The night was young and bright in New York City. Traffic was filled with anxious cars ready to get to their destinations. Men and women wore their best as they strolled on the sidewalks, debating where to eat, if they should go dancing, or just spend a night looking out at the city. This decade was a time of peace. No wars, no disputes. Just for once in a little while: Peace. If only they knew that there was a whole new war taking place right in this very city, and its been going on for a very long time.
A black car drove quietly through the streets, music playing through the radio. Three nicely dressed men sat, the driver singing along to the music. "Holy shit Dean, shut your mouth. Sound like a fuckin' cat dying." "Hey fuck you I can sing however I want! The Don gave ME this car!"
"Yeah? Well he gave me this gun and i can do whatever i want with it!"
"Hey, hey, you two can kill each other later, we're here."
The car pulled up on the side of the road right in front of The Silver Suit, New York's finest club. The three men climbed out of the car, fixing their suits. One was barrel chested, and grizzly, wearing a silver suit. The other was a bit smaller but just as strong, wearing a brown one. The last one was tall, fit, and has a simple charm to his face. He had a small bit of facial hair. A black suit, a rose on his chest pocket, and he wore a worn out fedora that once belonged to a powerful man. Jones Lombardi's dark green eyes scanned the area.
The club's exterior had a large neon sign above a silver canopy. A red carpet was in front, and a line of eager people were waiting to be let in. The three of them walked to the door, a very large man gave them a nod and stepped aside. "Evenin' Mister Lombardi." The bouncer said. Jones tipped his hat and gave a flash of white teeth. "Evening Jeff."
A young woman sang smooth jazz in the dimly lit room. The stage was surrounded by tables, to the right of the main room was a bar with men and women ordering drinks, and above was where the VIP's sat in the balcony to watch the entertainers. Backrooms were also used for people who had the money to purchase one. Jones walked past the bar, giving a small nod and smile to the bartender before making his way through the crowd, through a door leading to the back stage, and in the back corner, entering a door.
"We don't have much time with this man, boys. So lets make this quick, but don't forget your Lombardi charm." Jones said, unbuttoning his jacket. The bottom floors of the Club were not seen to the public. This is where they kept their food, alcohol, and persons of interest if need be. The three of the men made it down the hall, hearing muffled screams from behind the steel door. He opened it to reveal a rather nice place. A carpeted area, a fireplace, bookshelves, and nice furniture... It would have been nice if a scrawny man was tied to a chair with dried blood on his face.
"Good afternoon, Mister Brighton! How are you doing?" Jones said with a smile, hanging his hat and jacket up on the coat rack. "Screw You!" The man screamed. "Somebody help me!" Jones rolled up his sleeves, walked up to him, and crouched down to be level with his face. As Jones did that, one of the two men that followed Jones down here named Dean walked over to the fire place, grabbing a fire poker, and sticking it in the flames. Jones gave a shake of his head and smile, even in this situation the man known as Brighton couldn't help but feel ease with the grin. What could he say? Jones had a likable face! "The only one who can help you is yourself pal... I'm a reasonable man. My family is a reasonable bunch... But when we find out that one of our employers has been sending dirty little secrets to strangers... well, fool us once, Mister Brighton..." Jones sat back up and walked towards the bookshelf as Dean came back over, and pressed the red hot fire poker against his cheek.
The family only went to violence when needed. Now was one of those times. Jones turned around to see the man had some fresh blood on his face. "Now we gave you a few hours to think about how you want to tell us who it was you were sending information to. Choose your next words wisely friend."
Jones Lombardi and his cousins Dean and Michael walked casually out of the back stage, and in to the club. Now that the hard work was done, he could enjoy himself at his own bar! Of course when he got home he will tell his dad who Brighton was talking to.. but until then he'll socialize, have a drink, and be a good owner of the best club in New York! Jones Lombardi and his family has been through a lot in the last few decades, but now they were getting the respect they deserved!
A black car drove quietly through the streets, music playing through the radio. Three nicely dressed men sat, the driver singing along to the music. "Holy shit Dean, shut your mouth. Sound like a fuckin' cat dying." "Hey fuck you I can sing however I want! The Don gave ME this car!"
"Yeah? Well he gave me this gun and i can do whatever i want with it!"
"Hey, hey, you two can kill each other later, we're here."
The car pulled up on the side of the road right in front of The Silver Suit, New York's finest club. The three men climbed out of the car, fixing their suits. One was barrel chested, and grizzly, wearing a silver suit. The other was a bit smaller but just as strong, wearing a brown one. The last one was tall, fit, and has a simple charm to his face. He had a small bit of facial hair. A black suit, a rose on his chest pocket, and he wore a worn out fedora that once belonged to a powerful man. Jones Lombardi's dark green eyes scanned the area.
The club's exterior had a large neon sign above a silver canopy. A red carpet was in front, and a line of eager people were waiting to be let in. The three of them walked to the door, a very large man gave them a nod and stepped aside. "Evenin' Mister Lombardi." The bouncer said. Jones tipped his hat and gave a flash of white teeth. "Evening Jeff."
A young woman sang smooth jazz in the dimly lit room. The stage was surrounded by tables, to the right of the main room was a bar with men and women ordering drinks, and above was where the VIP's sat in the balcony to watch the entertainers. Backrooms were also used for people who had the money to purchase one. Jones walked past the bar, giving a small nod and smile to the bartender before making his way through the crowd, through a door leading to the back stage, and in the back corner, entering a door.
"We don't have much time with this man, boys. So lets make this quick, but don't forget your Lombardi charm." Jones said, unbuttoning his jacket. The bottom floors of the Club were not seen to the public. This is where they kept their food, alcohol, and persons of interest if need be. The three of the men made it down the hall, hearing muffled screams from behind the steel door. He opened it to reveal a rather nice place. A carpeted area, a fireplace, bookshelves, and nice furniture... It would have been nice if a scrawny man was tied to a chair with dried blood on his face.
"Good afternoon, Mister Brighton! How are you doing?" Jones said with a smile, hanging his hat and jacket up on the coat rack. "Screw You!" The man screamed. "Somebody help me!" Jones rolled up his sleeves, walked up to him, and crouched down to be level with his face. As Jones did that, one of the two men that followed Jones down here named Dean walked over to the fire place, grabbing a fire poker, and sticking it in the flames. Jones gave a shake of his head and smile, even in this situation the man known as Brighton couldn't help but feel ease with the grin. What could he say? Jones had a likable face! "The only one who can help you is yourself pal... I'm a reasonable man. My family is a reasonable bunch... But when we find out that one of our employers has been sending dirty little secrets to strangers... well, fool us once, Mister Brighton..." Jones sat back up and walked towards the bookshelf as Dean came back over, and pressed the red hot fire poker against his cheek.
The family only went to violence when needed. Now was one of those times. Jones turned around to see the man had some fresh blood on his face. "Now we gave you a few hours to think about how you want to tell us who it was you were sending information to. Choose your next words wisely friend."
Jones Lombardi and his cousins Dean and Michael walked casually out of the back stage, and in to the club. Now that the hard work was done, he could enjoy himself at his own bar! Of course when he got home he will tell his dad who Brighton was talking to.. but until then he'll socialize, have a drink, and be a good owner of the best club in New York! Jones Lombardi and his family has been through a lot in the last few decades, but now they were getting the respect they deserved!
