“The thought escapes me now, so I’ll get back to you when I remember.”

Don Gubino was not amused with Micky’s antics. The portly man snapped his fingers and his two large goons gave the plucky thief a good throttle.

“Gubby, you’ve had to’ve learned by now that violence doesn’t solve anything.”

The Don sat down at his desk and went back to his plate of pizza, picked up a slice with one hand, and waved his other in a commanding motion.

Goon one: right hook.

Goon two: uppercut.

“Gubby… Gubby…” Micky was nasally and the bridge of his nose was collapsed. “I think they broke my nose.” He smiled. “Yeah… they broke it!” Micky’s bloody nose began to bleed profusely. “Did I mention I was a bleeder? Either way, you should know, I’m going to leave a couple pints on the ground. It’s kind of my signature move.”

“I’ll make sure to take pictures for the scrapbook.” Gubino had finished his food and began wiping up his messy face. “I apologize for the extended introduction to my right-hand men.”

“I think one of them’s a lefty.”

Goon one: left cross.

“Definitely a lefty, Gubby.” Micky turned to his assailant. “Good follow through. Remind me to get you on my team one of these days.” He let out a chuckling sigh. “Are you okay with playin’ shirts? I’ve got this body image thing, so I never play skins…”

Goon two: backhand.

“You play skins. Got it. I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist, but there’s a bit of kinky-ness to your form.”

Goon two: backhand.

“It’s demanding, but gentle. You must be a bottom, normally.”

Goon one: haymaker.

Micky turned back to Gubino. “He really wants to be in charge, Gubby. Keep an eye on this one; he’s goin’ places!” 

“Enough! I have had enough!” He snapped his fingers and flitted them towards his henchmen in a shooing motion. “You and me.” Gubino perched his foot on the chair between Micky’s legs and leaned toward the cocky little smuggler. “We got words that need exchangin’.”

“If you wanted my number, all you had to do is ask.” Mick tried reaching for his wallet, even though his hands were bound. “I’d give you my card, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

“Don’t get queer with me!”

“Language! Gubby! This is the 33rd century. I thought by now your kind would be a little more open-minded!”

“What’s your beef with Italians?”

“Italians? I love Italians! No, I just can’t stand you bridge and tunnel mooks. All the hand jewelry is rough on my jaw.”

Gubino popped Micky square in the jaw.

“Now you get it!” Mick yelled loud enough for the lieutenants in the adjacent room. “GUYS! I THINK HE GETS IT!”

“You gonna get more than that if you don’t tell me where my Tek is.”




“Slow down, Gub…” Micky was finally starting to feel the burn. “We’re not as young as we used to be.” The Don was panting and sweating now. “You’ve got to lay off that rage. That’s why you got two young bucks in the other room.” He brought the mood down. “Mister Gubino you need to start taking care of yourself.”

The mob boss clenched his fist and faltered to his chair. He began grabbing outward as if it would provide more air to his lungs and relief to his swelling chest. Micky started hopping towards the desk while still tied to his chair and set himself free with a penknife that was laying out.

“Next time you should watch what you eat, Gubby.”

“Th- – p- – – pie!”

“You should’ve asked for permission to eat my pizza, instead of just taking it. I mean, I would’ve shared. I’m sure the guys would’ve wanted some, but you had to go and eat an entire double x Philly steak pizza all on your own.”

“You!” Don Gubino’s eyes were filled with rage and discomfort as he tried so desperately to get back at the trickster.

“Anyways… I’ve got some Tek that needs my attention. You have your people beat up my people when we need to talk again, okay.” Mick grabbed a napkin from atop the empty pizza box and cleaned himself up. “Hopefully that pie doesn’t kill ya. I don’t think it will, but I’m sure you won’t be able to look at a slice the same way for a while.”

“Help… Help…” The Don achingly tried to yell, but his affliction had begun to mute him.

Micky walked out of the room and casually strolled past his interrogators, whistling.

“I think he’s ready for dessert.”