A/N. Just a little idea that popped into my head - took me about an hour and a half to write up. Probably could have made it longer but it's just4fun.

"Uhhh," came the groan from the back seat.

The much larger man in the front passenger seat silenced it with a "Shut it, Splot".

"T-that wasn't me M-M-Mr Gandor," Jacuzzi Splot, the much less imposing character in the rear seat replied with a furious shaking of his head.

"You mean that cocksucker's already coming round?"

"Y-Yes Sir!"

"Then deal with it idiot. I really don't want to have to come back there."

God, how the trembling figure had got himself into this mess, he had no idea. But he was sure that sat on the back seat of a large blacked-out saloon, the suspiciously bruised head of an unconscious body in his lap, was not how he had initially thought he would be spending his Saturday night. When asked by a friend of a friend if he would like to ride along on a 'dump', he'd assumed it had been some kind of Italian expression for pub crawl; not that he would be spending time with some made-men on a road trip to find a 'quiet spot' in the mountains.

"What do you mean deal with?"

"What do you think, Dunce? Knock him out."

"But I only have my hands"

Damn, that wasn't what he'd meant to say.

"Ohh, so you're one of those guys huh?"

Nope, he wasn't. However, his companions didn't take much notice of his whimpering as a short handled shovel was forced into his hand; the growl that accompanied the exchange ever encouraging him in his task.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with this?

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?"

"Hit him!" The shout of the large bald man in the front was endearing, thus he obliged.

Crunch.

The uncomfortably loud sound of the unidentified man's nose being crushed was most likely testament to his lack of knowledge in such acts.

Baldy noticed, "What the fuck was that?"

"You said to hit him!" Splot's voice rose.

"Not square in the face, retard!" Baldy's voice rose.

Baldy continued at the young man sat on the back seat, who had quickly realized he was far out of his depth. His hands were shaking. Was he going hysterical?

The driver was shouting now, pointing at his crotch. Jacuzzi couldn't tell what he was saying; he was shouting so loudly himself that he couldn't hear. He guessed it was something to do with the horrible wet feeling that was spreading in the general area under the unknown head.

Had he pissed himself?

A quick glance calmed him down – it was only a spot of blood that had escaped through the horribly broken nose of the head on his lap. More than a spot actually.

"SHIT"

A positive Nile of blood was pouring from this head on his crotch; did bodies even contain this much blood? Splot caught 'upholstery' and 'die' from the driver, in-between his own numerous shout and curses. So he was ruining the pleasant cream interior of this expensive looking mafia mobile, while covering his own new trousers in the blood of another man.

"Fuck it"

He'd had enough. This tosser taking it easy, snoozing on the back seat of this huge car; happy to bleed all over his belongings and the car he was traveling in. He needed to die.

With gusto Splot grabbed the handle of the shovel he had been entrusted with and prepared to dig the fucker's heart out. That would show Baldy. He was basically one of those super villains that he read about in the monthly 'Beano' – and Jacuzzi was sure that Baldy couldn't compare to that.

Hah, he was even trying to stop him!

"Don't worry" Jacuzzi eased, hoping his calming tone would help the driver steady the fishtailing car, "The shovel's just a little blunt – I'll steal this cocksucker's lungs!"

Man, why was the car weaving even more? He looked in terror as the driver took both hands off of the wheel and struggled with his seat belt clip. Who was driving the car?

"Stop trying to kill the fucking hostage!" The desperate cries of baldy reached his ears at long last, having been brought down from his moment of hysterics by the realization that with both the driver and Baldy grasping the handle of his shovel, the car was free to veer off of the quickly approaching cliff edge.

Which it did.

All eyes turned to the front windshield as the car rapidly dropped.

"Fuck!"

"Fuuuck!

"FUCK!"

All statements were made with varying pitch and tone, Splot idly noticing that Baldy had the voice of an angel; he could really hit those high notes. The car containing the three screaming men continued to plummet ground wards.

"Uhhh" The pained groan of the head on his lap drew all eyes.

"Splot, give me the fucking shovel."

A/N. Really wanted to give this mafia thing a try – I've had loads of different AU ideas that can be applied to different genres. I thought that this applied to Baccano the most, so here it is! Let me know what you thought of this little one shot.

Thanks, Ben