Chapter One:

He never made a regular habit out of it, but now and again, Paulie trekked out to Kiwi and Mozu's bar, formerly Blueno's, to sit alone and think things over to himself with only a tall pint glass to answer him back. He would sit in his usual seat in the corner, order his usual brand of beer, talking his usual small talk with the girls as he ordered, grouching at them to put on another layer or two so their drunken customers didn't get the wrong idea, and would hear the usual, defiant yet amused teasing in reply. At two to one, they always won. Yet, this evening when the sisters expected it, his talk and their ensuing banter never came. They asked him what was wrong and he just shrugged it off and left for his seat in silence.

"I'm telling you Mozu, something's up with him tonight," the sister in pink remarked, filling up a half pint glass of their house draft beer. She watched Paulie stare straight through the glass he'd been nursing for over an hour, handling a cigar that he seemed to be using more like a reverse air freshener. It wasn't a strictly non-smoking establishment, but usually they'd tell him off. Smoke made the bar air stale and unwelcoming. They let him continue for now. He looked like he'd been having a rough enough day.

"Well, sometimes guys just don't feel like talking," Mozu replied, grabbing a tray and helping her sister fill up a round for a nearby table. "Bro got like that sometimes y'know? If he wants to talk, he'll talk, ok?"

"I guess so."

"Lemme talk to him," came a croak from the bar front.

"Ms Kokoro?"

"Sometimes a man needs silence, but sometimes a man needs a mother's ear," she announced, getting up from her stool with a little wobble. Whether her confidence was well founded, or it was just the booze talking, neither sister could tell. With the old drunk it was usually a combination. "Let's see if I can't get'm talking."

"Well we couldn't get anything."

"But good luck Ms Kokoro."

Kiwi shot her a thumbs-up and Kokoro returned it their way.

"Luck, ha! Don't need it. If I could get yer old bro Franky talking in one of his moods, I can get anyone talking."

She waddled to his booth in the shady corner, and settled herself down into it with little grace, but Paulie barely took notice.

"Yer looking awful preoccupied there Paulie."

"Ms Kokoro?"

He glanced up at her in a daze.

"Mind if I sit with yah?"

He hesitated a moment.

"Well, go ahead, you might as well."

"I'd offer yah a drink on me, but looks like yer still busy with that," she gestured at his glass, still half full or half empty depending on who you'd ask about it. She'd say half full, but Paulie was a mutable sort and seemed more of the half empty type to her right now.

"Yeah. No thanks, I'm still good here."

"Penny for yer thoughts?"

There was something about the old woman that invited trust, and that, no matter whether a person deemed it in their best interest to talk to her or not, they found themselves completely at ease and loose of tongue. Her natural maternal aura, coupled with the comfortable knowledge that she was likely already drunk and out of her senses, made her seem a harmless and natural sounding board for those in need of it.

Paulie sighed. It was long, weary and thick with ashy toned smoke.

"I've made a right royal fuck up of things this time."

"What ya do? Get yerself into more gambling debt again?"

She swigged from her bottle.

"No, that's not it," he started, cupping his hand to his head and nursing his temples beneath the straps of his goggles. "Well, I mean it's how it all started, but that in itself's pretty minor in comparison to the rest of it all."

"And ya need to talk about it? Well kid, I'm here and listening."

"Jesus, I don't even know where to start," he mumbled, nervously sucking in smoke and letting it circle laps of his mouth. "And besides, I don't feel like I even have the right to tell someone the half of it. I don't know. It feels like the sort of thing... it'd be bad people knowing about."

"Come on kid," she coaxed and almost as clumsily as she sat down, she got back to her feet. "Let's head somewhere a bit more private. I'll be yer confidant."

"Alright, yeah."

He quickly swallowed the rest of his beer and clambered out from the scruffy booth without argument.

"See you tomorrow girls!" Kokoro waved back to the bar front, as Paulie scuffled behind her, fishing in his top pocket for his matchbook and a fresh smoke for the journey.

"Bye Ms Kokoro, bye Paulie."

Paulie gave a gruff mumble back. The sisters took this as his own brand of reluctant friendliness, or at least figured it was the best attempt at a polite goodbye the guy could manage to muster. He never really did properly say goodbye even on a good day.

"Strange how she can do that…right?" Kiwi pondered.

"I know! Teach us, oh great Ms Kokoro," Mozu joked to her sister, bowing her square afro in the old woman's wake.

