Gino and Brandon Cassini exchanged looks and adjusted their respective grips on their firearms, a Glock for the wiry Gino and an Uzi submachine gun for the bulky Brandon. Their heads swiveled back to the door and, by unspoken agreement, the younger Brandon reached for the handle. He glanced at his brother and, receiving a nod, opened the door quickly, bringing his weapon to bear.

For a moment his mind couldn’t process the scene. The lot outside the warehouse door was smoky. Two of the other men were down, groaning. Brandon didn’t pay them any mind; they were piciotto, button-men, and therefore expendable. Willy the Pick was holding his face and whimpering, his clothes smoldering. There was evidence of a small blast on the asphalt nearby.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away his grogginess. The light hurt.

“About time, hoss.”

Squinting, Luke tried to focus on the figure before him. It seemed indistinct. Opaque. Slowly the haze cleared.

“You done napping?”

Luke tried to laugh, coughed instead. Everything hurt.

“Quite a mess you got yourself into, hoss.”

“I know,” Luke croaked. He was still tied to a chair. Tightly. “I know,” he said again.

“Any ideas how you’re going to get yourself out of it?”

Luke sighed. Wheezed, actually, but it amounted to the same thing.

“I’ll figure it out, Dad.”

“Are we sure we want to do this?”

“Hello? Am I talking to myself here?”

“Yes, we want to do this.”

“What a shock. How ‘bout you, Jen? You don’t have to—“

“Y-yes. For him, yes.”

“’Atta girl. Frankie?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m not really—“

“Frankie.”

“I mean, yeah. Yeah, I’m in. Right? I’m in.”

“Doc?”

“What? Oh. Yes. If I can help, I will, of course. I’m just not sure…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I just…”

“Listen, you’ve done plenty. You got us to the game, okay? No need to go any further.”

The chill night air did little to dampen his excitement. Though he moved not one tiny muscle, inside he was nearly vibrating with nerves. It was like this nearly every time. The sense of rightness when he put on the costume, the sense of power as he chose those tools necessary for the job—each and every time it was like this. It made him feel alive in a way nothing else had. Not even two hours of virtually motionless, patient waiting could dampen his spirit.

Luke finished breaking down the last box and shoved the flattened cardboard into the pile. He looked around to see if he’d missed anything and gave a satisfied nod.

“Okay, Pops, I’m outta here.” He gave a short wave. “I’ll be back around closing.”

Pops nodded and waved him off without looking up from his dice game. He and Walter were rolling for a round of drinks.

“The kid still doing his thing?” Bill asked after Luke had left.

Pops snorted. “The kid’s always doing his thing.”

“I don’t have a thing to do,” Walter chimed in, shaking the cup and spilling the dice out.

“That’s because your thing hasn’t worked in years,” Ed rejoined.

“Thanks, folks,” Luke said with a smile. “You have a good evening.”

The tall young man waved. His date, a willowy blond with a pleasant smile and an annoying laugh gave him a sultry look. At least Luke assumed it was sultry; she might’ve been holding back a sneeze. Hard to tell.

As the door closed Luke sighed and returned to his one remaining patron. There at the end of the bar was Don White, mascot of Pop’s Place and arguably the best and worst of the customers.

“Don, do you need a ride?”

The older man squinted up at Luke, trying hard to focus with his one good eye (the other being glass and lost in a fight years ago).

“Uh, what time is it?”

“Two ay-em, Don. Time to call it a night.”