_Time: 11:30am, April 21st, 1951.
Location: The Boss’s Hotel Room._


He was a big man. His lavish lifestyle showed only through his slightly pudgy stomach; but he didn't seem at all the excessive type. He had a serious face, a strong, defined jaw and hair shaved close to his head. A pair of deep-set blue eyes poked out from underneath a black fedora; the kind of eyes that a person doesn't forget. He looked back at me with those eyes and frowned. "Johnston,"
He revealed a cigarette pack and a zippo lighter with deliberate slowness. His strong hands gently extracted a single stoge and lit it up. He was silent for a moment, getting to know his smoke, looking off into an imaginary distance.
I sat there, stunned. This man had always thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors I'd never even dreamt about. I was terrified of him, but his relaxed demeanor was something that kept me coming back to him. It consumed me, made me wonder what could've ever changed a man like that. Taking the final drag off his cigarette and discarding it over the balcony, he turned back to face me.
"It's Amanda's birthday today."
His words were forced, stricken with some sort of raw but subdued pain. I wondered briefly, but the realization soon hit me like a bullet.
Amanda.
Around here, people don't say the Boss's daughter's name out loud; hell, as far as her daddy was concerned, we hardly had the right to lick the ground she stepped on. Beautiful, voluptuous, curvy, and with that hair that was just long enough to be sexy but was also short enough to prove she was also probably a lot smarter than you, Amanda was fine; probably the finest in town. If a man looked at her the wrong way, her father would have the f*er’s arm broken in two before he even had a chance to whistle at her. She was his pride and joy. When she laughed, the boss's eyes would light up.
He'd never forget Amanda. But, somehow, I had forgotten her.
I wondered again, staring blankly as I drowned in my own mind.
My thoughts were interrupted by the Boss's booming voice, "The car picks us up in an hour." He shot a condescending look at my clothes, "And put something else on. Christ, man."
He walked away, planting heavy footsteps on the suspended metal floor. The sliding glass door slammed behind him.
I glanced down at my feet for a moment, ashamed to see my slippers covering them. My gaze found the clock and my shame sank to a whole new level.
It was nearly noon, but my hangover prevented me from really caring all too much. I walked inside the hotel and started to make my way towards the door.
"Johnston."
I whipped around just in time to catch a black tie and some bullets.
"Keep your eyes open." He lit up again, "Oh, and there's a business meeting later. Roselli's place."
I nodded in understanding, though I felt my stomach twist into a knot.
Twisting the doorknob slowly, I hesitated before I pushed the door open. I stole a look back at the Boss, who had just collapsed into his leather recliner, messing around with his jacket-- or perhaps something in it.
I frowned, but spoke with a casual voice, "Sir, may I ask if you've discovered something new about..." I bit my lip, hesitated, but continued nonetheless, "that accident?"
He threw his pensive gaze lazily over me, "Whose accident? Amanda's?"
He snorted, exhaling clouds of smoke from his nostrils. It was a masochistic laugh, filled with twisted pleasure.
"It wasn't an accident."
He put his cigarette in the ashtray but didn't extinguish the cherry. The tension in the air prickled my skin, and I'd suddenly felt as if I'd spent too much time in the Boss's room. I left without another word, practically slamming the door behind me.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 11:37am, April 21st 1951.
Location: Hotel Hallway_


Walking back towards my room, I felt tense. I gripped the items in my hands, my knuckles turning white. How was it not an accident? I thought about how it happened, and it suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t know anything about it at all.
Approaching my door, I fumbled around in my jacket, looking for the key to my room. After a few seconds of sorting through the various contents of my oversized pocket, I found my keys and turned the lock, pushing open the door to the hotel room that I called home.
The Boss owned the hotel and most of the people living in it. He was notorious for just about everything. Well known, obviously, but he wasn’t really a likeable guy; at least by the city’s standards. He couldn’t go downtown without getting stared at like he’d just hopped off a circus train. However, he never seemed to worry about what people thought, especially strangers. The thing about us, is that, though we live differently, we stick together. Family is everything we’ve got.
I caught a whiff of my hangover musk, and gagged. I decided to shower, since Amanda’s service was apparently black tie.
Taking off my shirt, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror across the room.. I turned my head to take a short look: I saw the same dorky glasses I’d had for as long as I could remember and the same smile that had won the award for ‘Best Smile’ my Junior year. I thought back to my life before I got involved with the family business… Those were simpler times.
The water was cold when I turned it on. It was refreshing, but my head was still bothering me. I washed myself, shut off the water, and quickly dried off, spending a little less than six minutes in the shower. I was always rather conservative like that.
Still drying my hair, I opened a cabinet, grabbed a bottle of aspirin and took three straight. There were so many things wrong with me, and I felt beyond stressed. The tie that the boss gave me laid abandoned on the floor. I started at it and made a face, wondering what the Boss thought could’ve really happened to Amanda. Especially since, if it wasn’t an accident, then it would have to be a threat.
I mentally slapped myself.
Nobody threatened us; this was our town, our turf. But the fact that the -- murder -- happened on our own soil was even more unsettling. Somebody meant business, but the problem was, the Boss had no idea who that was. I rubbed my temples with my fingers, my brain obviously racked with too many thoughts for one guy. I hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.
The clock now said 11:58, which meant I had very little time to get my ass in gear. I dressed quickly, having to unbutton and re-button my shirt once because of my clumsy fingers.
The black tie was itchy when I tied it around my neck. Adjusting it in the mirror, I made all sorts of faces because there was nothing I could do to make it look any better. It had a funny shape and felt like it was made out of poison ivy and fire ants. The Boss must’ve done it on purpose.
Sometimes I purely hated him.
I hurried back to his room, snatching a rose from a vase in the hallway. I wondered if Amanda would’ve even wanted flowers at her funeral because she was never the girly type, but I figured she’d appreciate the gesture.
Sniffing it once, I knocked on the Boss’s door, and, in seconds, he emerged, looking solemn as ever, with a giant bouquet in his hands. He thrust the absurd amount of flowers into my arms, “Hold those for me; they’re Amanda’s favorite. Daisies.”
For the first time that day, my stomach flipped itself over, and I soon found myself happy I hadn’t found time for breakfast. I’d never hear Amanda laugh again, or ever see her gorgeous smile. I wasn’t sure what to think. Several memories rushed into my mind, but I pushed them aside, angry at myself for handling this so poorly. The impact of the reality was a little much for me to accept, and I gasped for air for what felt like an eternal instant.
She was dead. That was a fact.
The Boss faked a smile, “Get moving, lardass. We don’t have all day.”
He gently shoved me to get me going, but I didn’t say anything about it. The car was waiting for us outside, and we spent the first ten minutes of the drive in complete silence.
We were both thinking about Amanda, except maybe the Boss, who was thinking about lynching the poor bastard that killed his daughter. I glanced at him; his lips were set in a hard line and he looked as if he was on the verge of tears, but he was too proud to cry.
The sun from the window was bothering me, so I shaded my eyes with my hand. I wondered how I managed to drink so much last night---
Suddenly, I was reminded of the cruel facts and those haunting memories came back to me again. Trying to think about anything else, I attempted some small talk.
“It’s a beautiful day, Boss.”
He looked apathetically back at me, shooting a single, quick glance out the window,
“So it is,” he mumbled.
“Is Roselli gonna be there? What about Mulaine?”
“Everybody’s going.” He replied bluntly, shutting down the conversation more quickly than it had even started.
I directed my eyes back out my window, sorry for saying anything in the first place.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 12:20pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Church Lot_

