The athletically built young man sat in the tattered recliner by the window overlooking the bustling nighttime street along Tenth Avenue, absently tapping his fingers on the armrest. His chestnut eyes stared darkly at the cowering figure before him, his companions watching impatiently from the far corners of the room.
“What"s it gonna be then, Jackie? We gonna do this or what?” the husky man snarled.
“Jackie, you can"t, you can"t,” the old man pleaded. “How long have I known you, since you were a little kid? I knew your father, Jackie, your father!”
“Knock it off, Tipsy,” Jackie growled. “You screwed up, plain and simple, twice in a row. You know what"s going down on the street. You know the Mick can"t let this slide. You get away with crap like this, it"s sending a message to the Coona
