It was a dark night. 7:15 on a Friday night, the heart of the dinner rush.

We stepped into the joint. We were greeted by some girl named Stacey. Her smile was as wide as her butt. I don’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Over in the corner I spied my inside man. Born on the streets of Brooklyn, the first thing he ever did was kill his mom. The second thing he ever did was eat a Big Mac. Killing makes a guy hungry. His real name was Mikey L., but usually just went by the name Ranger.

I played it cool. I tried to get a good look at the joint. It would be easy to plan out everything being that we would have to wait 30 mins. to get a table. Mostly because I requested non-smoking. I looked around. Several of the dames working at the establishment looked like the nosey type; not good, but it could be dealt with. Most of the men looked slack-jawed, and feeble; not to mention their colars, like their faces, could use a good starching. One swift melee to the taint and they would go down; easy.

When we went to sit down, Ranger did all the work. What lay before me was a table for four, not far from the kitchen, and not too far from hell either. As we had planned, I asked about the Chicken Alfredo Pizza, and Ranger went to work showing me where the garden lay, using the cover of the menu.

From what I made of the hand motions, the garden of olives that they like to hide so much was located back through the kitchen. Most of the people back there would be easily avoided, or taken out. The manager, Vinny, would be espically easy. This guy can barely keep track of weather there will be work for his crew or not, let alone a fist coming down into the bridge of his nose.

The chef though, he would be a problem. See, Ranger wasn’t the only person I had talked to about the job. There was another insider, a dame, who had told about a chef that had made it his entire life’s mission to guard the olive garden. A man made of steel, and a spatula made of iron. “This mission will be sucessful or not, all depending on how you feel tonight.”, she had told me, and I didn’t forget it. “When you leave tonight, you won’t want many witnesses. I could take Mikey out for you.” I agreed with her, though I was of the suspicion she had her own reasons.

I just ordered a salad. The job would begin before my plate emptied out, but I should be watching my figure in the mean time.

It all went down perfectly, as planned.

Appetizers…entre’es…a cough from the seating area.

I knew it was time to go. I excused myself, saying I had to tinkle, and then headed off towards the kitchen, and that cold-blooded chef…………….