The basement is the perfect place for the gathering. Usually it’s for the higher paying clients, the “don’t ask, don’t tell” gentlemen whose behind-the-scenes antics even the cops don’t question.
They get the nice black-marbled room with the red satin seats, and I get a fat wad of cash.
It’s a room of sumptuous luxury. A $500,000 thousand investment that has turned out five times that much already.
It’s a room of victory, of possibility, and, tonight, of planning possibility’s victory: the Piccolos’ takedown.
Today it’s jam-packed with more men than it has room for. They all part for me to walk through.
Once I reach the front of the room, I stop to survey the crowd. A smile flickers on my face.
Damn, will you look at just how many men are in the Rebel Saints!
It’s easy to forget whe