They sat together at her kitchen table with glasses sat out between them. Kokoro produced half a dozen bottles, clinking them together into a busy crowd at the centre. She always kept the lights in her house dim and curtains drawn, dreading the day she might finally sober up from eight years of drinking to the worst hangover in history. Paulie sat tapping his cigar into a makeshift ashtray they fashioned for him from an empty milk carton cut roughly in two with a sharp vegetable knife.

"What'll yer poison be?"

"I'll drink whatever," he answered, unsure what half the bottles even were, scrawled as they were in strange foreign words he'd no idea how to pronounce and would feel a fool trying. "Something strong maybe, whatever one of those that might be."

"No real point in drinking anything soft."

"I don't really drink to get drunk usually, no offense."

"None taken," she replied, picking out a few bottles and throwing splashes together impulsively in their glasses. "I'm a drunk, yer a gambler, these are our crosses to bear. Here yah go. I call this cocktail a Paulie, hah! Don't know how it'll taste mind."

She slid a glass his way, and he took a tentative sip, reeling at the sharpness.

"Well, if you want to get drunk, that'll do it."

"That good is it?" she laughed.

"Let's just say a spoonful of medicine would go down far easier."

"So, about this big mess of yours Paulie?"

"So…" he began.

It all started some months previously. He'd been tipped off about a yagara bull that was sure to win big at the races, and at the odds it was given, the winnings would have been enough to pay back everything he owed and still have money to spare. And he never had money to spare. Long story short, he'd scraped up everything he could and lost it all. But at that stage, it was really nothing new.

"Yeah yeah, you'll get it, end of this week for sure," he called down the receiver of his transponder snail.

"End of this week Paulie," his bookie answered.

He was a nasal voiced shrew of a man Paulie was happy not to be talking face to face with. His breath stank like milk past its prime. Not yet fully sour, but still off.

"That means end of this week. Look, I'm pretty easy on you, as things go. I go easy on you cause you're a hard worker, and a guy that no matter how many times I have to come knocking on your door, I know eventually you produce the goods, right?"

"Right, of course. You're very generous," Paulie hated ass-kissing, but as a chronic gambler, it went hand in hand with the job requirements.

"Now, here, I gotta tell you something. So my beloved Granmama, she's taken sick."

"Oh, uh, I'm really sorry to hear," he answered with sympathy, but also a little suspicion out of necessity. His bookies were rare to share personal details unless they had a reason to. "Is it serious?"

"Oh yes, she's not in a good way at all."

"That's… Unfortunate."

"It is, it is."

The line went quiet for some time. Hesitantly, Paulie gave him the answer he knew the man was looking for.

"Is there… anything... I can do?"

"Paulie my man, I wasn't sure you'd ever ask," his voice twanged. "So we need to get her an operation. Problem is, waiting list is miles long. But here's the thing here, if someone important, say I don't know, maybe like the Mayor were to put a word in, I think we'd have a chance of getting her seen sooner."

"You want me to ask Mr Iceburg to get in contact with the hospital?"

"It's a minor favour Paulie, in return for all I've done for you over the years."

"Well, look," he asserted, starting to lose some of his patience for the bookie's game. "I know you've been really patient with me, and I'm sorry about your Grandmother, I really am. But I always promised myself I'd never get my boss involved with my debts."

"That's too bad Paulie… Too bad, you know?"

"Yeah, it is too bad. You'll get your money end of the week guaranteed, but I'm sorry. I just can't help on this one."

"Have a little think about it Paulie," he warned. "Let me know tomorrow if you change your mind alright? Otherwise I might need that money a bit earlier for lining the doctors' pockets, and I might have to send my guys over to collect it. And you know what? They really don't like having to visit people who can't give them what they want. Get a bit angry sometimes."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes Paulie. So call me when you change your mind."

"Look, I'll ask him ok? That's all I can do," he relented.

"Thank you Paulie. That really means a lot, you know?"

"Yeah yeah yeah…" he trailed off, as the shrew ended the call without even a goodbye as a courtesy.

Paulie clapped the receiver back down on his snail, and let his face fall into his palms.

