Disclaimer: Not mine. : (

Author's Note: Chapter two was a long time in coming, I understand. But I didn't think I wanted to continue with this story. It was a bust the first time around. Maybe I'll grab a few more people's interest with this chapter, I guess we'll see. Anyhow, I can't know what you guys are thinking without feedback, so please review!

Next morning Race was due to see his boss. It was a dreary, overcast day with the clouds hanging low in the sky and the breeze just enough to leave you chilled. Leaving his shabby apartment early, he found Sal already sitting on the steps outside. The man was smoking a cheap cigarette in one hand – the other was busy tapping out a jazz rhythm on his knee. "Heya Tony," he greeted.

Race chuckled. "If I didn't know bettah I'd say ya'd been out on me front porch all night, Sal. Doncha nevah sleep?"

"Not if I can help it," Sal retorted. "Too much work tah get done - an' when I ain't workin' I'm drinkin' – who's got time fah sleep?"

Race smiled, helped Sal up, and the two began the short walk. "Can't blame ya, pal. Don't sleep much meself."

"Why's that?"

Race shrugged. "Nightmares mostly." And it was true, though Sal didn't push the matter. He was well aware that his friend's past was not something which he liked to discuss, and so he just assumed it was the cause of the nightmares in question.

The walk to Vinny's "office" was not far. The boss's brother owned a club just a few blocks from Tony's place and gave the basement over to Vinny to conduct his business in. When they arrived they headed straight to the back and down the concrete stairs to the heavy deadbolted door. Sal knocked rapidly five times and stood back. A moment later the door swung open and a man by the name of Rocco stood there. He was Vinny's bodyguard – he never left the man's side. Race wouldn't have been surprised if the two men slept in the same bed.

Rocco was a larger man than Race had ever seen before – easily seven foot tall with biceps the size of Race's head.

"How's it goin', Rocco?" Sal asked casually as the big man let them through. Rocco neither answered nor returned Sal's greeting.

The basement was large with concrete floors and support beams. The perfectly nondescript and bleak feel for a mafia boss's headquarters. Vinny was sitting across the room behind a large desk, in his usual flawless suit. He was a tall man, but a slim one, retaining his form even in middle age. He had sleek black hair and a bald spot, with brown eyes which commanded respect. Race was astounded time after time by how such an average looking man could frighten so many people … including Race himself. But he was well spoken with just the hint of an Italian accent and he was good to those who were loyal to him.

"Boys," he greeted with a nod, his palms spread in front of him in a gesture of welcome, "how are we this morning?"

Race and Sal both nodded their greetings as they sat down on the opposite side of Vinny's desk. "Good, sir," Sal said cheerfully, "And yaself?"

Vinny nodded his head from side to side, "Not bad – we've had better days."

Sal raised an eyebrow in inquisition, but Vinny said, "First things first – how did we do last night, Sal?"

That was one thing about Vinny which amused Race to no end – the man constantly used "we" even if he himself was not involved in the group of which he was speaking.

Sal nodded seriously, "Very good, sir. Ole Paulie's as dead as a doornail."

Vinny nodded casually and then said, "Good man, Sal. I've got another job for you this morning, though this one might be a bit more complicated. There's a kid I might need you to hit, he's been giving me some trouble down at Maloney's."

Maloney's was an Irish Pub a few streets over where the city's best prize fighters gathered every Friday night. Many of the regulars put money on the fights, and Vinny was known to fix them in his favor.

"Good as dead he is, sir." Sal assured with a wink. Race just sat by quiet, his hands folded serenely, watching his lap. Two jobs, back to back? It was gonna be a long night.

Vinny chuckled to himself. "Always overeager, aren't we, Sal? But I don't need him hit just yet, understand. I need you to tail him for tonight first." Sal watched Vinny speculatively for a moment, when the boss continued with his elbows on the desk and his fingers steepled. "Here's the deal – the kid's new, pretty young. But he's good – I've never seen anything like him. He's won every fight he's been in since he started a month ago. Naturally, he sparked my curiosity. So much so that I approached the kid myself with a golden offer. 'Lose this Friday's fight', I told him, 'And there's five hundred dollars in it for you'."

Race looked up for the first time. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money. For Vinny to offer the kid that much meant that the kid was so good everyone in Maloney's was already putting money on him, and if Vinny bet against him on a fixed fight, the return would be pretty damn high and well worth it for the boss.

Vinny noticed Race's sudden interest in the conversation and nodded once in his direction to quell his disbelief. "Five hundred dollars," he confirmed. "But, and fuck me, but the kid turned me down."

