Dangerous men tread the pathways of the underworld. Tough men. Wise guys. Killers and guys like us. The law is black and white. The boys, well, we live in the grey.

Night was beginning to fall along the Florida Keys. A classic cobalt black El Dorado glided smoothly along those grey twilight roads. On that tranquil, pleasant evening, danger was stalking Shangri-La. We were out for a little drive, going to visit an old friend of ours. An old Capo of Don Bogotto. That was before Victor Sinclair shot up Salvatore’s legs and left him for dead. And forced Sal to retire from the organization.

Poor old Sal ended up in a nursing home, till we sprung him out. He was just too good a quality guy to waste away in Zombieland. After Salvatore escaped the home, he eventually caught up with Sinclair and settled the score. But that’s a whole other story.

The night was crisp and windy. Cold for here in the US tropics called the Florida Keys. We drove along with a purpose and a hard-earned swagger. Premo’s El Dorado purred like a kitten. A wild cat growling kitten. The car ate white lines quickly as we cruised along the upper keys. It was after dusk and the moon was full. The wind was howling like a hurricane out there. But inside Premo’s El D, we were snug as a bug in a rug. And packing heat of our own to boot. We were hard men traveling on a mission, and there was one guy we hoped to have along with us on this wonder ride. Sal Bandino. Sal is getting up there in years. But when it’s time to put the hammer down. He puts the hammer down.