[b]Carl Holtzer (Freddy Benedetti)[/b]

Anyone could be watching; it was a fact that Carl was painfully aware of.

It was true that it was a bit early in the game to get properly paranoid, but as the old saying went; you couldn't be too careful. 

As he walked casually down the street with his fists stuffed into the pockets of his favorite jacket, the undercover cop realized that he didn't quite agree with the old idiom. You could easily be too careful. Being too careful could mean stagnation, getting nowhere, or missing a deadline. A lit cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he gazed at the street underneath him. It was still slick with yesterday morning's rain. The city that never slept, dried out, or cleaned itself. Like an old dishrag. That was one thing he missed dearly about Chicago, it was cleaner. Oh sure, the Big Apple was bustling. With germs.

Before long, his destination sat humbly before him; a Chinese restaurant. Or Chinese-American, whatever. Bright red lights shone through the muck that this city called air. Carl shook his head a little and stepped inside, instantly taking a dislike to his handler's choice of meeting place. The atmosphere was thick with scents and sounds of fried food, and touching the inside door handle revealed a thin layer of oil covering the interior. He had never considered himself a neat freak until he was transferred here. Carl sighed as he scanned the tables for Michael. There were others here, but not too many. That was good. He spotted his contact at the other end of the place, far away but with a good view of the door. Michael had seen him as well, and waved him over. 

Michael Alker was his full name, though Carl suspected that he had it changed to sound more American. He could sympathize with that; the number of Kraut jokes Carl had received from some of the patrol officers was staggering. He couldn't immediately tell where Michael was from; he had the creepiest bright blue eyes and longish jet black hair pulled back tighter than a sailor's knot. The combination was unsettling, and he never did meet a more intimidating guy; tall, broad shouldered, and he had that mid forties 'I've seen more than you ever will' look about him. A sudden curiosity overcame his tact as Carl approached the table. Maybe he could pry his origins out of him. 

“I never pictured you eating in a place like this.” Carl glanced at the restaurant around him. 
“Find me somewhere that serves decent borscht and maybe then I'll fulfill your expectations.”
Bingo. 
“Christ, Mike, are you Red?” Carl joked as he sat down, pretending to sound sincere. Michael stared at him disapprovingly. 
“I'll bring you a pamphlet the next chance I get.” It was a joke, apparently.
Carl gestured at the plate of some soupy looking thing in front of Michael. “I see you got started without me.” 

Mike slid a white paper carton across the table at him. “Have some rice. Then order something and stop whining.” He must have seen the look on Carl's face and continued, “It's good, I promise. Now, obviously I have news for you.” 

“Is it good news?” Carl asked, more excited than he let on, though he masked it by carefully opening the carton as if he was afraid of its contents.

“That depends on your perspective. It's [b]rice[/b], Holtzer, it's not gonna kill you, so stop pretending like it will.” Michael glanced around before lowering his voice only slightly. “Dutch put in a good word for you- well, for 'Freddy'.” He corrected himself. “Told them about how you did time and you're looking for good work. They're interested; you have an in. They have your number and they'll give you a call, and like a good little mafioso you're gonna jump at the chance.” 

Carl beamed and reached over the table to shake Mike's hand. “Oh, that is good. That is beyond good; I can finally get back to work, get my hands dirty.” Mike returned the gesture, his hand practically being crushed by Carl's enthusiasm, but he remained as stony-faced as ever.

“This is fun for you.” Michael observed. Oh, here it was, Michael Alker speech about how he was hot headed and that he should be more careful and that this wasn't a game and blah blah blah...

“I enjoy my work.” Carl grinned and waved someone over so he could order; he was in too good a mood to be afraid of some weird food. “Don't you? Why do you do this job? For queen and country? For civic duty?” He said rather abrasively, regretting it almost instantly.

Michael ignored the tone and put down his spoon. “Just remember that you're not here for the small fry. That's what informants are for. We want you in there, as high up as you can get. Work your way up, and then topple the Rosetti's from inside out. Like you did in Chicago.”

“Yeah, yeah...bring up my glory days why don't you.”

“I read the reports. It was good work.” Mike admitted. “I don't know what the families are like in Chicago, but it's different here.” Carl settled in, know full well what was coming. “Here...they make you feel like a friend. The word 'family'...it's a perfect word. They'll invite you over for dinner, or to their cousin's wedding. They're gonna fill you full of pasta and meatballs and lasagna that their Mama made and it'll be the best damn food you'll ever have. Maybe Mama kisses your face, calls you her favorite; you can be at their house all day and never talk a word of business. Then you'll go out for drinks with the sons; you'll laugh, drink and smoke and then they'll call you brother.” Michael's gaze pierced him now, as if seeing right through him. “But they'll just as soon blow your brains out.” Michael settled back again, returning to his soup. “Even if you weren't a cop. And they swear that they'd never hurt a civilian but for criminals that's surprisingly naïve. Some of them think their business only hurts the other families. [i]Idioty.[/i]” he spat in Russian. “I'm the only one you can trust, Carl. Don't forget that. And don't forget who you're doing this for.” 

Carl let Mike's little speech sink in as his food arrived. Some noodlely mound on a plate. Poking it with a chop stick, Carl said, “Well, I hope this doesn't kill me.” He ventured a careful bite. After a moment, his eyes widened and he admitted, “You know, that's actually really good.” 

“No, I didn't know.” Michael said, his humor as dry as a bone. “I just come here for the fortune cookies.”