"Hey Shifty, where we going?" The Hitman asked, as the Limo drove on the freeway.
Bored brown eyes looked at the crook, "the usual place." The voice was deep, and intimidating, not that the hitman was smart enough to feel intimidated.
"Alright, the Splatoon it is." The Limo kept moving along it's designated route, the driver determined to appease and impress his boss.
The mobster was pleased with last nights transaction; the Red Mafia wound up agreeing to a deal favorable to his mob. Thus meaning two things: power, influence, and most importantly money. And not just the usual pocket change, but lots and lots of money. A dufflebag sat in the seat right next to him, stuffed with the likeness of Franklin, and not the counterfeit kind either.
The Limousine started to enter the city limits, and the boss straightened his own suit. He had to be well dressed for a occasion like this, he didn't want to disrespect any of the families after all. Heck, he even had a fedora sitting on the dufflebag, not that he was going to wear that damn thing. He held a cigar in his right hand, the thick smoke puttering out into the automobile. Strangely enough, the driver didn't seem to notice the putrid smell, and the boss noted that he really wasn't terribly intelligent.
The lights of downtown filled the windows, showing the finer parts of upper scale life. Of course, his destination wasn't terribly upscale being just a normal Italian Restaurant. Well, maybe not entirely normal. Behind the scenes; it served as a meeting place for men like him since the '20s, back when Al Capone;s empire was at it's height. The Limousine pulled into a driveway, the restaurant was lit up and he could hear the people within.
Fitting for a evening like this, where he was finally in a good mood, and felt like getting a few drinks and bragging about his new found success. He felt the automobile stop and the goon announced, "we're here boss."
He grumbled, and opened the right hand door. Grabbing his dufflebag with his right hand, and the fedora with his left; Shifty left the automobile and began to approach the entrance as the Limousine drove away. The gangster smiled, took a puff out of his big fat cigar, and entered the restaurant.
Shifty felt weird, slightly sick, and saw the morning daylight. He sat up, and rubbed his forehead.
"What a night," he couldn't remember a damn thing, all he could recall was ordering a disappointing meal.
He did however, know he was hungover, and that last night must have been something spectacular. Of course all that being said, he was in the middle of a forest clearing, the dufflebag with his right hand in a tight grip, and the damn fedora lying on his left hand.
"Why do I still have this." He grabbed the hat, that he would never get caught dead wearing. He laughed and repeated, "what a night." Now to find whoever led him out here and to-wait.
He blinked, he was surrounded by many others. All around him they lay in the clearing, passed out and asleep. He recognized none of them, suddenly becoming suspicious and more than a bit irritated. And not just that, the hangover just kicked in, meaning that currently he was currently confused, irritated, slightly angry, and was probably not going to be terribly polite to the next person who crossed his path.
Placing the dufflebag on his right arm, he stood up, then grabbing the fedora with his left hand.
He then grumbled, "how the hell did I get into this mess?"