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The Don shook his head. "Wasn't us yet . . . I sent Smitty to go after that punk kid that was bein' a hooligan at the Lounge earlier . . . I wonder what became of him anyways . . ." the Don said.

Meanwhile, Smitty groaned and got back to reality. Arell and Dundee were both looking down at the gangster, passing a cigarette back and forth.

"Evenin', boy . . . where's yer boss?" Dundee said. The gangster sneered.

"I ain't talkin' to youse loudmouth hicks. I know my rights!" Smitty spat as Arell pulled out a Colt .45 and placed it on Smitty's head.

"Che', you got o'ly two rights righ' now. One is de right t' talk an' d'uddah is de right t' die. Start talkin'." Arell growled.

Razolli nodded. "Worth a shot." he said as he called Smitty, hoping that he dispatched the southerner or found a way to get to Arell.

Meanwhile a few blocks down, Arell and Dundee weren't getting anywhere with the Gangster, who held defiant.

"C'mon, Arell, just shoot th' sombitch. He said he'd rather die!" Dundee said, taking a swig as Arell smirked.

"What? An' not git de information? He might crack!" Arell joked as a bloodied Smitty growled.

"Youse two better knock it off, my boss'll kill you for what you're doin' to m-!" Smitty was cut off by Dundee pulling him up and punching him in the face.

"Hey, Dundee, get his phone, will ya? I think he's 'spectin' a call." the Cajun said as Dundee took the cell phone out, sure enough, there was a call coming in. Dundee nodded with a smile that said "hey, watch this, bro!" and answered it.

"Hiya, boss, dis is Smitty." Dundee said, faking the mobster's New York accent as Arell kept the gangster in a headlock.

"Did you dispatch that rotten punk?" the Mafioso said.

"Now I wouldn't say that." "Smitty" said as Dundee switched back to his renegade twang. "My brother 'Rell an' me got 'im. If'n you got half a brain, y'all get yaselves in line befo' your li'l buddy winds up pushin' li'l daisies up from de ground, son." Dundee said. On the other end, the Don kept composure as he hung up the phone.

"I think we have ran into a snag. Mr. Brooks . . . was it? How good are you with a gun?" the Mobster asked. "We've got dese two Cajuns we have to get rid of."

The Don smirked. "Dese two Cajuns . . . one kinda smaller, wears a cowboy hat and carries a guitar case. The other's a half-man, half-Gator an' full-time son of a b***h." he said. "It would benefit our common goal to exterminate dese two . . . and get Smitty back."

The Don smiled evilly. "Those two punks will finally get what's comin' to 'em!" he said, loading his gun. "So you also met Gator?" the Don asked, a little concerned.

Meanwhile, Smitty came to again, seeing the two Cajuns, he got up to get his switchblade . . . . gone! His pistol? Now being twirled around Dundee's finger. The gangster's blood boiled. "If you didn't wind up taking my stuff away, I'd kill youse punks myself!" Smitty growled as Arell stomped out his smoke.

"Ah, shaddup, Smitty, if'n you wasn't so damn dumb, you wouldn'ta' gotten caught." Arell joked. "Now I dunno what y'all doin' up here in Gotham, but once your buddies show up reckon that'll be big money for a couple a' gangsters." he said, Dundee smirkin'. "Yeah, an' if they don't do nothin' about it, there ain't any ol' law against hangin' a person dat had it comin'."

Arell and Dundee, unaware of any particular danger were now laughing and drinking at their victory. Smitty, now stuck in Antigua's trunk was about ready to be sent to the local lockup. A twelve-pack of beer was being consumed as the three contemplated how to deal with the Don.

"We could arrest dem all. After all, he be leadin' da bad guys, mon." Antigua said with a smile as Arell took a swig.

"Could hang 'em, che' . . . we got any rope?" Arell asked as Dundee smirked.

"Naw . . . that's illegal 'round here, bro." Dundee said and got an idea. "Any a' y'all see th' movie Saw?" Dundee asked. "We could fake 'is death an' scare th' hell outta them mobsters! That'll make Jail look like a breeze!" Dundee yelped.

"Sounds like an idea, che'. Y'all got what we can use?" Arell asked. Dundee nodded. There was a magician's kit in the circus. A few special affects and some fake blood . . . . and Smitty could be "playing a game."

"I'm still conscious ya know! Just lemme out!!" Smitty shouted from the trunk, banging on the hatch.

"No worries, mon. We'll letcha out." Antigua said, winking to the boys. They piled into the Cab and tore off to the Gotham railyard.


Meanwhile, the Don snickered evilly. "If your shot is as good as we think he is, let's get a front row seat, Russell." Razolli said with a smile, treating the deaths of the two Cajuns like a trip to the movies.

((Better bring more than that, Skuldy. Remember the last time him and Arell fought?))

Arell, Antigua and Dundee (with Smitty still in the trunk) drove into the Gotham railyard. Old coal trains for the power plant slowly lumbered through or remained stock still, mere statues for the times that were better. Some passenger cars came through . . . but one particular train stood out from the rest. Almost like a blast from the past, an older train was parked in the far side of the yard, almost on one of the loading areas of one of the passing barges. Written on a few of the cars was a sign of an older time.



The old cab pulled up alongside one of the railroad cars and Dundee hopped out.

"Okay, y'all . . . just sit tight an' don't bring th' dude in th' trunk 'til I say so, a'right?" Dundee asked.

"Ya, mon. I'll keep an eye on 'im, Dundee." The rhasta woman smiled and said. Arell climbed out too.

"Need me t' lend a hand, che'?" Arell asked, the Cajun rolled up his sleeves, revealing tattoos that covered his arms.

"Naw, bud. Just keep an eye on thangs out here. I'll be out'n a jiff." Dundee said . . . and the clatter of things being moved and welded commenced.

((A song and a movie are both referenced here. Name 'em both and you win a cookie.))

Arell looked up and saw Nightwing. "Now look, son. I dunno whatcha thinkin' 'bout doin', but we're fixin' to take down a mafia gang. Besides, yer one t' talk." the Cajun said, eyeing the young man on top of one of the freight cars . . . looked like a kid, not too younger than Dundee. "Don'tcha got school tomorrah?" he asked.

"'Ey, mon, just relax a little bit. 'E's just a keed, mon." Antigua said, coming out of the car, arms up but welcoming. Dundee was still clanging around inside the circus car, unaware of the confused do-gooder. Smitty however, stayed silent as a tomb in the trunk. I hope he's one of the mobsters! Smitty thought.