As the church pulled into view, I saw the boss extract his cigarette pack once again, “Care for a smoke, Johnston?”
He offered me the half-full pack.
I nodded, thanking him and picking a cigarette from the bunch. He lit up and then handed me the lighter, a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth. I struck the flint and inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar bitterness of the first stoge of the day.
He opened the car door and stepped out. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs to enjoy his cigarette, I joined him. We smoked in silence as I watched the wind carry the gray ghosts away. I wondered if it was really our pain and stress that the wind was whisking away; but I knew that was crazy and that we were just taking years off of our lives. I liked the risk, it made me feel less purposeless.
After the smokes were gone, we walked up the stairs toward the wooden doors of the church. I looked at the immense stained glass windows in front of me and let a quiet sigh escape my lips.
I was going to a funeral for a girl I had heard laugh only a couple weeks ago. Funerals were eerie anyway, they’d always given me the creeps. Who wants to make himself more sad by looking at the corpse of a person he loved when they were alive? It never made sense to me, even as a child. But the Boss needed the support, or maybe I was just worried that he’d blow my brains out if I didn’t show up.
Whatever the reason, I was at her funeral that day.
The moment we entered, I was separated from the Boss by a crowd of people.
“Sorry for your loss.”
“She’s in a better place.”
The consultations went on even after I tore away as fast as my feet would carry me.
I collapsed into an empty pew. Breathing heavily, I wished I had just stayed home and slept.
What morbid things to say. What a morbid thing to attend.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 1:50pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Church Doors_


The service wasn’t over, but I remember leaving the church early to go outside with a couple close friends to smoke again. All the heaviness in the air had me on edge, and the smoke calmed my nerves. It made me forget everything that was going wrong.
We heard the church’s clock strike two and soon people were pouring out of the little building. Roselli and the Boss walked out together, talking in quiet voices.
“-- but what if it’s not?”
“We can’t afford anymore if’s, Lucky. If this was what I think it is, then we all have to start watching our backs.” He frowned and sighed, “I just can’t trust anybody, and that includes you.” He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder in an apologetic way, “I’ll explain everything at the meeting tonight. Is Marlana cooking?”
Roselli nodded, “Of course, steak and potatoes…. Am-”
“Amanda’s favorite. Thank you.”
They shook hands and went their separate ways.
The Boss walked over to me,
“Johnston.”
“Sir?”
“There’s a rat in the family.”
Suddenly I was drained of all the energy I had left. My head felt light and my knees started to shake underneath me.
A rat.
I thought about everyone, and how nobody seemed to be the kind to murder one of their own in cold blood. But, then again, what did I know anymore? I looked back at him, feeling as if I’d vomit.
“What do we do then?”
“We find the f*er, beat him senseless, then skin him alive and eat him for dinner with some god damn potatoes.”
He spit on the ground and looked at me, his eyes blazing, furious. I looked back at him, as I couldn’t tell for certain what his expression meant; though it held no hint of doubt whatsoever.
“We’ll find him, Sir.”
“I know.” He said, walking back toward the car.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 3:15pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Ace Johnston’s Hotel Room_

I spent the rest of the day getting wasted in my room. But after the first two bottles of gin, wallowing in my self-pity got a little old.
I took another shot, swished it around in my mouth, and savored the taste of the alcohol burning my throat. Still forcing the gin down, I wiped my lips with my sleeve; the motion was far from graceful, and almost appeared as if I had forced myself to do it. My head was pounding, and I felt as if needed to sit down.
My notebook sat on the table, collecting dust.
I hadn’t written in weeks, as my depression left me lacking inspiration. Besides, the only thing I had ever written about was love… well, the girl I loved. I shook my head vigorously, trying to stop the memories from flooding back. I picked up the notebook in front of me and flipped to a marked page.
My heart sank to my toes when I read a passage scribbled across the lined paper. Tears threatened to fall, but I blinked them back. I threw the damned thing back onto the table with a loud thud and desperately glanced at my surroundings, searching for a pen. My eyes found one laying next to the phone, and I stumbled over to it, picking it up with clumsy, drunken hands.
Sitting back down at the table, I stopped holding back the tears.
She had been my muse, my partner in crime, and, even though our relationship had ended, I still loved her.
I hated myself for it.
A familiar burst of inspiration came over me and I soon found the tip of the pen knowingly sliding across the pages, leaving a string of black letters behind it.
My hand came to a stop at the bottom of the page.
I poured over what I had written. My hands tangled in my hair as I slipped further into an intoxicated prison. I searched my room, for anything. But all I saw was discarded bottles and scattered cigarette butts. I tore my poem out of the book and walked into the bathroom.
I began to talk to nobody in particular, “You know, I always thought you were trouble.” I hiccuped, staring at my red-faced reflection. “Look at you.”
I swung my arm, bottle in hand, in a gesture to address the man I saw in the mirror. “F*ing Pathetic. Wasted. You, Drunk!” I threw the bottle at the mirror, hearing glass shatter. Unsure if it was the bottle or the mirror, I soon realized that I didn’t give a s***.
“F*** you!” I screamed. “It’s no wonder Amanda left you!”
I collapsed to the ground, crumping the piece of paper into a ball with my hand. I whimpered before I straightened it out, and cleared my throat,
“But you’ve always got your lined paper, dontcha, Johnston? You’ve got your lined paper to say what you can’t say.”
I hugged the poem to my chest before I began to read,
“Amanda. Two Days Gone.
I woke up today
Didn’t know where I was,
I tried to think about
what had happened.
But all I knew
was that I was two days gone.
There are bottles on the
floor and roaches in
the ashtray.
how much did I drink?
I woke up today,
Didn’t know where you went.
Saw your note on the table,
I tried to remember
what I did
to make you leave.
My room reeks of cigarettes,
And you’re two days gone.”
I coughed, hiccuped, and then puked.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 5:00pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Ace Johnston’s Balcony and Hotel Room_

I had long since sobered up, and had just finished cleaning the floor when my phone began to ring.
I answered the call absently, “Hello?”
I heard some heavy breathing and the line went dead.
“Who the f***?” I mumbled, slamming the receiver down. Nothing pissed me off more than stupidity; wasn’t it obvious that I had other things on my mind?
I walked back into my bedroom and picked out a suit for dinner. I sorted through my trashed room and wondered what Amanda would think if she saw me right now.
I jumped when the phone rang again.
“Son of a b****.”
I practically ran to the ringing device.
I answered, angrier this time, “What?!” I snapped.
I heard the Boss laugh, “Johnston, you sound like you could use a cigarette.”
I smiled, although the previous call still had me on edge, “You’re probably right. What’s up, Sir?” I thought for a split second, “Did you call before this?”
He paused a moment before he spoke, sounding genuinely confused, “No, this is the first time I’ve called.” pausing, he suddenly asked, “Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, then why’d you bring it up?” I heard him sigh. “Anyway, I’d like to get a couple things in town. Before Dinner. Care to help me pick out a bottle?”
I didn’t want to be rude by being honest and saying I didn’t care to join him to go to town, let alone to Roselli's for dinner. Wasn’t the funeral enough?
Like always, I ignored what I thought and smiled, trying to convince myself more than him, “I’d love to, Sir.”
“Brilliant. Meet me outside in forty-five minutes.”
My best suit was already slung over a chair so I smoked a cigarette outside on my balcony. I’d had the same view for as long as I could remember, but the city lights seemed brighter somehow.
I ominously looked over the city because it never changed and wondered how people could be content with themselves when the world was basically on its way to hell...
Murder. Betrayal. It was as if my entire world was collapsing around me
I burnt my lips as I took a massive drag off my cigarette; had I already finished it? I threw the filter over the edge and leaned on the railing, pondering.
Since I was shirtless, the breeze was nice, comforting even. I opened my arms as the wind blew toward me, smiling as it refreshed my body and mind. Taking a deep breath, I walked back into my room to prepare for dinner.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 5:45pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Hotel Lobby_

