Rattan Bozzo, known as Rat Dan around the Train Yard, cupped his hands around a steaming tin of joe and thought about his next move. He reckoned there were two choices – hop a freight and ride the blinds on a southbound rattler, risking discovery by the train Dicks; or stick around town, lie low, and find out if Schuttsie Palermo and the Bayside boys could place him as a witness to the demise of Jimmy “Shake Em On Down” Lukash last night. Rat Dan chose door number two.

He happened to be at the right place – The Fisheye Lounge, at the wrong time – the night Classy Lassiter pulled a double-cross on Jimmy, her long-time paramour and partner in crime. The two went back to the early days of prohibition, when the Fisheye operated as a waterfront speakeasy. Jimmy Lukash ran the Lounge for the Bayside outfit and continued when the place reopened as a clip joint in ‘33. Classy, an independent contractor and occasional wet work specialist, played hostess and enforcer to Jimmy’s brash, the-guy-in-charge-of-everything persona. They were a force to be reckoned with, and the Fisheye Lounge raked in the mazuma, enriching the coffers of the Bayside crew.

Bozzo, a down-on-his-luck victim of the Great Depression, did odd jobs at the Fisheye – like unloading the trucks delivering the cases of rotgut giggle juice, which were liberally watered down, then offered at a premium to the gullible dockworkers, bamboozled sailors, and tipsy college boys flush with generous allowances from mummy and dear old dad. He also swamped out the sticky, often vomit-covered floor after hours, at the same time Jimmy Lukash was in the back office counting the night’s spondulix, and fudging the ledger entries before locking everything in a Mosler safe – except for the cream he skimmed off the top. As Rat Dan was getting ready to leave for the night, he heard the raised voices of Jimmy Lukash and Classy Lassiter from behind the closed office door and pressed an empty glass against the thin wall to have a listen.

“You can’t keep this up, Jimmy, Schuttsie’s gonna find out sooner than later.”

“Says who? I got this covered. What Schuttsie Palermo don’t know won’t hurt us.”

“There’s no ‘us’ in this, Jimmy. Bayside has eyes and ears everywhere. You know that.”

“What I know is that the Baldacci family has offered protection if I take care of my end.”

“That slot machine deal? You’re robbing Peter to pay Paul – Schuttsie deserves better.”

“Schuttsie Palermo and Bayside can kiss my red Ukrainian ass… I’m done with ‘em.”

“Well, Jimmy, it was fun while it lasted, but Baldacci protection doesn’t extend to yours truly.”

“Hold on, Classy… I was gonna cut you in! Don’t do anything to upset the apple wagon.”

“Funny you mentioned cutting, Jimmy…”

Rat Dan heard footsteps rumble across the floor, a surprised yelp, then something thud against what could only be a human skull. He figured now would be a good time to get gone and hustled for the secret exit down a narrow stairwell.
Word spread quickly the next morning when Jimmy was found wrapped around a piling in the East River with his throat cut from ear to ear. Bozzo figured he’d check in at the Fisheye and ran into Classy on the way.

“You hear anything last night, Rattan?”

“I ain’t gonna lie, Miss Lassiter… I heard something.”

“You heard Schuttsie settle an outstanding account.”

“Okay… um, do I still have a job?”

“Schuttsie said if you show up today, you’re no Rat. So, yes.”

“I’ll start in the back office.”