Boxboy chased down the bills, shoved them into his leather pants, keeping one eye on the cops. When he had gathered most of the money and was making his exit, he locked eyes with Strasser. An ugly look, didn't have to put much into it. Strasser held it. Waited him out. Boxboy turned with contempt and crossed the street to the neon lights of a bar called Rocksy.

The place was a shot-and-beer joint that welcomed rough trade. He swaggered into the murky room and stepped up to the bar, the men playing liars dice for drinks making space for him. There was a lull in the pounding of the dice cups when he tossed Jevy's bills onto the counter.

"Drink up, gents, long as it lasts." He tapped the bar in front of him and called to the bartender, "Chivas, neat."

There were raised eyebrows and murmured thanks as the bartender poured the Chivas. He opened beers and poured shots (cheaper ones) for the others. Boxboy picked up his glass and tossed down the Chivas, thunked his glass on the counter and slid a fifty to the bartender.

"Do it again, Fredo, and keep that," he said.

The bartender nodded thanks and poured.

Boxboy lifted his glass to the others and swallowed half his whiskey. Took another sip and looked around the room. He nodded to a couple of familiar faces that were on their way over to enjoy his generosity, looked beyond them and focused on three men sitting at one of the tables. He tossed back the rest of his drink, put his glass down and moved over there.

"Gentlemen," he said to the trio.

The men looked up and returned the greeting. One of them, a mole of a man named Nestor, looked decidedly uneasy.

Boxboy patted him on the shoulder. "Nestor, my man, you are lookin' fine."

"Thank you," said Nestor.

Boxboy patted him again and smiled at the others. "Would you gentlemen excuse us? Nestor and me got some business to discuss. Tell Fredo your drinks are on me."

The two other men got up and took their glasses to the bar. Boxboy sat down next to Nestor.

"So, tell me, what's been happening?" Boxboy said.

Nestor kept his eyes on the table. "Not much, you know..."

Boxboy nodded as though he had heard great wisdom. "Uh-huh. How's the cash flow situation?"

"I'm working on it. I'll be able to get something to you in a couple days."

Boxboy gave him a wide smile. "Excellent. That's excellent news. You holdin' up okay otherwise?"

Nestor shrugged, glanced off unsure. "Pretty good, I mean..."

Boxboy nodded and reached into his pocket. "Listen, I understand." Took out a small cellophane packet and tossed it on the table.

Nestor stared at it, at the white powder inside.

"A little something to tide you over," Boxboy said. "Till we clear up our thing."

Nestor didn't touch the packet, didn't take his eyes off it either.

"Go ahead, man, it's yours. I know you must be missin' the good stuff by now."

Nestor hesitated – then reached for the packet.

Wham!

Boxboy's knife came down hard out of nowhere and stabbed through the back of Nestor's hand, pinning it to the table in a geyser of blood. He clamped his hand over Nestor's mouth, muffling the wide-eyed man's scream. Everyone else in the place kept their eyes off them, knowing how Boxboy did his thing.

He was starting to get himself established in heroin, had found a nice source that transferred it from boats that were met offshore, the source also bringing in illegals that way. Boxboy helped the illegals melt into the city. He didn't need the likes of Nestor here making him look like some wuss who couldn't collect.

He twisted the knife and hissed in Nestor's ear, "But don't you even think about not settlin' with me. You hear?"

Nestor squirmed in pain, finally managed to nod yes. Boxboy unclamped his hand from Nestor's mouth and patted his cheek.

"Good boy."