I was out front, waiting once again for the Boss. I looked at my watch. Even if we were stopping in town, we'd be far too early if we left now. My brow furrowed in concern; the Boss was always late to dinner meetings, so what had him acting so strange? I stopped my mind from wandering; he probably had his reasons.
In an attempt to kill some time, I lit up another cigarette.
Losing myself in the taste of the smoke, I felt my mind empty. Smoking always made me feel better. It was a distraction, something that everyone did around here. I guess you could say it made me feel normal.
The Boss exited the doors, cleaned up and looking sharp. His shoes were shined to perfection and the suit he was wearing was different from the one he wore to the funeral: it was a tan color with a purple tie. This was the Boss I knew, and, had I not known about recent events, I would've said that he almost looked happy, though his deep blue eyes were filled with repressed pain.
He approached me casually, elbowing me in the ribs, a little too hard. The impact took me off guard but I forced a smile anyway.
"Let's go buy some cigars! Celebrate!"
He opened the car door and climbed in, expecting me to go around to the other side. I wondered sometimes why I ever put up with his s***.
Rubbing my side, I reluctantly walked towards him. "Sir,"
"Mmm?"
"You're in my seat."
His eyes widened with surprise, like he was angry. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as his lips pulled into a grin. "You're ballsy, Johnston,"
He chuckled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye--- or maybe he wasn't pretending. I tilted my head to the side, puzzled. "Sir....?" I croaked.
He looked up at me, frowning but smiling, "Amanda was always like that. I loved that attitude." His eyes were wet with tears, "It's her mother's, all the way."
He jerked his head to the side, directing his eyes out the opposite window.
"Just get in, we're stopping in town first."
I already knew, but I didn't say anything. I wondered what else could suit the moment better than silence. I heard a voice whisper my name and felt the air tingle with the stardust of crushed dreams.
I climbed into the car, throwing my half-smoked cigarette into the gutter. The Boss's eyes questioned me when he turned back at the sound of the shutting door, but he didn't break the silence.
Fastening my seat belt, I spoke soberly, "life's too short."
He nodded and we drove away.

_Time: 7:30pm, April 21st 1951
Location: The Boss’s Car_

Lucky Roselli lived in the middle of nowhere. The forty-five minute drive was a bore that consisted of some scattered livestock and the lines going by on the road. I had my hand under my chin, eyes half-directed out the window. I wasn’t really looking at the scenery. After all, it was nothing but a familiar blur. I scratched my neck as it was still irritated from the tie I had worn to the funeral.
Trying to distract myself, I glanced down at the contents of my lap: Two packages of cigars and a bottle of rum. Business as usual. I looked out to the horizon and sighed; I was in no mood for a cigar, let alone to get drunk.
Watching the sun, I wondered what time it was since it had just started to go down a little while ago. The last rays of the sun’s smile peeked over the western sky, and it was nearly dark. I must’ve made a face while I was lost in thought because I heard the Boss speak for the first time since we’d gotten back in the car, “Getting hungry, Johnston?”
I stared at him for a moment, rolling over my response a couple times in my head. The light was hitting him at an odd angle, and half of his face was drenched in shadows.
I finally shrugged, “Not any more than usual,” frowning, I added, “I haven’t felt much like eating lately.”
The car was suddenly silent again and I regretted saying anything at all.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 8:20pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Lucky’s Driveway and Home_

We pulled up into the gravel driveway, rocks crunching under the weight of the car. I reached toward the door handle to get out, but the Boss grabbed my wrist.
His unexpected gesture made my eyes wide with surprise. What the hell was he thinking? He was never like this-- Recent events, perhaps, I concluded.
I stayed silent, shamefully staring on at the seat in front of me. I glanced back up at him, a determined look in my eyes,
“Sir?” I inquired, squeezing my hands into tight fists and swallowing the nonexistent lump in my throat. I jerked my arm out of his grip.
“I need to have a word with you,” he replied solemnly. His electric blue gaze studied me, searched me for any hint of falsehood or deception, but I was used to it. He never saw any of that in me. “I think I know who did it.”
I felt the color drain from my face and it became much harder to breathe. I remained silent, trying to recover from the sudden imaginary swelling of my tongue. My mind racked itself, searching for the right combination of words to form a response with. Although I opened my mouth to speak, no sound came out. Even if I had been able to think of words, I’d never be able to say them.
I merely shrugged, as it was the closest I could come to speaking at the time.
The Boss mumbled under his breath, “I need somebody trustwor-” He cut himself off, “Shut that damn door.”
It wasn’t open, but to make the Boss feel better, I opened it and then slammed it shut. I looked back at him, pulling a lighter out of my coat pocket.
“I want a smoke before dinner.”
We lit up without bothering to roll down the windows. I gasped for air; it was hot, and the smoke was making my labored breathing even harder than it already was. Wheezing, I felt like somebody was sitting on my chest. I squinted as I looked at the Boss through the stinging smoke. My pale face and restlessness were both impossible to ignore, but the Boss went on all the same. “I need somebody who I can trust- somebody who won’t screw me over.” He shot his piercing gaze at me, those blue eyes once again staring intently into my very soul. For the first time in my life, I swear that his eyes held a hint of absolute terror.
“Somebody…” he hesitated, “Something’s coming. Something huge.”
He he continue when I didn’t say anything. I averted my eyes and found that half his cigarette was already gone. I smiled, however weakly, my lips trembling. I laughed, a horror-stricken cowardly laugh. “What’s coming, Sir?”
“Somebody wants me dead; Amanda was just in the wrong place…”
He took a massive drag, his voice slipping into a nearly inaudible whisper, “Should have been me.”
I seemed to have lost track of my smile, but I put my arm around him. I didn’t know what to say; I’d lost her too.
Still, I didn’t question him, or say what I was really thinking, “You can trust me.”
He nodded and shook my hand; the fear in his eyes had melted away at my words.
“You know,” He mumbled, climbing out of the car, “I always thought Amanda was nuts for loving you,” he flashed a smile, but it looked more like a grimace, “I guess I was wrong about you, huh?”
I could breathe again as the smoke poured out of the open door. I hadn’t even dragged my cigarette since I lit it, and it had long since gone out. I slipped it into my pocket, happy to have something to smoke later. But the Boss’s words unsettled me. Or maybe it was the face he made. Whatever the reason, I wanted to get as far away from him as I possibly could.
I climbed out of the car after him and watched him toss the filter somewhere into the darkness. He walked over to it, stomped out the cherry, and looked back at me. “Keep your eyes open; Anything suspicious, anybody suspicious, you come straight to me. Understand?!”
There was the Boss I knew; I smiled, “Of course, Sir.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Time: 8:30pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Lucky Roselli’s dining room_

