The body turned slowly in the faint morning breeze. Face purple, eyes open and staring, tongue protruding like a runway for the flies buzzing around his face.

"Think it was the Hanged Men?" said Whyte, lighting a cigarette.

Captain Rizzo frowned, "All you Bureau guys smart asses?"  

He was leaning on one of the half dozen squad cars parked around the scene, enjoying his own cig. Besides closing off the street, SSPD seemed pretty non-nonchalant about the situation. No one had yet shown up to cut the dead man down.

"Not all of us are smart," said Whyte, exhaling smoke through a nose slightly crooked from an old break, "When'd you boys find this guy?"

" 'bout an hour after the deed was done," said Rizzo, "Name's Santini. No known affiliations."

"Santini's an Italian name," said Whyte, "just like yours, Cap."

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Rizzo. 

Agent Whyte raised both eyebrows and stuck his hands in his pockets, "I'm with the Bureau for the Regulation of Magic."

"I know where you're from," said Captain Rizzo, puzzled but still annoyed.

"That is to say, I'm not with the FBI," said Whyte, "Criminality, per se, doesn't interest me none. Drug-smuggling, corruption, graft, that sorta thing. Not my area. As you prob'ly could tell by the name, we specialize in magical crimes. The sorta crimes committed by, say, the Hanged Men. Not so much crimes by local gangs or, uh, mafias."

"I think I follow, Special Agent," said Rizzo.

"Glad to hear it, Cap," said Whyte, pulling a flask from his jacket and offering it to the other man. Rizzo considered for a minute, then took a long pull. Whyte took the flask back and did the same, wiping a trickle of booze from his chin with the back of his hand.

[center][h3]That Afternoon, [i]Delmonico's[/i][/h3][/center]

Whyte knocked on the bar and his empty martini glass was replaced with a full one. He threw the barkeep a wink. She was pretty, if you liked Italians. And Whyte liked 'em just fine.

"Takes stones for a Fed to come in here," she said, "Drink's on the house."

"Appreciate that, doll."

She shrugged, "Seems only right, might be your last one."

Whyte shrugged back and sipped his cocktail, "Live dangerously or don't live at all."

"Family motto?"

"Nah, I just made that one up," he said, taking another sip of his drink, "You know, this is really quite delicious. Won't you have one?"

Whyte swept an arm at the empty bar and the mostly empty restaurant behind him, "Hardly anyone here but us."

"You think that's true?"

"Not really," said Whyte, "I'm good at my job."

He lit a cigarette as Giovanni Riina sauntered out from the back room. Late fifties, dressed in a blue suit. A serious looking man. Trim, greying mustache and dark eyes.

"Camilla," he said to the barkeep, "A drink for me, what he's having."

He sat down next to Whyte. Neither man offered their hand.

"I don't like Feds in my establishment, talking up my daughter," he said.

"What do you like, Mr. Riina?"

"These days? I like dead vampires and dead porno junkies."

Whyte smiled and sipped his drink.