Rated M

Disclaimer – Not mine, I just make them do bad, bad things.
Much love and thanks to my beta-love, Carrie ZM
and to my pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy
for all the time and energy they've put into this fic.
Also, massive thanks to LaMomo for all the Italian translations.

Thursday, March 15, 1956
12:06 AM

Glasses cocks his head to the side and thumbs through his file. "Things got quiet for a while, didn't they?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"After Sal Torello met his maker, the Outfit had an uneventful few months."

"I wouldn't know. I already told you, I'm not a member of the Outfit."

The door to the interrogation room swings open and Slick slips back in, slumping in his seat like a kid who just got a beating.

Pushing his specs up, Glasses continues. "But things got hairy in June though, didn't they?" He drops pictures of Frankie Big Features and Mickey the Hump on the table. "July too." Next, he slides over the crime scene photos from the deaths of Anthony Fat Knees and that little roach, Skinny Vinnie from Taylor Street.

"You catch any of the guys responsible for these ones?"

"We haven't." He slaps one more picture of a crime scene down on the table. It's the one I knew was coming and the only one of these that I'm actually responsible for. I still can't say I regret it though. "One of these two was a friend of yours though, right?"

"Yeah, I knew him. Great guy." Also a great big pain in my ass.

Slick takes the photo and winces. "Man, that's a hell of a way to go."

July 1955

"What was the name of the drink we had in Maui?" Bitsy asks, resting a calming hand on my forearm trying to subtly keep me from reaching across the table and stabbing my cousin in the throat with my fork.

I swallow my steak, but don't look up from my plate. "Mai Tai."

"That's it." She snaps her fingers. "A mai tai. Rose, I'm telling you, it's heavenly."

"Emmett promised he'd take me to Hawaii one of these days." I look up to see Rose batting her lashes at her husband, but he's too busy shoveling his food in his mouth like a goddamn Neanderthal.

My wife rubs my leg beneath the table. "It was amazing."

She's right, it was amazing and I'd give my left nut to be back there on the beach, getting fresh with Bits under an umbrella. But things are too screwy right now to be distracted by memories of pineapple-flavored-kisses and her tan-lined tits bouncing while she rode me.

After receiving the phone call last night about Vinnie getting his brains bashed in with a mallet, my cousin is fit to be tied. It's the fourth one of our guys that's pushing up daisies in the past two months. Uncle C is in Havana, looking after his interests and getting a little R&R with my aunt, leaving Em here to handle things. Wanting to prove himself to his father and the crews is understandable, but he's considering going to war with the Russian mob without the appropriate amount of manpower … and that's just suicide.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Rose grabs her wine glass and motions towards our kitchen. "Bella, let's go get the lava cake ready to serve the fellas."

Dabbing the corners of her mouth, Bits excuses herself. "Yes, of course."

Em and I stand as the girls leave the table. They're barely out of the dining room when he starts in on me.

"Four fuckin' guys, Ed." He holds out his fingers to illustrate. "Four on my watch."

"I understand, bu—"

"But nothin'!" The silverware and plates clank when his fist slams down. "I'm not gonna sit around with my thumb up my ass while a bunch of Commies take my guys out one by one."

"I agree, but you can't –"

Leaning forward, he speaks through clenched teeth. "I can and I will."

"Listen." I keep my voice low as I toss my napkin on the table. "We're gonna take care of this, but you need to calm down and use your fuckin' head. We don't have enough guys to go to war right now."

"We need to act!"

"You need a fuckin' plan, Em. Now listen to me, let's think this through. You grab a few soldiers and what? What're you gonna do, huh? Lure 'em out with a Molotov Cocktail and pick 'em off one by one in the streets?"

"That's one way to do it."

"Nah. I don't think so. The last thing we need now is exposure. We're bein' watched, Em."

"By who?"

"What do you mean, who? Fuckin' everybody's waitin' to see what you do here. The cops would love to collar a Cullen."

"I'd be out by morning, who else?"

"How about other crews, huh? You don't think those pig fuckers in Indy and K.C. wouldn't love to pick up our scraps? What about New York?"

"Fuck New York!" He points a finger at me. "And fuck you if you think you know how to run this thing better than me."

I widen my arms. "I'm not sayin' I could run it better than you, but I ain't a yes man, Em. I'm not gonna sit here and lick your privates and tell you that you're makin' a good call when you're not. You want someone to stroke your dick, you go to 18th Street. You want someone who's got your best interest in mind then you gotta get your head outta your ass and fuckin' listen."

"Who's ready for dessert?" Bitsy sing-songs, pushing open the door from the kitchen while Rose carries in the cake behind her.

"We gotta go."

"We do?" Rose sounds confused, but gets smart when her husband gives her a look. "Oh, right. We do. Gotta get the baby from my mother's house."