"Christ…"

It wasn't that he didn't want his boss knowing about his vice, Iceburg was already aware of it after all, had even seen him chased down the cobbled streets of the shipbuilding district by strange sharp faced men in suits and dark glasses after their wads of cash. But he made a point of keeping his hobbies separate from his professional life. And gambling sure as hell wasn't very professional. While it was true that sometimes Paulie admitted he took a bookie's threats a little too lightly, he wasn't keen to see if anyone would ever threaten to take it out on someone else he'd roped up into what should have been his own mess and his alone. Broken legs he could deal with, they'd heal well enough in time, but broken friendships he was keen to avoid at all costs. He'd had enough broken friendships to deal with lately for a lifetime. Such as certain guys whose names no one at Galley La mentioned anymore. Their betrayals still enraged him just as much as they upset him to think about.

Before he could change his mind, he forced his hand to knock on the huge rosewood door looming in front of him. The whole main headquarters had been rebuilt down to the slightest detail just like the old one, so that even the pattern carved into the dark wooden panels might have been an exact match to the millimetre. It was almost uncanny how good Iceburg was at his work.

"Mr Iceburg, sir?"

"No need to be so formal Paulie," came his boss's dampened voice from behind his new office door. "And the door's unlocked, you can come on in."

He pushed it open to see Iceburg sat at his desk, where he remained engrossed on Paulie's entrance. His head was bent low over his drafting table, and lit by the light of his gas lamp at its side. His mouse sat, as ever, quietly on his shoulder faithfully watching him sketch. Paulie came just short of the desk, a little tentative to get too close and break his concentration.

"Sorry, force of habit sir, uh I mean…"

"Well, that's quite alright," Iceburg laughed a little.

"So I always told myself I'd never come to you about this…"

Iceburg looked over to him, carefully sliding off his glasses. Paulie noticed he only ever seemed to wear them while drafting.

"Debt again? How much do you need?"

"Well, yes and no," Paulie answered sheepishly. "I'm not asking for money sir…"

"I'm afraid I don't really understand."

"So, the collector Mr Iceburg, he's asked a favour from me, well more from you, I guess…"

"A favour?"

"His Grandmother's not well. Seems pretty bad, but she's on a waiting list to be seen and he'd like her to move up that list, so to speak, " he scratched his neck out of nervous habit. "He thinks if you talk to the hospital, they'd do it. I'm really sorry for asking."

"Hmm well, usually I wouldn't really do this sort of thing," Iceburg thought calmly out loud, though his brow tensed a little and he cupped his chin in his hand. Paulie heard the light bristle of his beard over his fingers.

"I know, I know, Mr Iceburg, I shouldn't have asked you at all."

"But I'll see what I can do. I assume they didn't give you any other option."

"Thank you so much sir, I really appreciate it," Paulie bowed his head.

"But, in exchange I need to ask a favour from you."

"Anything sir."

"Well, two favours. One, please don't call me sir. Like I've always said, it's unnecessary," he said flatly.

Paulie could never really understand his boss's distaste for the praise and respect he'd get from his workers. In fact, Iceburg's own humility on the matter only ever really served to make that same respect in the men grow all the stronger. But Paulie thought it best to try to honour the request, despite feeling that when it came down to it, their boss deserved at least as much as a few formalities and monikers like 'sir' whether he liked hearing them or not.

"Yes, of course."

"And secondly, Paulie, please try to stop gambling," Iceburg lamented, with a shake of his head.

"I, well I… I'll try," he answered, feeling suddenly small and embarrassed like a scolded child. "And honestly sir… sorry, Mr Iceburg. This won't happen again. I swore to myself from the get go you'd never get caught up in this, but I didn't really have a choice this time."

"As your boss, I honestly don't care what you do with your wages, or what you get up to in your spare time. But as a friend Paulie, I find this a bit troubling. Don't get yourself too deeply involved with the wrong kinds of people. It never ends well, and well, I suppose I should know."

Every now and then, Paulie could see Iceburg still thought over all the events that had not long transpired. He did it himself from time to time too, but for himself it had been no more really than a short, sharp and sudden shock, while Iceburg had been playing a much longer game, probably with extra details Paulie was still sketchy on and didn't ask more about for fear of seeming prying. Iceburg still seemed nervous at times, and Paulie wondered whether it was something that had always been there, even if he hadn't noticed it before the whole debacle had kicked itself off in full swing.

"I know, some shit I've got myself into," he confessed. "I'll stop, I know I need to. But every time I tell myself I will, well, I don't, or maybe can't… hard to kick a bad habit you've always had even when you know it's rotten."

"How about we drink to it? Would that help?"

"Alright, yeah. I could use a drink right about now."

"Do you drink scotch?"

"Sure."

He didn't, but he'd take anything Iceburg offered.

