Blood In The Water

4

"McKinley!" Gino called out into the kitchen, over the sounds of sizzling onions and spatulas clanging against flattop

"Yes, Sir?" Connor rushed out with the recall of a well-trained shepard

"Another delivery. Address on the box."

"Yes, Sir!"

Connor took the box of pizza and ushered it quickly to his car. Gino's right about one thing, Connor's a very hard worker. Originally, this shop opened up as an excuse. A tax loophole and a private place to take care of business. They never expected much of an income, nor did they need one. But Connor's tips, alone, could probably feed him. If he were actually allowed to keep them for himself. Gino always took a percentage off the top, a large one. Until Kevin started showing up, that is. Suddenly, Connor's tips weren't being skimmed from anymore.
Even without Kevin's additions, he made a lot of tips. He's fast, personable, and best of all, attractive. It's a combination that can make a killing. No pun intended.

As he pulled up to the address written down for him, Connor stopped for a moment to marvel. The place was enormous. Not just for New York City, for anywhere. Connor's apartment was practically a shoebox. To see what could've been an entire apartment building, situated over a seemingly closed bar, with three lavish cars parked outside, was a bit of a shock.

Nevertheless, he curbed his curiosity and hurried the box up to the front door with a loud knock, before the food could get cold.

"Delivery!"

A large looking man opened up the door, probably twice Connor's size in width, alone. Not to mention height. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, a large pink scar spanned across the front of his throat, telling a visibly dark story that the delivery boy wanted no involvement in.

"Um.. hello.." Connor's heart pounded in his chest as he greeted the dodgy customer

"Who the hell're you?" The man ordered in a thick North Jersey accent

"Uh.. I have a delivery from Gino's.. is this the right address? There's- there's no name on the ticket.." he laughed nervously, doing everything in his power to avoid staring at the scar that could've wrapped all the way around the man's neck

"...Upstairs."

"...okay." Connor gulped in response, hesitantly taking a step into the building. He didn't know exactly why, he could just tell this place was bad news.

The man who answered closed the door firmly behind him. There was a mop and bucket on the other end of the seemingly closed bar that he had entered into, but beneath the overwhelming scent of bleach, the floorboards reeked of blood

"So.. up here?" Connor pointed to the stairs. The man nodded silently, watching from the base of the creaking staircase as he made his way up

The stairs led to a hallway containing a single door.

"Um... delivery?" Connor called through the door, his voice cracking in his anxiety

The door opened to reveal none other than Kevin Price.

"Hiya, Hotshot.." Kevin grinned wickedly, his hair slicked straight back.

He was dressed the same as usual, a tight white button down tucked into tailored trousers. Suspenders and a tie, held in place with a pin. The only thing missing from his usual attire was the suit jacket that typically concealed his revolver. Without it, all Connor could do was stare at the the handle of the gun poking out of the beltline of Kevin's trousers

"Um... hi..."

"Come in."

"...Yes, Sir." Connor disregarded his hesitations and entered the large, open apartment. His best chance of getting out of here, alive, is by doing as he's told.