Racing On Home Freakin' Turf

This past weekend the three Jet Fuel wiseguys, Joey The Bull Giuliano, Andrew Pops Randell and me, Matt Fats Hansen headed up to duke it out on our home turf, at the King City Grand Prix. A few of the other rival gangs were honing in on our territory. Word on the street was there was a meets with the Belmire Boys and the Gears Greaseballs and something big was going down on Dufferin and Bloomington. So Don Butler made it clear we had to get out there and teach those babbos a lesson.

My consigliere had told me I needed to get in the early break, and I did. I found myself with an old associate that did a few jobs with me in the past, who's working now with the Belmire Boys. We got away early with some other clowns and it looked like we could stay--the gap got so big that all of the capos in the pack knew that since all of the families were represented in the break it would stay away out of respect. Pops told me later a few guys made a stink--couple of no good hoods from the south side--and the enforcers in the pack iced them. Couple others mysteriously disappeared in the race results too thanks to a couple bucks paid to the cops at the finish line. (They made something up about the yellow line rule to make it legit and to avoid any heat from Uncle Sugar.) The boys in the break kept the ceasefire between the five families until the end of the race. I knew if I kept my mouth shut eventually I could grease all those rats up one of the hills at the end. I don't have a problem with shooting goombas in the back if it means I win. Besides, I figured Pops or the Bull would pull a fast one and get some shills to help them bridge up to me, but it didn't happen.

By now in the breakaway, things were getting grim. None of my boys could make it up to me for fear of the other families ganging up on them in the pack. On the last hill a few of the goombas took off and I was left with a couple of legbreakers known for their skill in the sprint. I guess I could have crashed them but I ain't going back to the joint--I just got out and there's no freakin' way I'm going back there just to get fourth place.

Some cugine from Windsor won over this freakin' shylock from Ciclissimo. The guy I did some jobs back when we was with the same boss was third. I took sixth behind those two freakin' stoolies.

But watch out, 'cuz I hear we got a new job down in London next weekend with a major payoff. The Boss is pissed that we botched this one up and he's bringing in all the boys to make sure we get it right. And if we don't...well...