Runner-up 4

Johnny Seagullano and his consigliere Carmine watched the girl bump and grind on the small stage. Johnny definitely thought she was the prettiest one in the lineup. Too bad she was already Carmine’s goomah.

Ever since Las Vegas got religion and the casinos became a Disneyland for adults, the mob was relegated to off-Strip joints like the Crystal Lounge. Frozen out of big-time gambling, they were left with prostitution, extortion and lending money to unlucky losers at 20% a week.

Carmine leaned in toward Seagullano. “So what are we gonna do about Palmieri? He’s gotta pay if he wants to play in our backyard. If we let him get away with this, everyone will think we can be had.”

Seagullano sipped his beer. “Yeah, I know. Palmieri. What a cockroach. I hoped he’d just dip his beak and move on. What kinda jamook would name their kid Paulie Palmieri anyway. Paulie want a cracker?”

“My guy in their crew tells me he’s gonna have an appellate court judge in his pocket if he can get some flash drive with the judge’s little mistake on it,” Carmine offered. “We could sure use an appellate judge. Maybe we could lay hands on that flash drive.”

Seagullano wagered, “Palmieri wouldn’t be dumb enough to come here himself. And all the other morons have gone back to L.A. Stay on your guy. We might catch a break.”

Back in the Valley, Hans raced down the 405 toward Beverly Hills in his commandeered Camry. He jumped at the vibration in his pocket, fished out his cellphone and checked the number. His voice still ragged from the impromptu tracheotomy Carmen had given him, he croaked out, “Yeah, boss.”

From the back seat of a beat-up, rode-hard taxi cab, Palmieri growled, “This is you, isn’t it?”

“Whadaya mean?”

“Never mind. Something happened to my guys at Falco’s. I need you over there now.”

Hans’ leg was throbbing with such pain he could barely drive. He wheezed, “It’s only been 15 minutes since you called. I’m doin’ the best I can.”

“Well, move it. I want the situation under control by the time I get there.”

Hans started, “But I don’t even have -- “

Palmieri slowly closed his cellphone, not really concerned with Hans’ problems.

Back at Falcoland everybody had a gun but the unfortunate Genie and the hapless Falco. At the sound of the turkey shoot outside, everyone instinctively looked at Falco’s security monitors. Genie seized the opportunity and tried to spin away from the gun in her back. But Ernesto was quicker and grabbed her by the hair, slinging her to the floor like a rag doll in a Rottweiler’s mouth.

All the commotion gave Falco the perfect cover he needed to slip into the hallway bathroom and lock the door. He ripped open his shirt and tore loose the mike taped to his chest. He held the mike up to his mouth and shouted directly into it, “Bonsai! Bonsai! Is this thing on? Where are you guys!?”

Carmen hadn’t actually planned on going to Falco’s to meet Palmieri. But since Tony was not answering his phone, she had no way of knowing what was going on. She knew she couldn’t hide out in Reseda indefinitely. Not with the lunatic who wouldn’t die still after her. She figured she could just drive past, take a peek and wait down the street to see what developed. But as she rolled up on the carnage she realized she’d made a terrible mistake.

Nick Boone, a retired FBI agent, is a math tutor, movie buff and screenwriter.