Dinner was already on the table by the time the Boss and I had finally walked inside.
Voices suddenly hushed into quiet whispers when people noticed the Boss was in the room. Their eyes followed him, and I knew, though he’d never admit it, that he needed to be feared. His image was the only thing he had left, and there was no way he’d show weakness in front of those who so obviously respected him.
He walked slowly, basking in the awed silence, if only for a moment, before taking the empty seat that awaited him. Somebody stood up, running into the kitchen.
Seconds later, Roselli’s wife brought him a plate and a tall glass of what was probably coca-cola and gin. The Boss thanked her, placed his napkin in his lap, and casually picked up his fork.
Conversation continued quietly at first, but the guests soon realized that the Boss had absolutely nothing to say. The chaos gradually resumed just as loud as it was before.
A manicured hand touched my shoulder. Whipping my head around in surprise, I heard a familiar giggle. “Jeez, Ace. Mary Jane got you on edge? Maybe you guys should take a break.”
The voice belonged to Alex, a mutual friend of mine and Amanda. She was a tiny girl, not any taller than five-foot-two, but she had the temper of a bull and the mouth of a sailor. Her innocent exterior was an act, and, back in our teenage years, she’d be the one we sent to bum cigarettes. People seemed drawn to her and she knew it.
She flashed a fiendish smile, “It’s been a while, Ace.” she pulled me into a tight hug, “You doing okay? We’ve all called you at least twelve times a day. Everyone’s worried about you.”
I snorted, “Who’s everyone?”
“Shut-up, dickbag. We care and you know it.” Alex playfully punched me after jerking out of the hug.
I jabbed her in the gut with my finger, “How are you doing?”
“I asked you first.”
“I’m okay,” I managed.
She nodded understandingly. Frowning, she looked at the full dining room table. “Remember when these things were actually a secret?”
“Somebody died.”
“F*in’ downer. No s***, but that doesn’t explain why there’s so many people here.” She bit her lip, looking somewhat worried.
Rolling my eyes, I looked down at her, “Wanna grab a drink and sit out back?” I winked, “For old time’s sake.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s only been two days”
I felt my heart break in half,
‘.... and you’re two days gone.’
“I know what you mean.” I forced a laugh.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 8:45, April 21st 1951
Location: Lucky’s kitchen._

On our way into the kitchen, Marlana, Lucky’s wife, stopped us. “Nobody’s allowed in the kitchen.” she said, stopping in the doorway.
Alex seemed irritated, “Nobody knows how I like my margaritas.”
Marlana didn’t budge, blocking the entrance with her thick form by leaning in the doorway. She wasn’t a little woman by any means, and her attractiveness was quite debatable. Her posture was serious, although her eyes gave away her uncertainty. Alex may not have been a patient person to begin with, but she certainly didn’t appreciate not getting her way.
She stared at Marlana with a glare that looked like she learned it from the Devil himself and repeated herself, “Nobody knows how I like my margaritas.”
With an exasperated sigh, Marlana stepped aside, “Please don’t make a mess.” She pleaded, walking back into the dining room.
I looked at Alex, shocked, “That was rude.” I said bluntly.
“Shut-up. If that fat b**** really cares about the family, she should know better than to deny me.”
“You’re not even in charge.”
“Bullshit.” She mumbled, scooping some crushed ice into a shaker. “As far as I’m concerned, Amanda shouldn’t be the one who’s dead right now.”
“The f*** is that supposed to mean?”
Alex appeared dumbfounded, “Wow, Ace. You really need to lay off the grass.”
She turned to face me after she poured a ridiculous amount of tequila into the mixture. Shaking it vigorously, she spoke again, “Isn’t it obvious? Somebody’s after the Boss.” Her voice slipped into a whisper, “We’ll talk about it later, Jesus.” She stole several nervous glances all around her, as if she was watching her back, “You should know better than that; do you want our brains blown out too?”
She poured four margaritas.
“Who else is outside?” I inquired.
“Just Mulaine and a friend.”
“Friend?”
“Christ! Quit playing dumb and carry this! You’re gonna mess everything up!” She shoved the tray of drinks into my hands. “Let’s go.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 8:55pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Lucky’s back porch._

