Living in the Fray

Chapter Twentyone

'How much did you drink last night Boss?'

Michael had been tasked with driving the Gimp Mobile around today with Krieger riding shotgun, as Ronson was back at the companies warehouse co-ordinating the other crew as they rearranged the place; moving old stock and preparing new shipments and orders.

Kreiger was slumped down in the passenger seat with her hoodie up over her head and her comedy sized sunglasses on covering half her face. Michael glanced at her out the corner of his eye to watch her actually take some painkillers. He had never seen either Krieger or Ronson take painkillers or any other medication before, thinking that their cybernetic augments and blood teaming with military grade nanomachines would take care of something as trivial as a hangover.

'Enough. I drank enough. Where we going first?'

'Err, Fat Tony's.' Michael replied. Krieger groaned and slumped even further down in her seat.

'Fuck sake it's too early to be dealing with the mob.'

Fat Tony was nothing like what his name would suggest. Anthony "Fat Tony" Romano was a Capo for the local Romano Family Mafia; headed by his older brother Nico. Fat Tony was in fact a lot more svelte than what everybody thought thanks to a gastric band he had fitted the previous year. Tony wasn't a fan of all the modern technologies and stuck to the old school tested human surgeries, not the newfangled alien developed aids that to be honest; just worked better. He didn't even have a neuralmod, just a plain old holowatch. And while Fat Tony was now Slimmer Tony, he was still called Fat Tony. Oh the irony. He had always been okay with Krieger, but she couldn't handle the severity of his soldiers and guards sometimes.

Michael stopped the garish Plymouth Barracuda outside Fat Tony's home; a moderately sized Mediterranean style villa just short of an hours drive away from the outskirts of the port. Two soldiers dressed in sharp suits who were guarding the front door walked over to greet the Captain and the Cook.

'Sir, Captain Krieger is here with your delivery.' One of the soldiers spoked in to his holowatch. He mumbled and nodded as he was receiving his orders through his earpiece.

'Of course Sir. Please, follow me when you're ready.' The soldier said to Krieger and Michael. The pair went to the boot of the car and carefully removed two large wooden crates labelled "FRAGILE" all, carrying one each with as much care as possible. The soldier guided them through the entrance of the villa, past a few more threatening looking mafia guys and through in to possibly one of the most extravagant but functional kitchens ever. Fat Tony was hovering over the huge range cooker with his sleeves rolled up and wearing a chefs apron.

'Cassandra, it's good to see you again.' He wheezed out in his New Jersey-esq drawl as he glanced up from stirring something crackling away in the large pot he was tending to.

'You too Tony. Got your delivery.' Krieger raised the crate she was carrying and carefully laid it on the counter of the huge marble island in the middle of the kitchen. Michael followed suit and laid down his crate.

'Fantastic.' Tony turned the heat down on the cooker hob and wiped his hands on his apron. He made his way round to the wooden crates, pulling a rather intricate looking flick knife from his pocket which he then used to jimmy open the crates wooden lids.

'Cassandra, you've outdone yourself again.' Tony beamed as he examined the crates contents. He rummaged around the crates, moving the sizal that was used to protect their contents before lifting a large bottle from one of them. Michael eyed up the bottle, noticing it was a Double Magnum in size and there was another bottle in the crate also. He figured there were four Double Magnum bottles in the crates.

'Ornellaia 2010. My wife is going to be over the moon with this.' Tony said as he admired the bottle. 'I'm so glad I asked you to source this for me, that idiot Da Costa didn't want anything to do with me.'