So I found myself being boxed up in some crate in the middle of Jersey. How the fuck did it ever come to this? Let me take you back a couple hours...

"Yeah Johnny it's me, Gooch. Who the fuck did you think it is you clown? We all set for tonight's meet?"

Johnny was one of the boys from up town. Owned this neat pizza joint that we used as a front for storing crates of Canadian Club Whiskey. He was a good guy, was good at keeping things organised but more importantly he kept his mouth shut. That was a rare quality these days. He'd been my friend for a few years now, and he was the one that introduced me to Don Shaw.

See I was an associate to The Golden Bough. Outstanding bunch of guys that would break their back for you. I hadn't been with them long, but I knew enough to know I'd take a bullet for them if I had to. Would it ever come to that? Time would tell I guess.

So Johnny and I was supposed to be meeting these Cuban's up in Jersey tonight. A simple meet where we could discuss protection money on behalf of Las Vegas.  We'd been up there a few times before but there had been a bit of heat between the two families for some time now. Better to bring my pistol with me just in case. Who knows what these fucking Cuban's had on their minds eh?

It gets to 9pm and Johnny rolls up outside my house in his flashy Cadillac. I shook my head as I leave the front door and make for the car. Once I'm inside he looks at me and throws me a smile, tells me not to worry. How the fuck can I not worry.

"Eyo, Johnny, we're supposed to be inconspicuous; know what I mean? I told you not to bring the Cadi. Never mind, we're running late as it is. Let's get there yeah?" 

It took us a few hours but we finally arrived. Naturally we could've took the plane or train but it was better to drive in case we needed a quick escape out of the city. Things tended to get pretty heated in meets like this. Past experiences would back that up.

Johnny pulls up next to the diner, and we go inside. The Cuban's was in the usual corner booth - puffing on cigars and chatting to one another. They had brought a few extra goons this month. No biggie, just looking after their own. I can respect that. I look at Johnny, and we made the appropriate exchanges with them then we take our seats.

"Good to see you again, Don Pablo. Don Kharon sends regards. Let's get down to business."

We had been talking for what seemed like hours and it was starting to get pretty dark outside. We needed to be heading back or at least finding a motel for the night. That's when it happened. Things took a turn for the worse and the Don seemed to lose his composure. Fucking snapped like a wife that found out her husband had been cheating on her, fucking crazy broad.

Next thing I knew, Johnny had been shot in face and the words "Fuck Don Kharon" was being spat at me. A sack went over my head and shortly after I was tossed out of the car in the middle of some fucking warehouse. I had no idea where I was. But I knew I had to sweet talk my way out of this one.

"Look whatever you think is going on - we can fix this. Let me go back to Vegas, speak with the Don. I'll get things straightened out. Whadda'ya say fellas eh? Let's work this out like good fellas."

He tells me I'll be going back to Vegas, but not on my own accord. I got the stuffing beat outta me, and packed into a crate, the words FUCK VEGAS etched onto my forehead. Blood was pouring from all over my body, and I could hear myself being loaded into a truck. At least I was going home...