City Council President Joseph Coolman was pisst. His eyes were filled with vinegar, bile, rage you name it! I mean hotter than Marge Tartaglione on a bad day... "I promise you on the grave of my father that I will destroy that son of bitch!" scowled Joe Coolman as he sipped his Hennessy. He was sitting in the dark of his City Council President Office firmly affixed in his big leather chair. He slowly rocked back and forth. He was like a cobra. Ready to pounce. Maybe like a panther. But not moving too quickly. This one would take a little time. "Big Blarney my ass," he spoke to himself. And a patient man he was.... NOT A HAPPY BREAKFAST Democratic Party Unity Breakfast, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Bellevue Stratford Hotel. No matter how bad the political war or election, primary or general, the eggs get scrambled together into an omelet. They meet the day after the election to make peace. To unify. To continue to solidify the dominant political party again no matter what. Philly is a Democrat town. No ifs, ands, or cannolis about it. With a 7 to 1 voter registration advantage in the fifth largest city in the country (No, Philly didn't drop to lower than 6th or 7th nationally except maybe in the National League East). In terms of voter advantage, not even Frank Rizzo could switch over that Democrat number to Republican. Not even half would do it for the Bambino these days. With a voter lead like that, Johnny Bouchee and The Democratic Party of Philadelphia County / City of Philadelphia had "fuck you votes". He didn't need shit from anybody to win a general election by 4 or 5 to one in November even if the roof fell in or Rizzo appeared in the clouds over Boathouse Row. But this past primary created a lot of bad blood. A lot. The cuts went deep, and the screwing was of blarney and booze. The good of it, for Johnny Bouchee, was The Irish retook the City politically. It had been a while. But Johnny and Bobby Eamon were sitting pretty these days. They were smirking a great deal as the sun glimmered in those Irish Eyes. But like I said, this one cut deep. There was gonna be a price to pay. This Democrat's Unity Breakfast needed a lot of salve and bandages to heal. Salve? They needed more than that! They needed morphine and transplant organs to heal this trauma. The road to recovery went through the heart of North Philadelphia. The reason for it was simple. The African American Political Hierarchy took more than a haircut as James Francis Malloy became the Democratic Nominee for Mayor of Philadelphia. In truth, they got scalped. And the blood was all over Johnny Bouchee's and Bobby Eamon's hands. It happened like this every primary election. It was lick the wounds day and make peace and give respect to the vanquished over cold eggs and scrapple. In fact, Johnny Bouchee had been doing this breakfast for decades... but not today. Today, the rift was a little too big to manage over a breakfast, and Johnny knew it. It was bloody and ugly. A bad cut above the eye. The Philly Democrats looked like Rocky Balboa's face.