Iceburg got up from his desk to find the bottle he kept by his bookshelf. He was partial sometimes to a shallow glass or two with a little ice to himself if he'd been working late. But he found his decanter completely dry.

"Hmm, seems like I'm out though. Well, how about we head out to the bar?"

"Aren't you busy right now?"

"This can wait until later. Right now I think I could use a drink too."

Iceburg took Tyrannosaurus from his perch on his person, and gently placed him in his cage. He pulled a handful of pumpkin seeds from the top pocket of his shirt and offered them up to the little white creature like a peace offering in exchange for putting him away for the night. Paulie couldn't help but wonder whether he kept loose snacks for the rodent in all of his pockets, and wasn't sure whether it was disrespectful that the thought revolted him a little. It put him in mind of the elderly bums who'd sit in the park together feeding the pigeons. He chose to try and forget he'd seen it. Especially since he didn't need to go thinking about pigeons. He hated those dirty little bastards more than ever.

"Let me just grab a coat. I've heard it's supposed to be cold out tonight," Iceburg said, and moved to head for his bedroom. Paulie recognised it as a cue to leave the study himself.

"Sure."

"Well, so a toast then?" Iceburg raised his glass as a prompt. It was already his third drink of the evening, Paulie hadn't quite kept close enough check. Keeping his boss in line had never been something he'd considered as his job to perform, or something that would even be necessary.

"Um... to giving up vices and… ending shady deals that never should have been made in the first place," Paulie improvised.

"Cheers."

They tapped glasses and Paulie took a sip as he eyed Iceburg knock his own back in one take. He sat it down and looked Paulie square in the face.

"You have to promise me that's the end of it, alright?" he said sternly. Paulie found it a little disconcerting.

"Are you really that worried about me?"

"Well you know what happened. I'd rather not have any of us go through anything like that again."

"Hey come on, problems with bookies isn't anything compared to those shady government crooks and all that other shit that went down."

"Maybe. But you don't really know who has connections with whom sometimes. I just want you to be safe, that's all. And if you don't go looking for trouble, usually it'll leave you alone."

"Hmm, maybe. But it's not like you went looking for it, right?"

"Well, that was a little different. Anyway, enough about all that."

"Sure," Paulie replied, though truth be told he was dying to talk more. He still had residual thoughts that he longed to have the chance to set out into words and get out in the open to clear a little awkward air that hung about not quite fully resolved. Like, why had Iceburg chosen him to hand those fake blueprints to, of all people? But he knew Iceburg was keen to let the matter drop, and his tone had been getting a little grave anyhow. There were times that his boss's words cut a little closer to the bone than he might have liked.

"Another drink Paulie?" Iceburg asked, much brighter.

"No thanks. Don't you think you should slow down a little?"

"I'm fine," he dismissed stubbornly.

"Well, suit yourself."

He watched as Iceburg made his way to the bar front, where one of the sisters poured him a shot of something lurid in colour that he quickly drank to the bottom with gusto. Paulie still wasn't entirely which lewd girl belonged to which name, but the one in the yellow bikini top poured Iceburg another while he chatted jovially with the pair, laughed and gestured to keep the alcohol coming.

He was never entirely sure how to react to Iceburg when he got like this. He could be unpredictably childish at times, and Paulie found it awkward to deal with. Perhaps it was just natural that once they hit the mid-life crisis all men eventually reverted back into ridiculous man-children, but he had too much respect for the man and his dignity to let him act a fool.

He made the decision to be responsible. He gathered Iceburg's coat over one arm; a long fine wool coat that Paulie noted he probably couldn't even afford the cost it would be to send off for dry-cleaning.

"Let's get you back home sir," he suggested discretely.

"Hmm well, yes ok. I've probably had enough," he slurred a little, and allowed Paulie to help him into his coat when offered. "Sorry Kiwi, Mozu, looks like Paulie thinks it's past my curfew."

"Aww boo, but the night's just getting started!" Mozu protested, sticking out her tongue.

"Stay a bit longer and chat with us, Mr Iceburg" Kiwi chimed in. "We don't get to chat with real celebrities in our bar often."

"I'm no celebrity," Iceburg laughed dismissively.

"Just B-lists like our little Paulie here," she added with a smirk in Paulie's direction.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!" he grouched back. "Come on, Mr Iceburg, we're leaving."

"Well, goodnight ladies," Iceburg waved. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Goodnight Mr Iceburg!"

"Come visit us more often, won't you?"

"Well, I can't make any promises."

