Well then, so this was it huh? One minute you're on top of the world, leader of the best known group a greaser boys in all of New England. Then, in an instant, in the flash of a single bullet, your life gets turned upside down. You and a few of the boys, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, just in time to see your old man blown away by the mob. And now, the Fed's are tellin' you that you and your friends have gotta pick up and get the hell outa Maine and move to some small, godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere, the nine Timberwolves down to three and everything's gotta start from scratch. Just fuckin peachy.

He must have looked pretty damn out of place in that malt shoppe. Maybe not in his choice attire, typical greaser jeans and whites with a jacket that still bore the Timberwolves embroidery. But what made him feel out of place was the tension he could all but feel comming of the little lamb of a waitress that had just brought him his coke, the name "Susy" on her nametag. But even though he'd said thank you in a soft, kind tone, she still seemed like she was scared of him. Maybe a smile would ease the tension? Well, then again maybe not, because his smile only made her eyes get wider as she turned to put as much distance between herself and the hulky, grey toned wolf as possible.

He sighed as he ran a finger through his pomp and tried to play it off as if nothing had happened, downing a good portion of the coke in one swig as he looked out the window on the little town outside. Hell, what had he gotten himself into? What the hell was gonna happen now? And where the hell were Tony and Dexter? They were supposed to have been here five minutes ago, and he was getting tired of being the only wolf in this flock of sheep.