It is a mild February night, more than two decades ago. Young, eager homicide Detective Frank Rizzo sits a block away from Honey's, a lounge on the outskirts of town known to cater to local Mafia types, watching a group of patrons through a pair of binoculars from his car. One man is clearly given preferential treatment by the others. He has more personal space than the others. The man's facial expression hardly changes, yet every few minutes, the men around him laugh uproariously. Frank pulls the binoculars down and adjusts the lenses to achieve greater focus, and as he does so, hears a knock at the opposite window.

Quickly, instinctively, Detective Rizzo draws his sidearm from its holster and sights it across the car, the barrel trained on the big, pug-like face leaning down to the window. The man's holds his hands up and smiles at Frank.

"Woah, woah, Detective Rizzo, you don't want to do that. Me and my pal was asked to speak wich you." The man's right hand condenses to a single finger, pointing at the opposite window. Frank's eyes follow the invisible line to the barrel of a forty-five, then up to see it's being handled by another debutante. Frank's own weapon never wavers from the original speaker, who continues once he's regained Frank's attention.

"We are here to extend to you an invitation, Detective. Our boss, Mr. Antonucci, would very much like to make your acquaintance. Will you join him inside?" The question is put to Frank nicely, to make it seem as though the detective has a choice. Frank nods and slowly gets out of the car, his arms held up. His mind, so recently on his work, is now consumed with visions of his young wife, and questioning if this morning, when he kissed her cheek on the way to work, was The Goodbye.

Rizzo's gun is removed from his hand; his back-up weapon, from its ankle holster. Then he's led to Honey's back door. The goombahs on either side of him walk him through the loud kitchen to a small room that contains its own miniature bar, a wooden poker table, and the smug, seated figure of the man he was so recently observing from his vehicle. "Detective, please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? Some coffee?" he asks magnanimously.

Frank takes the seat and nods. This was hospitality, and the likelihood of him walking back through that door increased if he accepted it. "Coffee. Please."

The man nods his head and one of Frank's escorts disappears. "My associates tell me that you have shown quite an interest into my affairs. Why should this be? I am a respected businessman in this community."

Frank takes care to level the emotion from his voice as he answers, "You're a criminal. Your associates are criminals. Most of the 'community' you refer to, are, in fact, criminals. I'm a policeman." The associate reappears and sets a steaming mug of coffee in front of Frank.

"Of course you are. And I understand you have a job to do. What I want to know, Detective Rizzo, is if there aren't individuals that could interest you more than myself. Please, look at this." An envelope is slid across the flawless green felt.

Frank looks at the envelope, but doesn't touch it. He looks up into the Family Man's eyes and says simply, "I won't be bribed." Even if it means I don't come home tonight. There is pure, elemental steel in Frank's glare that communicates THIS IS THE LINE AND I WILL DEFEND IT.

"Please, open it before you give me your decision," Antonucci says with a bemused expression.

Frank stifles a sigh and opens the envelope. There is no money inside. Just a slip of paper with a name and a street address. He looks up at his host with confusion.

"Of course you've heard there is a man about town working over the working girls, Detective? The last one is still in the hospital. Starla, I think her name is...

That, Detective, is the man's name and home address. Surely, you can agree that he is a greater menace to the city than myself. Consider this offer, Mr. Rizzo: look the other way when it comes to my affairs, and I will look your way when I have information that can help you fulfill your duty of protecting our citizens."

Frank stared disbelievingly at the paper in his hands. They had been looking for this guy for weeks, with no leads, and a suspect is dropped into his lap, just like that? "How do you know this is the right guy?"

Antonucci smiles wide as a cheshire cat. "Search him. You'll know."

Frank rose unsteadily from his seat and nodded. "If this information turns out to be correct, then you have yourself a deal."

"This is terrific news, just terrific." He nods amiably to one of his thugs before saying to Frank, "Please stay and have a drink, a real drink, while Tommy removes the explosive device he had earlier applied to your Dodge."