I was early for my meeting with Chucky.

Decided to make a quick stop. My meeting was for two o'clock. I still had an hour or so. Parked the car in front of an unremarkable building not far from 9th and Washington.

Standing guard at the front door was an overweight bovine wearing a powder blue sweat suit; white t-shirt accessorized with a heavy gold chain. He managed to squeak out a "Yeah".

"Mr. Picker to see Mr. Santucci."

Without muttering a syllable he turned and went inside; leaving Kato and I standing on the sidewalk. Two full minutes passed before he stepped back outside.

"Mr. Santucci says to com' in."

The Italian Social Club is an old brick structure dating to the turn of the previous century. It's basically a long narrow room with an ancient bar running down the left side of the room. On the right are scarred wooden booths and dark wood chairs and tables lining the center of the room. Completing this picturesque motif is a black and white tiled floor along with a pressed tin ceiling sporting old world rotating fans.

The moment we entered Kato sat near the door facing the men in the room. An oaf on a bar stool swiveled his head, saw my beast and said, "Not that damn dog again."

I made my way to the back. Uncle Carmine Santucci rose from the chair behind his desk and offered his hand. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the great antique's dealer himself. Take a seat Mr. Picker." To the bartender, "Due espresso Carlo." To me, "I enjoyed those cigars, Mr. Picker. I must thank you again. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Uncle Carmine is the acting head of the local mob. His territory, so to speak, covers Southeastern Pennsylvania and South Jersey. In the tradition of the legendary Angelo Bruno, many consider Carmine to be The Gentleman Godfather. He does not allow dealing in drugs; is well known for giving back to the community; and never or almost never kills outsiders.