Gino's specialty was a clean whack. No residue traces or killer clues remained after Gino and crew left a scene. His leatherette notebook held plans for body removal. Bored with dumps in rivers, he jotted down creative ideas for any death circumstance and bragged that he had solutions for the tri-state area.

"Today, I will have topped myself." Gino said to his mirror. He patted his pocket to make sure the opening day baseball tickets were tucked in, ran a comb through his dark hair, whispered a quick rosary, and touched the cross hung in his entryway. Whistling an off-key version of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," Gino hoisted a box and headed outside to Joey Mascone's Cadillac. "Good day for a celebration, boy."

Joey drove across the bridge into Manhattan and parked in the tower lot. Both men's black shoes tapped briskly across the marble floor as they entered the penthouse elevator. At the top, Gino greeted ten men who were busy spreading heavy loads of confetti into machines, which then shot the colorful sprinkles of paper off the balcony. Wisps of glittery streamers showered the 1951 hero's parade for General Douglas MacArthur.

Gino nodded to Joey who opened their box and emptied ashes into one confetti machine. "Rest in peace, Vince" Gino said. "This serves you right for refusing us a cut on the parade route." Vince's remains spewed out along with gold paper.

Jimmy Diamond chuckled, "Poor bastard was afraid of heights."