked down towards the Colt 1911 in his hands, his Dad's.  The once black matte finish had deteriorated to something resembling brushed metal.  Despite it's faded and rough surface, his father had put meticulous detail into maintaining it even after he had gotten home from the War.  

Long nights spent in the basement at a work bench with Dad learning to replace springs, clean, and great emphasis on keeping it lubricated.  It was probably in better shape now than it had been when it was issued, and it had never let him down.  Never one for personal touches, he smiled looking at the bare chested woman covering the grip of the pistol, "Lady Luck."  His father wouldn't have approved of his lifestyle now, but maybe if he wouldn't have caught that pneumonia and died he wouldn't have ended up like this.  

Then he felt it.  That empty feeling in his chest that he had felt every day since his Dad had gone.  Sometimes he felt as if he'd placed a shotgun to his chest and continued on living - it felt so real that he could put his hand through it.  Although he tried to never think on it, the memories of sitting next to his father in the military hospital holding his once strong and rough hands, now frail and weak.  The relationship he felt with his father was all that he could have hoped for, although they just weren't the type to put that love into words.  As his father lie there in his final moments, "Son...I love you" were his final words.  For the first time since learning to ride his bike and falling bloodying his hands and knees, he cried at his father's side.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder he snapped out of his thoughts.  One of the boys in the back seat added "Boss, he's here."  Quickly tucking the gun into his waistband he steps from the car briskly walking towards the alley the two figures entered.  As he pushes into the entrance of the alley, the disturbance causes the piece of shit he's been looking for to look his way.  The punk manages to mutter "Pal what the fuck do you w-..."

Before this lowlife's brain was able to finish processing the sentence, a small flash and a loud crack had left most of it on the wall behind.  As he holsters the gun once again he says to the limp corpse on the ground, "I'm not in the fucking mood."  Putting his hands on his hips he lets out a deep breath staring up into the sky, the gunshot hadn't disrupted the otherwise peaceful noise as now the only thing he could hear was a slight ringing in his ears.  Reaching into his overcoat he pulls a cigarette from it putting it in his mouth and lighting it with his father's Zippo.  Looking down at the body once again he blows out a plume of smoke and kicks it as hard as he can.  "You wanna sell drugs in my neighborhood you fucking shmuck?  Huh?  Well tell me how much good that did you?"  All the while, the second figure has stood unmoving and silent a few steps behind him.

Turning around he faces the junkie who was trying to score.  A female, probably in her low twenties, who might actually be quite beautiful cleaned up, but her greasy hair and dirty clothes told a different story.  "C'mere sweetheart," he says reaching out for her hands, which were trembling from withdrawal or fear, maybe both.  Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a bag of heroin worth multitudes of whatever she was planning on buying and put it in her hand.  As she quietly stared at her hand he said, "Johnny, take her to Shirley's joint and make sure she takes care of her."  One of his men came over leading the girl over to the Lincoln and opened the door motioning her in.  The girl paused before getting in, looking back over towards him for a brief moment before slipping into the car and the door closing behind her.

His mother was a junkie and he had hated her for it.  After Dad was gone she was too busy getting fucked up to take care of her kids.  Before that she did help as a nurse for the church and at a women's shelter, and he felt obligated to continue that for her even though he despised her.  He remembered calling a meeting with his boys and very clearly explaining to them all that if they touched any of the girls in that house he would personally put a bullet in the back of their heads.  

"Boss...we should probably leave."  Once again he was getting wound up in his head.  He said, "Yeah Frank, let's go.  Man I have got to stop thinking about my old man, just upsets me and then I got no choice but the blow this cocksuckers brains out.  How else am I supposed to feel better?"  Frank nodded in agreement, "That's alright Boss."  For the first time that night he laughed, "Frank I appreciate you telling me that, but we both know that shit I just did was not 'alright.'  You are sick in the head Frank, but that's why I like you."  Frank cracked a smile and they both laughed one arm wrapped around the other away from the pool of blood forming under the thug's body.

"So where do you want to go now Boss?"  He looked at Frank incredulously, "Frank where the fuck else do we go?"  Frank nodded, "The casino then Boss?"  He lit another cigarette and began to bounce his leg again out of habit, "Yes Frank the fucking casino, c'mon let's get a move on."

The sound of the car starting broke through the silence of the night and they slowly pulled away from the curb towards their destination.

Life was hard and sometime you just wanted to escape what is known as life. The past 3 months that's all she wished to do, sit back and juice up with her best friend known only as heroin. Whether it would be scrapping change from the numerous jobs she attempted to hold down or begging for cash on the streets she would find the money needed for her next fix.
 
It's been a couple days since her last fix and she is beginning to feel the sweats and shakes from withdraws of not being with her best friend. She travels to meet her regular dealer inside of an alley not too far from the local casino. Walking past the front of the casino she bumps into a young attractive man on his way into the casino "Buzz off bitch, Don't you have some place to die?" the man insults her before shoving her off and opening the doors into his own kind of addiction.
 
Arriving at the alley Kirisaki follows her dealer into the alley neither of them seeing the black coupe pulling up to the street, Well before the deal hits off the sounds of foot steps entering the alley catch both of their attentions " Pal what the fuck do you w-..." her dealer manages to mutter before a flash of light and a loud bang that shocks her to her very core "Oh no, I am going to die here" she panics internally frozen in fear staring at the killer that just shot the man next to her. Just when she thought it was all over she opens her eyes to see not a gun but the oddly kind looking eyes of the murderer staring at her   "C'mere sweetheart,"  he tells her while aiding her, terrified she willingly lets herself be passed off to his friend who is taking her to a place to sort her out. Entering the vehicle she tightly grasps the large amount of heroin the murderer had slipped to her. She smiles if for the moment she's reunited with her long lost friend.

"Buzz off bitch, Don't you have some place to die?". 

I stopped dead in my tracks. For two reasons, really. Déjà vu... "I recognize that bitch from somewhere" I muttered under my breath, whilst craning my neck trying to get a better look at her... so vaguely familiar, maybe I knew her in a past life... or a parallel universe or something. Eh, who am I kidding. Nobody believes that shit.

Secondly, though, I've never really been one to lash out at strangers like that, but I've just had the worst luck lately. Seriously, what the fuck am I doing here again? I just pissed my last $1,000 here last night.

"Oh fuck it, here we go again." I thought to myself, clutching today's hustle firmly in my jacket pocket as I made my way towards the dice table.

$5 tops baby. Time to win it all back.

House announces "You won $10.00!" That's the stuff, time to get settled in. After all, you're always bound to meet some interesting characters at the dice table. Lets see where tonight takes me.