Alex opened the sliding glass door for me, “Ladies first.” She grinned.
I sighed and walked onto the back patio, noticing the familiar glass table and lawn chairs. We’d spent many dinner meetings out here, trying to be a part of the family business without actually getting our hands dirty. Amanda and I had spent some nights out here alone, usually avoiding her father back when he didn’t know about our little fling. I shook my head vigorously. Some things were just better left alone.
Ben Mulaine sat across from a man I didn’t recognize. I studied the stranger, keeping my expression flat and unreadable.
He didn’t seem to belong here, there was something about his posture that made me wonder if he had gotten enough sleep or whether or not the chair he was sitting in was comfortable. He looked tense, like his mind was on other things. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes even though the sun had gone down a long time ago. I soon realized I was staring and quickly set the drink tray on the table, directing my attention elsewhere.
Alex grabbed two of the margaritas off the tray and handed them to the men.
Ben thanked her and took a massive swig of his drink while the stranger merely nodded in response, setting his down in front of him, untouched.
Ben looked up at me and smiled, though it didn’t seem sincere. “Ace. It’s good to see you.”
“This isn’t the time for candied-ass small talk,” Alex hissed, sipping her drink. “Does anybody realize how bad this s*** really is?”
“Why can’t you just relax, Alex? Christ.” Ben replied, standing up and approaching me slowly. He took my drink off the tray and then handed me the glass. “Stay a while; we apparently have some 's***' to discuss.”
Ben must’ve noticed my eyes dart to the stranger still sitting at the table. “Ace, he knows. He’s with us.” He turned back to face the man, “Jarod Rogers, I’d like you to meet my best friend, Ace Johnston.”
The man stood up and it took a moment for me to come to terms with how tall he was. He must’ve towered at least three inches above my height of six-foot-one. He had strong, thick arms and a body that I didn’t want turned on me. The way he stood reminded me of a soldier; his back was straight and he almost seemed to be rigid with… something.
I politely offered him my hand, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Rogers.”
“Likewise,”
Without even shaking my hand, he took his seat again, finally tasting his drink. I couldn’t help but stare; there was something about this man that had me on edge. My anxiety peaked when I heard the sliding glass door open behind us and the Boss’s stern voice pierce the air, “The party’s inside.” He said, lighting up a cigarette.
“It’s hot inside,” Alex complained.
“Yeah, the breeze is nice.” Ben agreed.
I stared at them both, shocked at how rehearsed their responses sounded. Taking a short look back at Jarod, I noticed him shift uncomfortably around in his seat. He was definitely afraid of the Boss, who was now chuckling. “Now, Alex, Ben.” He dragged his cigarette excruciatingly slowly, drawing out the anticipation, “You both know damn well what happens when you mess with family.” The Boss shot Jarod a nasty glare, “Especially when you involve those who aren’t family.” His voice took a friendly tone, “And who might you be?”
“My name is Jarod Rogers, but you can call me whatever you like, Sir.”
The Boss looked amused, “A little kiss-ass, huh?” He walked over to where Ben had been sitting, sat down, and mumbled, “Johnston, get your happy ass over here.”
As I got closer to the Boss, I identified the smell of alcohol on his breath but didn’t say anything about it. “Sir?” I inquired.
“What did I say earlier? Were you even listening?” He continued to smoke his cigarette, examining every person around him with deep thought and noticeable distaste. He looked up at me and flashed an unnatural smile, "I’m going back inside now. You know where your loyalty lies.”
He stood up, undeniably drunk, and gave me a clumsy hug before calmly walking back inside. The sliding glass door closed slowly behind him.
Both Alex and Ben stared at me, their mouths wide open in surprise. Jarod just sat in his chair, stiffer than before. I stared at the three of them, genuinely confused by the way they were acting.
I spoke to Alex and Ben first, “Guys, what the f*** was that?!”
“Ace!” Alex screamed, getting up in my face and trying to intimidate me. “Since when are you in on good terms with the Boss?”
“Seriously, man!” added Ben, “This makes everything so much easier!”
“What do you mean?”
"Ignore his s***, Ben; he's been acting strange all night.
"Have not." I mumbled.
"Jesus," interrupted Jarod, "You all are so stupid; don't you know the rules?" He stood up again, crossing his arms sternly over his chest. “Amanda would be ashamed; and now she’s dead because somebody couldn’t keep their damn mouth shut.”
In seconds, Alex was in his face, her cheeks red with rage, "How dare you. Of course we know the family rules." She shot him her nastiest glare, "and I was wrong to disobey them."
She turned to walk inside, but Jarod grabbed her by the arm. His eyes were full of fear and his lips began to tremble as the color faded from his face.
Ben stepped in, trying to be a hero, "Jarod, let her go--"
"B**** threatened me." The large man retorted, his voice raised almost an octave higher in his state of terror. His other hand wrapped around Alex's long hair and pulled her toward his chest while he simultaneously pulled a small handgun out of his jacket pocket.
"You know damn well what the deal was," Jarod continued, "if you took out the damn Boss you guys would be in-- but obviously you f*ed that up for yourselves." He spit on the ground, cocking his gun and putting it to Alex's head. She whimpered but didn't dare scream.
Ben took a hesitant step towards the hulking man, his arm extended defensively in front of him, "don't do this, Jarod." He stopped dead in his tracks when the gun was pressed even harder against Alex's head. I didn't know what to do but just stand there. Even if I had wanted to help, the intensity of the situation had me petrified.
"We're family." Ben pleaded.
Jarod laughed. It was that deprecating, mocking laugh one would hear at the butt end of a bad joke. I watched the scene play out before me, my feet still firmly rooted to the spot.
"What do you know about family?" His finger tickled the trigger as he went on, "You don't murder your family."
"You know that was an accident!"
Jarod flashed a sinister smile and kissed Alex on the cheek, "An eye for an eye."
"NO!"
I wasn't sure who screamed first, but everything happened so fast. The thundering sound of the gun pierced the air and I watched in horror as Alex crumpled to the ground, her body completely limp. Ben ran forward, punching Jarod square in the nose. An unmistakable crunch was heard and blood was soon pouring out of both of Jarod's nostrils. The large man grunted and stepped back, trying to recover from the blow. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger again. The bullet went right through my best friend's chest and he fell to his knees, tentatively touching his wound before he fell face first onto the ground. A pool of crimson slowly formed around him, soaking the concrete patio.
Several people were pouring out of the house. A woman screamed and another person yelled for the Boss. I dove to the ground, finally realizing the gravity of the situation.
The Boss walked calmly onto the patio, not showing any signs of the intoxication he was broadcasting earlier. His blue eyes traveled from Alex's body to Ben's, both of them soaking in their own worthless blood.
He glanced up at Jarod, extracting a gun from his jacket with exceptional speed. He exhaled slowly as he aimed the gun right between Jarod's eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Boy?"
"The right thing! You're a thieving bastard, Tony!" He spat, his face red with either rage or fear, "you're on this f*ing throne aren't you? Mr-f*in-big-boss-man." Jarod cocked his gun again, this time aiming it at himself. "Murder looks real good in the papers, asshole."
He pulled the trigger.
The Boss sat still for a moment, surprised and unsettled. Lost in thought, he lowered his gun in defeat. "Johnston," he gestured to the three bodies on the patio, "you and Roselli need to take out the trash."
He slowly sank to the ground, putting his gun away and rubbing his head in his hands. The Boss lit up his last cigarette while the guests hurried away from Lucky Roselli's backyard.
Marlana clung to her husband before she reluctantly let him go, after staring into his eyes for a moment. That was the reassurance of a loved one... Something I sorely missed.
Lucky walked over to me and said, "you heard the Boss! Take out the trash!"
An associate ran inside and came back with several black trash bags, "They only had small ones, Sir."
The tension didn't go away when the Boss began to chuckle. It was a low laugh at first; I barely heard it and I was standing right next to him. It gradually built in volume and soon his entire body was shaking with laughter.
But the Boss laughed alone.
Lucky and I wrapped up Ben and Alex's bodies with care, but we were soon regretting that decision.
The Boss's laughter had come to an abrupt end and he looked down at Roselli and me, an almost demonic smile on his face. "Johnston, Roselli, you don't have to take care of the trash." He kicked Ben's wrapped body harshly in the head; a disgusting gurgle filled the air.
I turned my head away from the scene, trying to avoid the extra chore of cleaning up my regurgitated margarita. Swallowing hard, I turned back and looked the Boss right in the eyes, "We take care of family, Sir."
He stared at me, the corners of his mouth twitching as he debated whether or not he wanted to smile. The Boss frowned, stealing a quick glance down at the bloody concrete. "Marlana! Get some bleach!"
He turned to walk back inside.
Lucky pulled his truck around back, so we could load up the "trash". He paid no extra attention to the corpses of our friends this time, instead he just threw them into the back of the truck like..... like they were yesterday's trash.
I touched the Boss's shoulder when he came back outside, "Amanda would've wanted them buried."
He whipped his head around, furious, "How dare you speak her name."
"No," I insisted, standing my ground, "how dare you. You're supposed to be our leader." I looked him up and down once, "but all I see is a f*ing hypocrite."
The barrel of his gun was soon at my throat. He slowly twisted it, pinching the skin of my neck. I craned my neck to get away.
"Excuse me, Johnston?"
"TONY!!" Screamed Roselli, shoving the large man away from me. "Haven't we lost enough tonight?"
The Boss stared at me, and he smiled; though his eyes looked like they belonged to somebody else. Somebody evil. "You're right, Lucky. Too many people are dying." He slipped his gun into his pocket. "Too bad it's not the right people, eh, Johnston?"
He chuckled and started to walk inside.
"I'll see you back at the Hotel, Boss"
"Damn straight." He slammed the door behind him.
Looking back at Lucky, I nodded in gratitude. He sighed and rolled his eyes in response. Marlana came back outside with a jug of bleach in her hands and tears in her eyes. "When does it end, Lucky?"
He put his arm around her, "it doesn't."
Opening the bleach, she began to cry. With shaky hands she poured it over each of the stains on the porch, her entire body convulsing with heaving sobs. I bent my head, hoping it would look like I was paying my respects to our fallen soldiers, when, in reality, tears of my own blurred my vision.
I wiped my face and looked up at the Roselli couple and, with an apathetic voice, added, "Blood doesn't forgive because Blood doesn't forget."
Marlana frowned, "are you saying these stains won't come out?"
________________________________________________________________________________________________________




________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 10:15pm, April 21st, 1951
Location: Lucky Roselli's truck_

We'd been driving for twenty minutes and neither of us had said a single word. I stole a couple short glances at him as we drove, wondering what I could say to break the tension.
Lucky's attention was on the road and his foot was flooring the gas. The scenery blew by and I kept a sharp eye out for any policemen. I stared out my window and tried to convince myself that I was dreaming, although I knew better.
I finally broke the silence, "thanks for stopping Tony earlier."
His eyes didn't leave the road, "don't mention it."
My lips tried to smile. "Alright I won't." I paused, carefully choosing my next string of words. "Lucky, can you keep a secret?"
He looked over at me for a split second, "of course, Ace."
I sighed, holding my head in my hands and once again pulling out my hair. Things were too stressful for me to handle. I thought for a moment before I spoke. My words came slow and deliberate, "Amanda's death wasn't an accident. She purposely sacrificed herself for her father. There's," I stopped when I noticed Lucky was staring at me and pointed to the road. "There was an entire deal behind it- Alex and Ben had been trying to take out the Boss for a while." I smiled to myself as I continued, "greedy little spit-fucks... Anyway, they'd been making secret agreements with the Gambinos..."
Lucky slammed on the brakes, "You're shitting me?!"
I barely had enough time to stop myself from slamming into the dash, "Christ, Lucky! No!" I let an exasperated sigh escape my lips. "Can you keep this a secret or not?"
He slowly started to drive again, the car gradually picking up speed as Roselli became angrier, "How the hell did they expect to pull that off?! And the Gambinos?" Their name sounded like a curse coming out of his mouth. "Yeah, Ace, I guess. But, tonight's events really don't surprise me that much now." He looked me in the eyes, "what exactly was the deal? Were you involved?!"
"Not at first," I mumbled, leaning on the worn leather interior of the door and directing my attention back out my window.