"Bye Paulie-wally," they teased.

Paulie grunted back noncommittally.

While a walk home from the bar usually sobered up a man a little, Iceburg had been drinking in such quick succession that it was only by the end of the walk that the alcohol had really started to settle in. He wobbled on his feet and Paulie had to rush to his side to steady him.

"Help me up the stairs, will you Paulie?"

"Jesus sir, I've never seen you drunk like this."

Paulie fussed over him, guiding Iceburg to hold onto the handrails, and propping him against himself, walking them up in step. Why did the head office have to have so many bloody staircases?

"Sorry about this Paulie."

"I'd say it's alright, but Jesus, you really went to town, didn't you?"

"I guess I've probably been having a bit much lately," Iceburg disclosed. "Well, I'll give it up. So let's drink to that."

"Forgive me sir, but that's a load of crap. No more. You're already completely wasted."

"I'm just having some fun. I wonder how long it's been…"

"What's this all about anyway? You're not still stressed out about all that?"

"If I tell you, you won't tell anyone, right?"

Paulie didn't answer immediately. Obviously he wasn't about to go about spreading out Iceburg's secrets like wildfire, but he had the distinct feeling that Iceburg would never have admitted what he was about to sober. And he didn't want him to have to regret it later.

"No…" he answered tentatively.

"Well, so I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping sometimes," Iceburg confessed. "It's probably a bit ridiculous for a man of my age, but I don't feel entirely safe at night lately."

Paulie gave a little sigh of relief. It was nothing shocking. And it was nothing that Paulie couldn't see why he couldn't have admitted without having to down at least five or six drinks beforehand.

"Right, well, that's completely understandable. I mean they broke right into your bedroom right? Anyone would find it hard to sleep or feel entirely safe in their home after something like that. It's not ridiculous at all."

"So sometimes a drink or two helps a little."

"Again, understandable. But not six. Getting drunk's not really the right way to go about it. I mean, for one it's not entirely safe sleeping after drinking that much. Watch, the carpet ends just here, don't trip on it."

"Well, I know that much."

"Anyway sir, here you are."

They stood outside Iceburg's bedroom door and Paulie tentatively let him go, glad to see he seemed capable of holding himself up steady enough.

"Thank you Paulie."

"I should really head home. Will you be alright sir?"

"You could stay with me."

When Paulie flushed, it started from the tips of his ears and spread in two bold lines to meet in the centre of his face.

"Uh, well, I… sir… I'm not…you know…" he stammered.

Iceburg laughed, nearly tripping himself in the process.

"Not like that."

Paulie shook his head desperately, mortified for mistaking it as a proposition.

"Oh, no, no. I didn't think you meant like… that."

"Just to make sure nothing happens," he clarified. "I'll feel safer if I know there's someone else around."

"Alright, I guess I can do that," Paulie answered, hoping desperately for his face to cool itself down. But thinking about how embarrassed he must have appeared to Iceburg right now only served to make him grow all the more embarrassed. It was a vicious circle. He found he couldn't meet him in the eye.

"… I'll sit outside the door if you'd like? But I can't promise I'll stay awake myself."

"That's fair enough."

"So I'll stay. But promise me you'll call the hospital in the morning."

"The hospital?"

"You know, that favour I asked?"

"Oh… yes, of course."

"Well, goodnight sir. You can rest easy tonight."

"Goodnight Paulie. Sorry again about this. Well, I really appreciate it. Hmm.. didn't I…?" Iceburg pushed open his door in thought. "Didn't I tell you not to call me sir earlier?"

"Yes, sorry, Mr Iceburg."

It took a little moment for Paulie to recover from shame. It wasn't until he realised that Iceburg might not even remember it by morning that he could finally rest easy. Still, why had that of all things been the first interpretation that had come to mind? It disturbed him a bit, but thought it best not to overanalyse it.

Pulling up a chair to the door brought back to mind the night they'd all sat outside his room together the night he was first shot; the night that had started it all. It was probably the first time he'd really considered Iceburg's mortality, not that Paulie had really believed Iceburg beyond reproach from even God, but there was something about a young man that naturally assumed his hero was somehow invincible. And since then, Iceburg seemed only to have become more and more human. Perhaps it was just a sign Paulie was growing up.

He found his eyes starting to close over of their own free will, and didn't put up a fight to resist. Iceburg was going to sort things out for the bookie in the morning. Soon, this phase of his life would be over.

Or so he thought.