You can only squeeze so much before it pops

image source:google

"You can only squeeze so much before it pops is what I always say" He leans over, rolls folding as he arches sideways for his cigar lighter.

"There's never enough juice in the, god damnit!" with a 'clink', his platinum lighter lands, leaving a scratch on both itself and the stone floor.

Smoke trails endlessly right in front of him, as if lighting his cigar would have no effect.

"Listen" he grunted. "There's only enough blood in this city for one leech, and I'll be damned if I let that bastard Fat Sam get the jump on the business.

Fat Sam was a heartless cold son of a bitch. He used to be fat as a kid, and as his body changed from fending off bullies he became more and more insistent that his original nickname be preserved. He once crushed one of his thugs for flinching, and when I say crush I mean crush every bone in his body. So now he's guarded by thugs that never flinch, and being unflinchingly guarded is a rare faculty in this city, everyone has a blindside.

Frank new what Fat Sam's weakness was, but he wasn't about to say anything, even if speaking out of turn would be tolerated, this wasn't the kind of situation Frank wanted to be involved in. This was the business.

And the business was a terrible deal, no sane man would want in on the business, it was the kind of blood drenching heart wrenching shit that would send sweat dripping down the backs of even the most wretched among us, and our janitors eat war for breakfast, there was a frown on his face as he spat out a sucked chicken bone.

"Swear to me son, swear to me that you'll sleep in the sewers tonight". The air grew laden with what was unsaid, everyone knew what this meant, tonight the rats are going to raid their sugar stock. And Fat Sam sure does love his sugar stock.