I make a mental note to have Em teach her about spousal privilege and pleading the fifth. She'd be a nightmare on the witness stand.

The girls say their goodbyes and hug like they won't be on the phone twenty minutes from now. Em kisses Bella's cheek and thanks her for the meal. Shaking my hand on his way out, he stares at me with hardened eyes.

"I'll give you until noon tomorrow to come up with somethin'. If you don't, the only thing Russian left standing in this city will be the tea room."

Nodding, I close the door behind him and make my way back to my study.

Bits points to the platter. "Want any of this cake?"

"No thanks. Full."

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "All right."

Thirty minutes later, I'm polishing off my second scotch and staring at an old city of Chicago paperweight my dad used to keep on his desk like it'll give me some answers.

"You'll have to forgive me," Bella says from the doorway. "I'm slipping on my wifely duties."

"Not at all."

She holds up the evening paper. "I forgot to put this on your desk earlier."

I laugh and beckon her over with a finger. "Well, you had the scotch ready at six, so I'll let it slide."

Slapping the newspaper down on my desk, she runs a finger down one of the pictures. "Man, that's tall."

"What's that?"

"The new Prudential Building." She traces the length of the building again. "Forty-two stories."

"That's a long way down."

"Splat!" she yells with a clap.

"Splat, huh?"

"Well could you imagine? Falling from that far up?"

"Nope."

"I wonder if you'd even be recognizable afterwards."

"Wouldn't matter." I pat the top of my thigh for her to come have a seat. "You'd be dead and some poor fuck from the city would have to scrape you off of Randolph Street."

Shrugging one shoulder, she takes a seat on my lap. "It'd be a hell of a headline."

I grin. "Who you thinkin' of tossin' off a buildin', Bits?"

"No one." Her fingers find my hair, scratching my temples just the way I like. "My days of justifiable homicide are done."

The comment is said offhanded enough, but it's her wording that has me curious. "Justifiable homicide?"

"Mmm hmm." Wetting her lips, she nods. "Sometimes these things are necessary."

"Am I aiding and abetting a felon?"

She kisses my nose. "You are."

"Who'd you clip?"

"I don't know if I can remember their names. It's been ages since I've even thought of them."

"Them?"

"Oh yes. Two of them."

"What'd they do?

"They did nothing. Sometimes these things are simply done out of necessity."

"These things? My God," my hand covers her knee, "you sound like a hardened criminal."

"Sure am, and at the tender age of nine, no less."

"I would've never pegged ya' for a juvenile delinquent."

She gives me a smooch. "I'd only be a delinquent if I got caught."

"Let's hear it."

"Have you ever been to Riverview Park?"

"The amusement park?"

"Yep."

"Not since I was a kid."

"Well I remember one Sunday after church, my father took me and the daughter of one of his law firm partners. At the time, he was trying to secure an election endorsement, and my mother thought that forcing a friendship between me and the partner's daughter, Mary Alice, was just the ticket." Clucking her tongue, she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, there was this game where you threw ping pong balls into glass bowls with small goldfish floating in them. I told Mary Alice I had my sights set on the fat one with the dark orange stripe. I spent nearly two-dollars trying to win it."

"Your old man could've bought all the goldfish in the joint for that kinda money."

"This is true." She gets the faraway look on her face and her fingers toy with her pearls. "But I really wanted that one."

"So she snatched it out from under you, huh?"

"She did and then she made the mistake of throwing it in my face."

"She was gloatin' about it?"

"Yep. Cooing at it with her fake baby voice and acting like she even wanted it in the first place."

"Did you win one?"

"Yes, but it was scrawny and gross and probably days from death anyway."

"So you helped it along?"

"I did. Although, to be fair, I wouldn't have if she wasn't going out of her way to get my goat."

I chuckle. "What'd you do?"

"On our way home, we were in the back seat of my father's car. She fell asleep, so I took a bobby pin from my hair and poked a hole in the seam of her fish's bag, then one in mine too."

"You're ruthless."

"I pretended to be asleep until she woke up and started sobbing." Bitsy's lips turn up into a sneer. "She bawled like a baby when she saw him laying there motionless. I got the waterworks going too, but more for my father's benefit."

"So you off'd them both just to spite her?"

"No. I off'd hers to teach her a lesson and I offed mine to maintain my innocence."

"Smart cookie."

"Sometimes those kinds of sacrifices need to be made." She shrugs. "Otherwise people will walk all over you."

My hand slips beneath the hem of her skirt. "You're probably right."

Rubbing her thumbs over my temples, she speaks softly. "Everything okay with you and Emmett?"

Nope. "We're fine."

"Rose said he's been out of sorts for weeks."

"Yeah, well, can ya' blame him?" She shakes her head. "Me neither."

