Gangster gang

Three guys. Sullivan, Norman and Zane — all three were members of the Skulls, a gang that belonged to the same mobster. Problem was, they'd never seen their boss's face. Orders came remotely, through Jack, their commander. Nobody complained, though. The money was too good, and none of them fancied arguing with an influential "bump" running the criminal affairs of a city this big. New York, Friday night. Sullivan, Norman and Zane were holed up in a strip club, unwinding with the dancers. Smoke, neon, laughter and cheap perfume. Zane's phone buzzed on the table — Jack's name flashing on the screen. An urgent call from the boss. The kind you don't miss. Zane's eyes flicked to the screen and he killed the call with a swipe. The dancer perched on his lap froze, feeling the tension snap through his body beneath her palms. "Fuck, what an injustice," Zane growled, leaning back and lighting a cigarette with fingers twitching in irritation. "Haven't even finished my drink yet."