Somewhere in New York
It was midday in the Big Apple. Bryan "the Canary" Pagliano was dropping into his favorite watering hole for a beer. He was surprised to see no other patrons as he walked through the door-just the bartender, Joe.
"Hiya doin', Joe?"
"OK, Pags," replied the bartender as he wiped the bar not making eye contact.
"Where's everybody at?" asked Pagliano as he took a seat at the bar.
"Don't know," said Joe still wiping the bar.
No sooner had Pagliano taken his seat then a guy walked up behind him and wrapped a rope around his neck. Pagliano was dragged off his stool but fought furiously trying to get control of the rope that was squeezing the life out of him. On the floor now, he kicked and flailed at his attacker.
Just then a cop walked through the front door (The bar served donuts during the daytime hours.) Seeing the attack in progress he jumped in. A couple of other hoods came charging out of the bathroom and jumped the cop. The struggle carried on out into the street. Shots were fired, cars slammed into each other, babies cried, and a plane crashed in the intersection. When the dust settled, two hoods were dead and Pagliano was lying on the barroom floor trying to figure out what had hit him.
He did know, however, who was behind it all.
The Godmother.
Within minutes, a black sedan arrived and two FBI agents entered the bar flashing their credentials at the uniformed cops who had arrived.
"Bryan, you'd better come along with us," one of them said.
"Where we goin'?" asked Pagliano.
"Witness Protection Program."
To be continued.
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