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the store with a RING
    as the door chimed to announce his entrance.
    On the right of the inside were rows of various goods that the gas station sold, with a freezer in the back for beverages. In front of Alex was a fountain machine for soda and on the left was the clerk counter where cigarettes and lottery tickets were sold.
    Alex walked up to the fountain machine and fil ed up a large cup with root beer then proceeded to the counter. There, he encountered a large and round Haitian man with a jovial face and a pair of thick spectacles that hung around the tip of his nose.
    The man had curled gray hair and wore a yel ow Tshirt with “Gas and Go” in bright red letters. His name tag read ‘Enrique’.
    “Hey there...Enrique,” Alex said, reading the man’s name tag, as he leaned on the counter.
    The clerk was preoccupied adjusting some things beneath the counter. Without looking up he said, “Hey yourself, what can I do you for?” Alex reached into his back pocket and pul ed out his wal et. He wanted to get this man’s attention.
    With a flip of his wrist he tossed out the back flap on his wal et, revealing his metal ic police badge, ID
    number 4977.
    “Just have a quick couple questions and a pop that I want to buy.”
    Enrique glanced on the counter and saw the badge, he stopped in mid business. Stil paused, the clerk moved his eyes upward from the badge and looked at Alex Vaughn.
    “What kind of questions?” he asked.
    “The kind that need answers, it wil take just a moment,” Alex said as he replaced his wal et in his back pocket.
    He continued, “I need to know where I can find a cigarette like this.” He pul ed the Zip-Lock containing the cigarette butt from his side and tossed it on to the counter in front of the clerk.
    Enrique picked up the bag and held it up to the light. “Wel , officer, I hope you don’t need any of this right now,” he said with a chuckle as he peered along his nose and through his goggled glasses.
    “Why’s that Enrique?” Alex asked. His interest was piqued now. He felt his list of targets was about to narrow in drastic fashion.
    “Wel sir, to be honest, there are just two places that sel these, if my eyes serve me right. This cigarette you have yerself here is a Sobranie. The only two places you can get these is Smoke ‘n Stuff over in the vil age of Hamburg. And the other place is a specialty shop downtown.”
    Enrique put the bag back on the counter and looked with triumph at Alex. He was milking the attention like a weatherman that knew the forecast.
    Alex indulged the man, however.
    “And good sir, what might the name of this specialty shop be?” Vaughn put the baggy in his coat pocket.
    “How’d I know you were going to ask that?” Enrique laughed. “The name of the shop is Inhaled Imports and is about five-ten minutes north of here.

    Imports and is about five-ten minutes north of here.
    Go down Genesee a bit I think.”
    “Thanks Enrique, I know the place. You have been a tremendous help.” With that Alex turned to leave the store. He had business to attend to.
    Alex was interrupted though; hand on the door, with a cough from Enrique. Alex, tired of the clerk’s games, turned around and with an undertone of annoyance questioned, “Yes?”
    “That’l be a dol ar six sir,” Enrique said with his eye on the root beer in Alex’s hand.
    Alex, more than a little embarrassed, pul ed a five out of his pocket and put it on the counter. “Keep the change, man.”
    With that Alex got in his car and pul ed out of the gas station. His mind was abuzz with these recent developments.
    He knew of this place cal ed Inhaled Imports.
    It was a Mafia owned business. It was right next door to the pool-hal that he frequented while undercover.
    It was the same pool-hal that contained members of Old Joe Falzone’s crew.
    Falzone was the consigliore, or advisor, of Papa Leo Ciancetta and was the current underboss of Leonard Ciancetta Junior, the current Don. Old Joe held a