Wild Horses

Stakeout

"Seems like you've been taking my advice, Bucciarati." Mista stretched out in the backseat of the sedan and made himself comfortable. His gun rested loosely in the front of his pants.

"You? Giving advice?" Abbacchio scoffed from the driver's seat, taking the binoculars down from his face. "I doubt that."

Bucciarati sat quietly in the passenger seat. They were on a stake-out and currently parked across the street from the Garden Olive Pub to track Steve Stromboli's movements. Fugo and Narancia were in another car, parked a few buildings down. Narancia was using Aerosmith to track the rival gang's movements inside the pub. "Just looks like a pub, people sitting in a row like at a bar, some sitting in booths, smaller tables," Narancia said over the walkie-talkie. "Oh, Aerosmith is picking up five guys in a circle in a back room, over."

"Bingo," Abbacchio said.

"Good work, Narancia," Bucciarati responded over the walkie-talkie. "Keep Aerosmith at a distance, we know at least Stromboli is a stand user, probably more. Tell us when they start to move, over."

"Roger that," Narancia said.

"I say we send Fugo in, let his stand take them all down," Abbacchio said gruffly.

"In a crowded place like that? It would spread to everyone in the building," Bucciarati countered while peering through the binoculars. "We can't."

"Bucciarati, come on, you can tell me!" Mista pleaded for details with his infamous grin. "We all saw Lira in your boxers today! Spill the deets, man! You're dating, right?"

Bucciarati shifted and peered around the headrest at Mista. His eyes were narrowed and serious, but Mista caught the smirk playing on his lips. "Wouldn't you like to know," Bucciarati said slyly.

"YES! That's why I'm asking!" Mista nearly shouted.

"You better hope they're not dating," Abbacchio said while shooting Bucciarati a devilish smirk of his own. "Because that would mean we all saw you trying to cop a feel on our future capo's girl earlier," he deadpanned, "You know, when you had her alone in your bedroom? Near where you keep those copies of Hustler hidden."

"That - uh - you guys know that was NOT what it looked like!" Mista defended. "She just gave me a hug because I got her a sewing machine! Big deal," Mista played it off.

"Ok, so you were showering Bucciarati's girl with lavish gifts," Abbacchio said. "Those things aren't cheap."

"What!? No - I -," Mista floundered. "Abbacchio, did you eat a bunch of shit for dinner? 'Cause what you're saying is a load of crap!"

Bucciarati chuckled. He was getting used to Mista's flirty personality and knew he didn't mean anything by it. He trusted Mista. There is something about him that made me open up about my past 'relationship' to him, he thought. "Mista, the sewing machine is very thoughtful and clearly made Lira extremely happy," Bucciarati said kindly, "however - do you want to die?" he managed to say while holding in a laugh. Silence hung in the air for a beat before Abbacchio, Mista, and Bucciarati all burst out laughing.

"Stromboli's on the move," Narancia interrupted over the walkie-talkie. "I repeat, Stromboli's on the move. Looks like the five people just exited through the back door. They separated into a group of three and a group of two. I think they're getting in cars behind the building, over."

"Great work, Narancia," Bucciarati snapped back into gangster mode. "You and Fugo tail the two, we'll get the three. Keep your distance. We still don't know which one is Stromboli or what his stand does, over."

"Roger that, over," Narancia said. Two cars pulled around from behind Garden Olive and went separate ways. Abbacchio started their own car and slowly began tailing the enemy. "Finally, something interesting," Mista said as he took his gun out and sat up in the middle, sticking his head between the two front seats. He cradled his gun as he told the Sex Pistols to wake up. "Possible action, boys!" he said excitedly. "You better not wake us up for nothing!" Number 2 complained.