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Ghost had his legs placed on the table as he listened half-assedly to the men who seemed engrossed in their conversation.

It was supposed to be a four-man meeting. But he hasn't said as much as a word since he arrived here — It was one of Don Carianno's condos — he couldn't proudly say he was listening either. Not until someone swatted his feet with a folded paper.

"Take them down, Ghost. This table cost me a fortune." Don Carianno said with a bit of irritation. "And would you please, show a bit of interest here?"

Ghost took down his feet with a sigh. "I can't. I just can't seem to develop any shitty interest in this conversation. I'm flatly sitting it out,"

"Why not?" Don Carianno puckered his brow. A ring of smoke covered his face from the cigarette between his fingers.

"Because it's fucking stupid and pissing me off. So what if the Chinese Mafia lost a man in the underground fights? So what if the Triads are mad and reeling with anger? We didn't kill him. It was just a fucking a