_Time: 12:00pm, July 15th, 1949
Location: Gas Station and Benjamin Mulaine’s House_

She wasn’t your average girl. Bandanas wrapped around her dark and unruly hair that cascaded in luscious waves toward her shoulders. Dirty, pink high tops with holes poking through ripped canvas and rubber soles covered her feet. Leather jackets, alcohol, and gunfights were the family business. You never turned your back on family.
It was a life of that was full of life, or at least a life with him.
She leaned against the gas station wall, scuffing her shoes on the spit-stained sidewalk. Sunshine beat down on her until tiny beads of sweat slid down her soft, translucent skin. She had a cigarette in her petite hand and smoked it with a pensive look on her face. She had the filter clasped between manicured fingers and slowly inhaled the bitter smoke. Discarding the butt, she simultaneously exhaled the final stream of dancing ghosts. Glancing down at her bare legs, she shivered, despite the burning sun.
A coarse and obviously masculine hand suddenly touched her shoulder. In natrual reflex, she grabbed it and twisted it into an awkward and painful position. The limb fought back, firm muscles rippled and gave her no choice but to turn and face the owner of said hand.
“Cool it,” came a gruff voice.
She merely scoffed in return.
“You nearly took off my arm.”
“Oh, please, Ace. Do you think that, by the time I’d be done with you, you’d still have arms?”
“You wish, Amanda.”
Amanda and Ace. Bonnie and Clyde. Hell-bound and dangerous.
They walked to Ace’s car and slid into their usual places. Ace in the driver’s seat and Amanda sitting shotgun.
“Where’s everyone else at?” she asked, lighting up again.
“Mulaine’s. Wanna stop by? I’m fucking starving.” Ace replied smoothly, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Yeah, let’s go. I’m not hungry though.” She mumbled, flicking ash.
“Jesus. Do you ever f*ing eat?”
“Do you ever manage a sentence without the word ‘f***’ in it?”
“Don’t change the f*ing subject.” He hissed with extra emphasis on the ‘f’, “You’re skin and bones. I can’t even remember the last time I saw you eat anything.”
“The hell’s your problem? I’ll eat something if it’ll get your panties out of your ass.”
Ace scowled; nobody said s*** to him and lived. Amanda was different, immune to his rage.
When they finally pulled up to the house, Amanda passed her cigarette to Ace and pulled him into a tight hug by his waist. He let his anger melt and felt his body relax as he took a drag of the stoge. He smelled the familiar scent of vanilla and apples, sweet and sugary; it was Amanda’s smell and really the only sweet thing about her.
They walked inside together, spotting the table in the dining room already occupied by fellow family members. Ace slid into a seat and his girl sat across from him. They broke into meaningless small talk, but Amanda barely listened, drowning in her own thoughts. Ace kicked her leg from underneath the table, snapping her back into reality. She kicked him back, twice as hard.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 5:57am, April 22nd 1951
Location: Ace Johnston’s Hotel Room_

I woke in a cold sweat, Amanda’s name on my lips. My sheets were drenched and my breath was coming in short gasps. I threw the wet blankets off of myself, cold air embracing me. A sigh escaped my lips as I tangled my fingers in my hair again. At this rate, I'd be bald by next week. Finally standing up, I licked my lips and realized how thirsty I was.
I stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing the last clean cup from the cabinet. My entire room was completely trashed, and I scolded myself for allowing grief to make me into a slob. Opening the freezer, I scooped up some ice with a loud crunch. I turned to the kitchen sink and filled the cup. After it was emptied and refilled twice, I set it down on the dining room table next to my notebook.
I sat lost in thought for a moment or two before I opened the dusty object. Flipping through dated pages, I suddenly stopped. My eyes were frozen, staring at the top corner of a page: July 16th, 1949.
‘My Dearest Ace,
Things have become too dangerous; I couldn’t live with myself if you were killed, let alone hurt, because of me. I’m leaving, please don’t come looking for me.
If anything happens to me, you know what to do.
Love, Amanda Finoni.
XXX-XXX-XXXX’
Everything came flooding back at once and I was so angry that my hands began to shake. I read the passage on the page twice, as it was short and to the point. My hands clenched into fists so hard that they hurt, and my mouth was dry again. How could I have forgotten? Mentally punching myself, I quickly reached for the phone to dial the number written at the bottom of the page.
It rang twice before somebody answered, "... Hello?" Said a raspy, tired voice.
"I'm calling on behalf of some business between Big Tony and," I hesitated, "Amanda Finoni."
The voice was silent for a moment, "who is this?"
"Big Tony's consigliere."
I heard a gasp and some frantic words before the receiver was covered on the other line.
I waited, my anger steaming with each passing second. Patience was never my strong suit.
A different voice spoke, "can we arrange a meeting? Later this morning of course."
"If you can make it quick." I said.
"Of course," the voice repeated, "what happened? Have you heard from Miss Finoni?"
I sighed, but didn't say anything. I heard a couple angry voices in the background.
I listened, "... Idiot! Didn't you hear about..... No, I don't care what they said.... Of course it was an accident!"
I was growing quite tired of the unnecessary drama that came with the family life. Nobody cared about the rules anymore.
I interrupted the other conversation, "How about we meet in town? About noon--That little coffee joint on twelfth and Main Street."
"Of course, Sir."
I liked the way it sounded from somebody else-- Sir.
"Brilliant." I replied in a voice that wasn't my own, "I'll see you then."
The line went dead.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 6:15am, April 22nd, 1951
Location: Ace Johnston's hotel room_

I'd developed a habit of pacing since the accident, but Amanda's death wasn't what I worried about. I thought back to the night before and how the Boss had looked at me. My stomach churned and I decided it was best not to think about it, at least not yet. Ceasing my pacing, I collapsed onto my couch and sighed heavily. Six hours until I was able to find the answers.
I stood up, running a hand through my hair. It felt greasy and I figured that a shower was necessary. Walking toward the bathroom, I heard a noise that stopped me dead in my tracks.
Somebody was pounding on the door and it surprised me that the wood didn't splinter-- it wasn't a mere knock. It literally sounded as if somebody was trying to break down the door. Before I could think of a place to hide, the heavy door swung open and the Boss walked inside with three of his soldiers.
"Boss," I barely managed before one of his lackeys punched me in the mouth. The impact took me off guard and I fell to the ground.
"Don't 'Boss' me, you god damn traitor!!"
His tone was hostile. I heard his heavy footsteps approach me and screamed when he kicked me hard in the ribs. "She loved you! I trusted you!" Another blow, this time closer to my head.
My mind was on overdrive and I could barely breathe. I gasped for air when his three friends joined the fray. Unsure of who was hitting me where, I grit my teeth and pleaded with them to stop, "I'm on your side!! We're family!" A kick to the temple and I was suddenly out cold.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 11:13am, April 22nd, 1951
Location: ???_