"But you shouldn't let him take it out on you."

I laugh even though nothing about this is funny. "Bits, he's the boss, he can take it out on anyone he wants. You're over here actin' like I got any power in this situation and I don't."

She hums and kisses me full on the lips before whispering, "I think you do." Bringing her mouth to my ear, she gently nibbles on the lobe. "You have all the power and you just don't know it."

"How do you figure?"

Her tongue moves down my throat. "You have what he lacks." She sucks at the skin. "What he needs more now than ever. Something that trumps power any day."

"Oh yeah?" My eyes fall closed as she sinks to her knees and rakes her long nails down my chest. "And what's that?"

Her fingers land on my belt buckle then slide down to palm my dick. "Influence."

I blow out a breath and groan at the sound of the zipper being lowered. "Influence?"

"Mmm hmm." Reaching inside my drawers, she grips my length and pulls it out. "He may be the one calling the shots." She kisses the tip softly. "But behind the scenes, you're laying out the game plan."

"Jesus." I bury my fingers in her hair and guide those gorgeous red lips down my cock. She looks up at me with her big, brown eyes and teases me with every twist and swipe of that pretty pink tongue. "So good."

And that's the God's honest truth. My Bitsy is good at a great many things, but until recently, blowjobs weren't one of them.

Nowadays she's got my eyes rolling to the back of my head in four minutes flat. Not today though. As good as that hot little mouth feels bobbing up and down my shaft, her words have me distracted. I stare straight ahead at the paperweight, eyeing an area of town that we've never done business in.

But we will now, because I have a plan.

When she's done, I pat Bits on the tush, give her a kiss and send her to bed. Once she's out of earshot, I get on the horn to my cousin.

"Meet me on the roof of the Orchid in an hour."

Bursting through the roof access door, Emmett comes at me with his arms wide. "What the fuck, Ed? This couldn't wait until mornin'?"

"I thought you wanted a solution?"

"I do, but I wanna sleep too. I've got a newborn keepin' me up half the night as it is."

"So listen." I flick the cherry off of my cigarette and toss it over the side of the building. "I'm thinkin' I've got somethin' that'll fix our little problem."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

Exhaling deeply, I look out over the city. "Fine, but you gotta swear you'll hear me out."

"That sounds promising."

I level him with a glare. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Go ahead."

"So last week, Paulie and I are at Woolworth's lunch counter grabbin' a bite and he's bitchin' and moanin' about some scumbag flesh peddler who's stiffed him on some gamblin' debts."

"How much?"

"A few grand."

Em whistles low. "Why doesn't he handle the problem?"

"Because the problem is Laurent Jeffries."

"Who? Lay Low Jeffries?"

"Yep."

"So the fuck what? He should handle him like any other low-life pussy peddler."

"He would if Lay Low wasn't the right hand man to Big Marcus V out of Bronzeville."

"Get outta here."

"Those two are like this." I cross my fingers. "Word from the bird is that they're like brothers."

"Untouchable, huh?"

"Yep."

"All right, so what does Lay Low have to do with the Russian fucks?"

"Three days ago in the Sun Times there was a blurb about a disturbance at the docks. I overheard Nicky Numb Nuts tellin' Felix that Big Marcus' guys exchanged gunfire with the Kremlin crew."

"That's no surprise that we're not the only ones who's got a problem with the Commies. So what?"

"Don't you think they're itchin' for an excuse to take 'em out?"

"Probably." He cocks his head to the side. "So wait, are you sayin' you want me to bring Big Marcus and his guys into this? Cause not for nothin', we don't have a relationship with the fellas in Bronzeville."

"Do they have access to docks?"

"Yeah."

"Do they have gambling operations that we ain't gettin' a cut of?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't you think we should have a relationship with the Bronzeville crew?"

He waves me off before reaching into his pocket to grab his smokes. "So what? We're gonna show up at Big Marcus' door and tell him to fall in line?"

"Nope."

"Then what?"

Lolling my head back and forth, I shove my hands in my pockets. "Here's the part of the plan you may have a problem with."

His arms go wide again. "If I'm not gonna like it then why the fuck am I here?"

"Because it's an absolute necessity."

"What is it?"

"A small sacrifice."

He strikes a match and the flame lights his face as he inhales deeply. "A what?"

I point out into the distance at the forty-two story skyscraper Bits showed me in the paper. "See that building there?"

"Yeah."

"What would you do if someone close to you was tossed off that building?"

He blows out the smoke. "I'd probably tear the fuckin' city apart until I found the cats responsible."

"And what do you think Big Marcus would do if one of his nearest and dearest got pushed to his death?"

Shrugging, he flicks his cig. "I suppose he'd do the same."

