Chatterbox: Inkwell

My very first Round Robin! It's going to be really bad, so don't laugh. Some notes: Leo is actually a real person. He was on the FBI's top 10 most wanted list for the longest amount of time anyone's ever been on it. And also, the Boss is supposed to have a New York accent, not Boston. I got the two all mixed up. And Wilbur and Carol have no accent. Here goes!

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Distance bolts of lightning lit the chilly November air as muffled clangs from the factory near by rang continuously. Feet slapped the wet sidewalk and paused at the corner. Wilbur glanced at his friend and gave a curt nod. The footsteps began to echo in the narrow alley. Wilbur shivered and pulled his collar higher up against his chin. The he spotted him. Tall and muscular, the Boss was turned away from them smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke in big O's. "Hello dere, Wilba," he said without even turning around. "Yous got the dough?"

"Right here Boss. Fifty grand just like you asked," responded Wilbur his voice shaking slightly.

"Poifect. Just poifect." The Boss whirled around and snatched the envelope out of Wilbur's trembling hand. He had icy blue eyes, a petrifying stare and a twisted smile concealing his rotting teeth. "Heh heh. And yous, Carol? You need ta pay da price, too."

"Of course, of course," Carol mumbled through her scarf, handing him a wad of cash she had pulled out from her pocket. The Boss flipped through the bills, counting them. "Well, well, well. Short of money da third week in a row." He looked up and exhaled in their faces, causing them to gag, not from the smoke, but from the rancid breath with which it mingled.

"Yous know what, I'ma worried about yous guys. Are you sure you can handle dis, or are yous ready for da Pokey?"

"No, no, we'll keep the money coming in," said Carol as Wilbur nodded fervently, though fear flitted across his puny features.

The Boss stared at them, his gaze sweeping over them and seeming to read their minds. "Heh heh. I'ma not too sure about dat. Well, I aim ta beat Leo's record. Poor Leo. 12 years on the run, too much presha. He out an' snuffed in 'ventually. It's my 11 year anniversary next week. Be dere. Bring da money. An' it betta be enough Carol. Yous got one more chance. So long............" He disappeared into the snow.