When I came to there was a bag over my head. Although I heard voices, they seemed to be coming from a distance. I licked my lips only to find them parched, cracked, and bleeding. My head throbbed and I whimpered, as words were impossible. They had gagged me with a rag covered in filth from god-knows-where.
I knew what was about to happen, as I had often been on the other side of the bag over my head. It was an interrogation, and I probably wasn't going to make it out alive. I swallowed hard, though the taste of blood still lingered in my mouth. My hands were tied behind my back and my feet were bound to the chair I was in. The initial grogginess I felt when I woke up was gone; I soon realized the severity of my situation and waited in total silence for the questioning to begin.
"Ace, Ace, Ace." Came his deprecating voice. "And to think I thought you were better than the rest."
The bag was removed from my face. I squinted through the blinding light while my eyes adjusted, but I still didn't recognize the room around me. It smelled like booze, sweat, and blood. I looked up at the Boss with scared eyes, begging for a shred of his mercy.
He sat on the other side of the disgusting table in front of me. I was thankful for the wooden object, it was the only thing that stood between me and death.
The Boss's blue eyes drank me in with a sinister glare and he soon smiled after he noticed the fear in my eyes. "Isn't it strange, Johnston? So close." He chuckled evilly. "So f*ing close. And now look at you." He paused for a moment, his smile twisting into a satisfied and sadistic grin. "Roselli told me everything, and, if you like breathing, you'll do the same." He leaned on the table, trying to appear friendly. "Am I understood?"
I nodded as my mind straightened out my story in my head-- I needed an alibi, but terror stopped me from thinking. As far as I was concerned, I was already dead.
The Boss snapped his fingers and an associate removed the rag from my mouth. I spit several times before I spoke, a tooth or two, I noticed, came with the first few bloody splatters. Looking back up at him, I remained silent.
"So?" He impatiently snapped. "This Gambino deal-- you best spill the beans, Johnston. I already know everything, and you know the penalty for lying."
Somebody cocked at gun at his words and aimed it in my direction. I studied the gunman and felt a wave of relief wash over me.
"The deal was that we'd trade our turf for a piece of the action in New York." I paused, licking my dry lips as I continued, "Alex and Ben were in charge of the deal on our end."
"Which was."
It wasn't a question, it sounded more like a threat.
"Which was killing you, Sir. But Amanda had known about it..."
"What?!" He interrupted, standing up. His face was red and his fists were shaking with the energy fed by his rage. "Liar! You arranged that assassination!!"
I felt all the color drain from my face and wished I could take the words back, though I knew it was too late. "No, Sir. Amanda was the one who arranged the whole thing."
He was dumbfounded. His expression slipped into a deep frown when he returned, defeated, to his seat. The Boss sat in complete silence for a moment or two, mulling over my words in his head. His lips twitched, and he suddenly looked back up at me, "You're lying." He hissed.
"I wish I was."
My response seemed to have surprised him because silence drenched the air again. The tension was building at the same rate sweat was pouring down my face. I sat there, petrified, hoping that The Boss would believe me.
"When did this start?" He finally asked.
"About two years ago-- July." It wasn't a lie, but I still felt nervous telling him. I felt as if I was diffusing an extremely dangerous and sensitive bomb. My dry lips were bleeding again.
The Boss noticed me licking them profusely, "Carlos, get Ace something to drink. Brandy." He paused for a split second, "Some for me as well."
"Water." I choked. "Please."
The Boss nodded, "You heard the man; Hurry up!"
My mind stopped racing and I soon found myself slightly more relaxed. It had worked, The Boss believed me.
Carlos, the only new face in the room, returned with a tall glass of brandy for the Boss and a cup of ice water for me. When he set the drink down in front of me, my eyes wandered to my bound hands and then back up to the Boss, who was practically chugging his drink. He noticed my request and snapped his fingers. "Somebody untie the poor bastard and get the f*** out." His piercing blue eyes met mine, "We have some personal business to discuss."
The new associate hesitated but only a moment before he did as the Boss said. I rubbed my chafed wrists tentatively and thanked the young man. He shrugged and walked back over to the Boss, whispering something rather loudly in his ear, "Do you want the gun to stay in here with you two?"
The Boss shook his head, "No." Turning to face me, he spoke again, “Johnston’s my right hand man. I trust him.” He finished his glass of brandy with a single quick gulp. “Now get out.”
The gunman signaled something with his hand and I discreetly nodded in response; we had bought a little more time, and hopefully it would be enough.
Pretty soon the stragglers filed out of the room, finally leaving the Boss and I alone.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 12:30pm, April 22nd, 1951
Location: Warehouse parking lot_

The Boss had released me after his eighth glass of brandy; I didn’t even have to explain anything. His guilt over pushing his daughter away led him into a drunken stupor. I pitied the old fool, but I, somehow, understood how he was feeling. Amanda had had me around her finger as well at one point and it saddened me to know that I couldn’t forget her.
Lord knows I tried.
He had ordered the gunman to escort me home, and anywhere else if I wanted to live.
I made eye contact with my ‘bodyguard’ and rolled my eyes. Things were just too easy these days. I allowed him to take my keys on my way out of the interrogation room.
“You still feel like having some coffee, Ace?”
I half smiled, almost bursting into laughter. Almost.
We climbed into the Boss’s personal taxi.
“Where to, Sir?” asked the chauffeur.
“Back to the hotel, please make it quick. We’re in a hurry.” replied the gunman.
“Have my car ready out front as well. Ace Johnston’s the name.”
“Right away, Sir.”

_Time: 8:30am, July 20th, 1949
Location: “Safe-house”_

The woman’s gray eyes fluttered open when a stray ray of sunlight fell on her face from an open window. With a drowsy groan, she rolled over, submerging her face in a fluffy blanket. She couldn’t make herself fall back asleep and soon threw the blanket off of the bed.
She sat up and stretched, a yawn poured out of her mouth as she tried to wake up. Rubbing her eyes, the woman stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She studied herself, her lips slipping into a deeper frown with each passing second.
With a heavy sigh, she reached for a drawer and pulled out a dress and a blonde wig. She opened the bathroom door and prepared to shower. She had just finished undressing when a loud knock was heard pounding on the front door. The woman quickly tied on a bathrobe and ran downstairs.
Whoever was outside was impatient as their obnoxious knocked ceased to stop and, even when the woman was fiddling with the deadbolt lock, continued just as intense as before. She pushed the door open and frowned, staring at the tall man in front of her.
“Hey, Mandy.” he said casually, inviting himself inside.
“I told you never to call me that!” she hissed, slamming the door behind him, “It’s Amanda, Jarod. Three f*ing syllables- Ah-Man-Duh.” She pronounced each syllable with a slow voice like she was talking to a child.
“I can call you whatever I god damn please.” He sat on the couch, putting his filthy boots on the coffee table. Amanda scowled at him but held her tongue. Jarod looked up at her and smiled half-heartedly, “So this little stunt of yours….” He burst out laughing, “What in the f*** do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m laying low, asshole.” She raised her fist threateningly, “You know I don’t give a s*** about your life or anybody else in the damn business.”
“You can’t walk out on family--”
“It’s not a family!” she pounded her fist hard onto the table, shaking it with the impact. Jarod sneered, trying to stifle a snicker. Amanda’s chest rose and fell quickly, her frustration becoming more visible.
“Like it or not, I consider you family.” He lowered his voice into a whisper as he continued, “I found you a place to lay low, but you’re not gonna like it.”
Amanda scoffed, “What. You think I can’t handle it?”
Jarod rolled his eyes at her inner-city badgirl accent, “No, I just know you’re not gonna like it.”
“Tell me and we’ll find out! You can’t just assume things!”
“God, you’re such a f*ing brat!” He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and put his finger to her lips to make her shut up. “Listen, Mandy. The only way you’re gonna be able to have the Gambinos leave you alone is to provide services….”
She shoved his hand away to interrupt, “I’m a Finoni! I can handle the Gambino pu**y s***!”
“Oh, really?” Jarod sighed. “Can you handle working in their strip club?”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. She tried to speak but closed her mouth before she said anything. Once, twice, and a third time until she finally bowed her head in shame. She looked up at Jarod with sad eyes, “That’s a sick joke, right?”
The large man shook his head before he pulled Amanda into a hug. “It’s the best I could do; you’re only a dancer anyway. I wouldn’t let those bastards sell you out. You’re too beautiful for that s***.”
She thought for a moment, picking her words very carefully, “Will you promise to keep an eye on me?” Her voice dropped into a sensual whisper, “I don’t dance for just anybody you know.”
Jarod bit his lip, he knew better than to fall into her trap. Leaning away from her he replied, “You can’t dance at all.”
It took a moment for his statement to register. “I have a wig.”
“A wig isn’t enough.” He replied, staring into her grey eyes. “It’s hard to forget a girl like you.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 9:15pm, July 31st, 1949
Location: Amanda’s alibi: ‘Bianca’s’ apartment_

