ANOTHER OFFICE, IN ANOTHER high-rise, on the opposite side of town. Shadows masking the grim faces of the participants. Mario pressed a hand wearily to his forehead. “Can someone please explain what is going on? How did this simple plan for the elimination of one penny-ante pissant turn into a major disaster?” Kramer’s face became taut, distending his long, gruesome facial scar. He spoke in measured tones that in no way prevented Mario from realizing Kramer would like to set his face on fire. “That ain’t fair. Most of this operation has been flawless.” “One of your own men was killed!” Mario shouted. From the safety of the sofa, Donny smirked. “What the hell is so flawless about that?” “That was a mistake,” Kramer admitted. “Hardcastle fucked up and he paid the price. Still, most of our goals have been achieved. Such as watchin’ the phone lines and locations connected to Byrne. That’s how we got our first lead to Moroconi. That’s how we learned he had the list.
