70's Scooby Doo sample with some added flare.

Dem Meddlin' Kids

L.A. City Limits

LA Heat

50 Shady's of Grey

50 Shady's Of Grey

It's 1929. A highly-acclaimed conductor completes an outstanding performance in front of Manhattan's high society. Despite his renown, he is still among the middle class.  He decides to mingle afterwards in an attempt to network with the upper echelon. A well-known and highly feared mobster named Lou Mariano approaches him and requests his services at an upcoming function. He politely declines. Bystanders gasp. Mariano, insulted, invites him to step outside for a cigar. 

       A dimly lit alleyway is sheltered from the energy of Saturday night Manhattan. Recent precipitation leaves water dripping from a nearby fire escape. The droplets make their way down the urban landscape and eventually collect into an oily swale that flows toward the street.  A one-way exit door bursts open, it's momentum halted by a mound of trash bags, and is followed by the conductor who almost manages to stay on his feet but ultimately stumbles downward into a saturated pothole, disheveling his tuxedo. Mariano, a stumpy cigar in mouth, produces a snubnose revolver from his waistband and walks toward his downed victim. An inebriated passerby spouts incoherently in the distance, diverting Mariano's attention momentarily. Fearing for his life, the conductor springs to his feet and grapples with Mariano, desperately trying to control the barrel of the firearm. The firearm discharges and the disoriented conductor falls to the ground, his back perched against the adjacent building's brick exterior. 

       He briefly surveys the damage to his hand then peers upward at Mariano, expecting certain death. Mariano falls to his knees and collapses forward, his head wilting face-first into the conductors feet, revealing the back of his skull, excavated with a grapefruit-sized exit wound. Equally shocked and disgusted, the conductor attempts to scurry to his feet as the wet gravel slides out from under his shoes and shrieks against the underlying asphalt. He hurriedly walks toward the street, pulling closed his suit jacket in an effort to hide the blood that had freckled his shirt and vest. 

       He couldn't stay in the city. People had seen him walk outside with Mariano. He'd be a sitting duck. He needed a save haven; he needed Arizona.

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