"God Dammit! I can't find my hair extensions!"
The blonde girl threw a makeup brush across the room with an exasperated sigh. "We can't be late again otherwise Big Gambino will have our heads!"
“You mean your head, Bianca.” Her brunette roommate snapped, applying makeup in the mirror. “I’m never late.” She glared at her blonde competition, “And I make more money than you.”
Bianca flashed an amused smile, “You’re right, Candy. But I have something you don’t.” She walked up behind her roommate and stared at their reflections framed in the mirror. “Self-respect.” she whispered in Candy’s ear.
The brunette shoved her away, “You’re such a b****.”
“I’ll see you in hell.” Bianca hissed.
Bianca started to apply her regular makeup, bright red lips and a misty purple eye shadow. When she first started the job she hadn't known how to apply it herself, until her coworkers taught her to. She proceeded to twist her hair around the curler, using the little breaks to touch up on her makeup.
Pausing for another moment, she stripped off her pajamas and poked her feet into her usual black thigh-high fishnets and strapped on the garters. She then slid on the dress, which was black and no shorter than her rear. Apparently the curve by the neck was designed to show off her breasts, but she wasn’t too interested in the attention that she got at work. She stepped into her six-inch black stilettos that let her toes peek through the front. ‘Damn, these things are so uncomfortable!’ She pouted, taking a couple steps in them to get used to them for the day.
“I'm leaving!" She announced, grabbing her outrageously large purse. It was filled with everything from makeup to a change of clothes to her cigarettes. She was prepared for literally any situation. With a slam of the heavy door, Bianca was on her way to work.
She had always been poor, so she had to grow up quick. In more ways than one. With her eyes on the prize as the girl next door, she had always made sure her body was in good shape. Toned, curvy legs and a flat stomach were merely enhanced by her large breasts and hips. She had a body built like a weapon that she knew all too well how to use. Her face had it's flaws, to be sure: a large nose, an even bigger forehead. But, unlike most women, Bianca embraced her flaws with open arms, so they did nothing but make her even more irresistible.
High six-inch heels clicked on the ceramic floor as she walked out of the cheap apartment complex that she had learned to call home. She hailed for a taxi, drawing the eyes of nearly every passerby that was on the street, "F*ing pigs..." She uttered under her breath, crawling into the yellow car. "Take me to Sparkle; and step on it, I'm already late." She demanded, slipping on a pair of cheap sunglasses.
“Bee, when aren't you late?" The driver smiled and started to drive off into the heavy traffic.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 10:12pm, July 31st, 1949
Location: :Sparkle:_

"WHERE THE F*** IS BEE!?"
"There definitely has to be a better way to show up to work. I'm right here, Boss. Will you calm yourself down a bit?" Bianca spat, slipping out of her jacket and walking backstage.
"How do you expect me to stay calm when my star is about to go on and she's late, a-f*ing-gain!" He followed her.
She shrugged, "I honestly don't know why you just don't fire me if I'm such a problem for you..."
Big Gambino grabbed her face to make her look at him, "Cause you make the money. Now get your fat ass out there before I give you something to cry about!" He shoved her away from him with a rough and painful jerk of his arm.
Blinking back tears, Bianca changed into her costume and fixed her hair. 'F*** Him. I'll get out of here as soon as I make enough money to get anywhere but here..."
A voice on the loudspeaker announced her, "And, now, Sparkle proudly presents our opening attraction, QUEEN BEE!" Bianca looked at herself in the mirror and bit her lip, "Show time. Don't take anything off yet."
She heard her music start up as she set foot on stage. The crowd was quickly blocked from her sight with a bright spotlight. The young woman licked her lips and grabbed a metal pole, her only friend on this damn stage. She started by grinding and twirling, but as the music's tempo increased, so did the passion behind her dancing. Sweat poured down her toned body, soaking her outfit and her hair. With the ending note of the song, Bianca swung her stringy hair around as she pushed her body close to the metal pole. Applause and loud cheers and whistles came from the audience. Bianca, still panting, walked backstage again, only to collapse in a chair.
"I think I'm gonna need to change."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Time: 12:57pm, April 22nd, 1951
Location: The Cafe_

“... this guy could just be full of s***, you know.” the young recruit complained. He sat at a booth with Mr. Gambino across from him.
The older of the two men stopped studying the small drink menu in front of him and gave the young man a look that said “I know what I’m doing” and then waved over an attractive waitress.
“Hello there!” she grinned. “Have you decided what you’d like to drink?”
“I’d like an espresso, please.”
She nodded and directed her attention across the table.
“I’m good. Thanks.” replied the recruit, staring out the window.
“Sure thing! I’ll be right back with that!” She flashed a reluctant smile and walked away.
“I should tip the poor girl extra.” The large man snapped his fingers, “Learn some patience. C’mon, it’s a f*ing virtue. It can’t be that hard.”
“But, Sir,” The young man continued all the same, “Amanda disappears two years ago, goes home and gets shot?” he shook his head, craning his neck to see further out the window. “I don’t know, but that just seems a little strange to me is all.”
The older man sighed heavily, looking at the young man. He looked pensive if only a moment before he opened his mouth to speak. “Look, Myers, you’re new in the business.” He paused when the waitress returned with his coffee and a scornful glare at the younger of the men.
“Is there anything else I can get you, Sir?” she beamed unconvincingly.
“Just the check,” he replied, sipping his espresso.
“Sure thing, I’ll be right back with that.”
She hurried away from the table. Mr. Gambino’s eyes followed her but he soon directed his attention back to the previous conversation as if nothing had happened.
“We’re at the end of our prime,” he mumbled, “Nostra Cosa is changing and you’re coming in at the end of the tradition.” The man sighed, staring into his tiny cup of coffee, “Family is nothing without tradition. And it seems to me it’s time for the rules to change.” He lifted his gaze. “I long for the days my father had lived in. The money we have now is still what he made from the damn prohibition; we’re a part of a legacy but what are we doing to uphold the family name? Absolutely nothing. We make our money from strip clubs and prostitutes. It’s a damn shame is what it is.”
The new recruit’s brow furrowed in worry, but he remained silent. He still watched the window but was taken by surprise when the bell on the door rang and two men walked inside the coffee shop.
“There’s my man.” Said Mr. Gambino after he noticed the same waitress returning with the bill and leading the two other men in their direction.
The recruit studied the two strangers, his lips in a crooked grimace. He was obviously uncomfortable, but he waited in silence to get a better view of what he was dealing with. He sank down into the seat next to Mr. Gambino.
One of the strangers was well dressed with glasses, while the other man was tall and actually rather buff. The recruit waited in anticipation for somebody to speak.
Mr. Gambino broke the silence first, “Ace Johnston, I presume?”
The man with glasses gave a slight nod in response, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, his companion replied for him, “Big Tony’s still alive; I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Indeed,” the large man replied, sipping his espresso again.
“His daughter was murdered.” Ace mentioned, targeting Mr. Gambino with so much thought his friend had to elbow him to make him stop staring.
“Amanda Finoni?” Mr. Gambino asked, flashing a knowing smile. “That’s a shame. She was a dime.”
Ace scowled but bit his lip to prevent himself from lashing out. ‘Breathe.’ he told himself. ‘Alan will handle it.’