It wasn't Maria, in St Louis... now, we had been adults, you see, and in the throes of passion. I met my son, who we'll just call Shai. He was very keen on being upset with me, despite me having never even known of his existence. As one of the things he did know about me was that I was a gangster, my prim grey coat and agreeable attitude didn't quit jive with his expectations. It was not difficult to sweet-talk him out of righteous fury, but curiosity got the best of him and he started to show an unacceptable level of interest in my life. As such, I arranged to make another meeting with him at a later date and promptly pretended that the event had never happened. And that will be that. He's thirty-three now, he doesn't need daddy around to care for him. All I'd end up doing is drag him into, well, this mess.
But, ahem, that's enough of my personal life. I've heard a rumor that the only compatriot of mine involved in the Greyskin incident who objected to me describing the story here has died rather messily - all of his teeth removed, I hear. Terrible, terrible. All but rumors for now, however, so please be patient while I receive confirmation.