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It was beyond closing time at Nicky's restaurant. All the staff had gone home and only Nicky and Frank remained. Frank was upstairs, counting Nicky's money. As Nicky looked around the empty bar, he thought about the nights' events.

The dinner date with Sam and Ginger could have gone better. Maybe he didn't need to go beating up on the fucker who couldn't pay his bill. Nicky thought he needed a lesson. To teach him not to do it again. Now he was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen.

His thoughts turned from a difficult dinner, to something more enjoyable. He moved across to the payphone on the side of the wall and picked up the receiver. He took out the number that Paige had given him before they left her hotel room that morning and slowly began to dial. Unlike Nicky, he wasn't too sure what to say, when and if she picked up.


Nicky Goes to Kansas City.

Nicky was paying a visit to the bosses in Kansas City. They had asked him to come and see them. When they asked, you didn't ask why, you just went. He took Frankie with him, as usual. Not just because he wanted the company, but also as a second pair of eyes. He assumed the trip was for no reason pertaining to himself, but to other matters, probably relating to the Jew.

He couldn't stop thinking about the previous night with Paige. Not just about the time they had spent together, but the time to come that they would spend together in the near future. He told himself to call her when he got back to town.

When they arrived at the restaurant, they went straight in the back, to find the bosses playing cards, and a couple of their sisters were making lunch.

Nicky & Paige have pasta.

Bellini's was what Nicky affectionately called a 'haunt'. It was the kind of place he felt comfortable. It served the food he liked and there were plenty of tables where he could sit with his back to the wall. He'd decided to bring Paige here because, if he was honest with himself, he liked to show off. Everybody knew him here. More importantly, everybody feared him here. Even better, it would be on the house. He'd broken the owner's arm a few years back and had been collecting protection money from him every week since. It worked out at nearly fifty grand a year.

The maitre'd had placed him at his favourite table, bowing and scraping suitably enough, given his notorious customer. With the light fom the candle in the center of the small round table with barely room enough for four, he could see the sparkle in the eyes of his guest even more clearly.

"So sweet cheeks," Nicky leaned in across the table, "you wanted to talk about guns?".


Stupid Jew fuck.

Like I'm gonna waste my time propping that bitch up. I have better things to do with my time. He needs to be taking care of business!? I AM the fucking business. The only fucking thing he needs to be thinking about is how to get his bitch wife in line.

If it wasn't for me, the fuck would have no Tangiers. He can stick his license up his tight Jew ass, the no brain mother-fucker.

I guess I'm gonna have to sort this bitch out myself. Can I help it if every time the Jew pisses her off, she comes to me? She better be on the up an' up, or both her and the Jew will find themselves out in the desert.