"Okay, so … what if both of you had guys thrown from that building? At the exact same time?"

His head snaps to mine and I can see his mind working, finally using that big head of his. "That could work."

"Marcus would be motivated to help us solve our mutual problem."

He grins. "And we'd have the manpower to go to war."

"Exactly. We'd just need to sacrifice one of our own."

"Easy, let's go grab that buck-toothed fuck from Lawndale, Richie The Beaver."

"Nah, you wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire. It's gotta be someone you're close to. Someone that you're actually fond of." I rub a hand over my jaw. "Someone you care about enough to tear this city apart for."

"What, like one of the capos? Because I can't clip–"

"No."

"You aren't talkin' about my dad are you?"

"Fuck no!"

"Then who do you have in mind, Ed?"

"Someone who brings very little to the organization moneywise." His brow furrows and I can tell he hasn't caught on, so I give him another hint. "Someone who holds no position of power," I wave a hand in his direction, "other than his proximity to you."

His expression hardens when he realizes who I'm talking about and he looks away. "No."

"Em—"

"I said no!"

"Listen, he's a good guy, but he's fuckin' useless. Wheelmen are a dime a dozen."

"He's a fuckin' friend."

"Was he your fuckin' friend when he lost the huge payout from the Sox game last week? Huh?" I dip my head, daring him to answer. "You told him to take it to the safe at the Orchid and he left it in the car so he could fill his fat fuckin' gullet with meatloaf and stare at some lunch lady's tits."

"I can't."

"Anyone else would've got a beatin' at the very least, Em. Now, I get it. He's your friend, but this is business. You've got a wife and kid to think about now. Those Russian fucks won't hesitate to eradicate us through any means necessary and that includes women and children 'cause they don't have any honor." I tick off my fingers. "Our wives, your son, your –"

His cig is on the ground and he's got me by the collar before I can even finish my sentence. "You think I don't know that?" Looking at me with crazy eyes, he tightens his grip and grits his teeth. "Huh? You think I can sleep a fuckin' wink knowin' how easy they could get to us and our families?"

"Then you need to do what needs to be done! End this shit, right now. His life for theirs." Pushing me back, he lets me go and places his head in his hands. I lower my voice. "It's the right thing to do."

"It's not." His words come out strained, somewhere between rage and anguish as he presses his palms against his eyes. Stepping over to the ledge, he looks out over the city for a few minutes before dropping his chin to his chest in defeat. "This ain't right, Ed."

Widening my stance, I clasp my hands in front of me and start to wonder if maybe Bits was wrong about this influence business. "It's up to you. We could go to war right now if you want." I take a few steps to stand beside him by the ledge. "Hell, there's a chance that we could come out on top in all of this. But at the end of the day, you've gotta ask yourself if the end justifies the means. Will it be worth it? All the casualties—"

"I know."

"All the money and territory at stake if this doesn't shake out the way you hope."

"I know. I get it. You're right." Taking a deep breath, he stands to his full height and looks over at me. "So, what's the plan?"

The following evening, Em, Benny, and I are in the back room at Gene and Georgetti. Benny's drinking Canadian Club and enjoying his last supper while Em reminisces, telling his favorite stories of his fat-bellied friend. The conversation turns to business and my cousin offers Benny the opportunity to repay him for that scratch from the Sox game.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he speaks low. "After dinner, you and Ed are gonna head down to the whore house on Clark. Go around the back though the garden entrance. There should be a cat there goes by the name Lay Low. You tell him you got a client in the car that's interested in some strange. Once you get him outside, you make him comfortable in the trunk, but make sure no one sees you, understand?"

Benny nods. "All right."

"Ed will give you directions from there on out, you got it?"

"Got it. I won't mess up this time."

Em claps his back and pulls him in for a hug. "I know you won't, pal."

Forty-five minutes later, Benny's dragging a tired from struggling Lay Low to the edge of the building forty-two stories above Chicagoland.

I hold out the Makorov pistol. "Shoot him in the chest and make sure he goes over the ledge."

Benny pulls the trigger and steps to the edge to watch Lay Low Jeffries take the ride of his life.

"Gimme the gun."

Handing it over without question, he never even takes his eyes off of Lay Low's dead body plummeting to the ground.

"See ya, Benny."

Turning to his name, his eyes go wide when he sees the barrel of the gun pointed at his head.

I fire.

He falls.

And just like always, I feel nothing.

A/N: So … that happened.

Another crazy, WIP-less week for us. Carrie's workin' hard for the money (so hard for it honey) and I'm stuck in a funk at the thought of no new Game of Thrones episodes for two years. TWO WHOLE YEARS. *sighs*

So here's a question for you … if there were a fanfic contest you'd like to see come back – which one would it be?

Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted, or lurked this fic! I'll see you next Thursday!