That’s okay, Frank thinks. He doesn’t wantBut he respected protocol carved on his headstone.

“Who are you?” he asks the other one.

“My name is Travis,” the other says. “Travis Renaldi.”

This is what it’s come to, Frank thinks. Italian parents giving their kids Yuppie names like Travis.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Machianno,” Travis says. “‘Frankie Machine.’”

“Shut up,” Frank says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Mouse Junior says. “Frankie, could you put that gun down now? Could we go inside, maybe you could offer us a beer or a cup of coffee or something?”

“This is a social call?” Frank asks. “You waiting in the alley in the middle of the night?”

“We figured we’d wait until you were done with your booty call, Frankie,” Mouse Junior says. Frank’s not sure he knows what a “booty call” is, but he can figure it out from the nasty tone of Mouse Junior’s voice. He hasn’t seen Junior in probably eight years, and the kid was a spoiled teenage punkthen. He hasn’t matured any. Frank would like to give him a hard cuff in the ear for the “booty call” remark but there are limits to what you can do to a boss’s kid, even a boss as limp as Mouse Senior.

Mouse Senior-Peter Martini-is boss of what’s left of the L.A. family, which also includes what’s left of the San Diego crew. Peter got the nickname “Mouse” after L.A. police chief Daryl Gates famously referred to the West Coast mob as “the Mickey Mouse Mafia,” and the name stuck. He became Mouse Senior after he had his son and named him Peter.