This, even more than the five hundred dollars, shocked Race. He didn't think Vinny had ever heard the word "no" since birth.

"Why'd he do dat?" Race asked with a raised eyebrow in genuine curiosity.

Vinny shrugged, completely empathetic to Race's bewilderment. "You tell me, Tony my boy, you tell me. So the kid turns me down, pretty rudely if I might add. And I start thinking about it, and I think he might already be in league with Big Lou."

So there it was – it was about competition. Race knew that Vinny would not have the kid hit just for his hurt pride at having been turned down. He was a fair man, if a hard one. But the fights at Maloney's were Vinny's territory and if Big Lou was encroaching upon that knowingly it could mean war between the two bosses – all over some insignificant boxer.

Race nodded understandingly, and Vinny continued. "There's no reason for this kid to turn down my offer – if he's prize fighting, he's obviously in need of the money, so why turn down five hundred dollars? Because he's already gotten a better offer, that's why. Now what I need from you boys right now is just to follow the kid tonight to his fight. Tonight we'll find out if he's in league with Big Lou. If he is, come back and see me and we'll have to take care of him, you got that Sal?"

Sal nodded, with a smile suddenly – he was always happier when there was a job to be done. Vinny took the smile as confirmation and nodded decisively. "Good," he declared. "Now, you'll go tonight. The kid's fighting that Italian, my old favorite, you remember him – what's his name, Sal?"

"Bruce, sir."

Bruce was a fighter from the Bronx who was a regular at Maloney's. The guy was large, but he was only an average fighter. What he did have, however, was showmanship. He made every fight a spectacle to be seen, and for that, he was known as one of the best prize fighters in town. Vinny had an affinity for the ring and loved watching Bruce fight – never fixing any of them for the sole reason that the man was the nephew of a friend of his.

"Well if this kid's as good as they say, then Bruce hasn't got a chance," Sal commented.

Vinny nodded, knowing Sal wasn't the smartest of his employees. "So what does that let us know, Sal? If he loses the fight – then he's with Big Lou for sure."

"So," Sal reasoned, "if he loses the fight, you want us to hit him?"

Vinny chuckled. "That's right, Sal."

Sal's smile was back.

"You boys will report back to me tonight after the fight if he wins, after the hit if he loses, understand?"

Sal nodded and Race nodded. Both got up to leave, but Vinny nodded his head in Race's direction. "If you could stay for a moment, son, I'd like to have a word."

Race nodded and Sal clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be down gettin' lunch when ya through."

Vinny waited until Rocco had closed the door behind Sal to resume his seat. Race looked up expectantly. He had never been alone with the boss before – he and Sal always had been a team, never apart. It was a curious thing indeed that Vinny had asked him to stay alone.

"Tony," Vinny began seriously, "I wanted to talk to you about tonight."

Race raised an eyebrow.

"I've been watching you, you know. And you're a smart kid."

Race was confused. "Thank you, sir …"

"I think you could really be something, Tony, and I want you to know that. Tonight is a much bigger job than I'd usually hand over to Sal – if Big Lou really is dealing with this kid, it'll mean a lot more than just the hit of one Irish prize fighter. I'm putting you in charge of this job, and if all goes well, it'll mean big things for you – do you understand what I'm saying?"

Race nodded. Of course he did – it meant that if he didn't fuck up tonight, and got Vinny the information he wanted, he had the chance to be a big shot. One of Vinny's top men – the kind who got to wear suits instead of dirty vests, smoke expensive Cuban cigars instead of cheap cigarettes, and the kind who were considered important merely because the boss thought of them as such. However … Race had never really wanted that for himself. Hell, he'd joined up under Vinny just to have something to do with his time to try and forget about his past. The money wasn't bad either. But to be a big shot? That would mean much more than petty hits after midnight…

"It's something to think about," Vinny reasoned. "I like you, Tony. You're a solid kid, and I wouldn't mind even having you as my right hand one day. You just make sure everything goes according to plan tonight and I'll make sure you're taken care of."

Tony nodded, standing abruptly. "Thank you sir," he said, eager to leave as soon as possible.

Vinny stood also. The two men shook hands and Vinny watched Race as he left the basement, just as introverted and secretive as he had always been.

Vinny sat back in his chair and turned his head in Rocco's direction. "What was the kid's name, again? Irish, isn't he?"

Rocco stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back, "Yes, Irish sir. The name's Conlin."

Vinny stretched out in his chair. "Conlin," he repeated. "Quite a bit of trouble over a dirty Mick prize fighter."