Chapter Three: Ka-chung! Ka-chung!

The dressing room at the Sands was larger than most New York condos. And just now it seemed filled with dancers. Tall, short, blonde, brunette, and Arabian — a gorgeous buffet of broads, the perfect nightcap for one of the hardest working men in show business.

At the moment, Mr. Hardest Working was convulsed in laughter, sandwiched between two blondes who each had to be twice as tall as he was. They were idly massaging his spindly legs as he burst into another deep fit of laughs.

"Show me the scar again, Sammy," said the blonde on the right.

"Oooh, Pleeese..." said the one on the left, her fingers loosening his belt.

"Babe, if you've seen one artificial hip, you've seen them all, man," said Sammy, before convulsing in laughter at his "joke."

Before his pants could be completely removed, the door opened and three large Italian thugs entered, followed by Frank, Peter, and Dean. The place fell silent at the sight of them. Peter never broke stride as he crossed the mammoth room to the bar in the far corner. Dean tossed his lit cigarette absently into the crowd, then lit another. Frank just stood still.

"Sambo," he said.

The Hardest Man caught his breath in mid-guffaw and stared, amazed, at Frank.

"My man!" he cried, and then actually broke down in tears.

"This cat," he wept to the dancer on his left, "is the most fabulous cat..." but he was unable to continue, and just sobbed into her breasts.

Frank addressed the room. "Am-scray, ladies. Me and the boys have some business to attend to."

Without another word, every dancer picked up her pasties and filed obediently out of the room.

"The Golddiggers, Ladies and Gentlemen!" said Dean, waving his cigarette wildly. "We'll be right back with Foster Brooks and Lola Falana!" He took the drink Peter had made for him and sat down on the sofa.

Sammy had regained his composure and now leapt from the couch and hugged Frank around the waist, stamping his foot.

"I love this cat!" he wailed.

Frank pulled himself free. "Later, Samula. This is important."

Sammy pulled back and looked hard at Frank. "You mean...?"

"A heist," said Peter, finishing his fourth.

Sammy collapsed on the floor, laughing, screaming, and crying all at once.

"Outta sight!" he yelled, rolling on his back, his feet kicking the air.

"That's one happy spade," muttered Frank.

Sammy continued to laugh, cough, and clutch the air for a full five minutes, alternately shouting "It's a groove" and "Outta sight."

When he began to turn blue, Frank dialed 911.

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