Previously on Magic City...
(Ike) Ike Evans from the world-famous Miramar
will come in and run his hotels.
This hotel was at 70% occupancy.
This year, since January, you're at 20%. (Pig squealing)
But I look around, and I see the millions
that could be going to your people, wasted.
I will check you out, señor Evans.
(Sol) Vera Evans, the Queen of the Miramar Playa,
- dances again. - Ay!
It looks like you could use something a little stronger.
Maybe Dr. Bobby's B12.
(Vera) A shot? Amphetamine?
(Stevie) Vitamins. It's an enzyme thing, I think.
(Mercedes) I really do love you, Danny Evans.
I'm Antonio Rivas. I'm a friend of your father's.
- I know who you are. - I'm so very sorry for your loss.
I took Klein's job. I'm his intern.
This boy will search and dig
and tear into Ike Evans' life, because he has to know.
My father got the owners of the "Herald,"
the "News," a few bankers-- the six men who run Miami--
to join together and finally stop those gangsters.
The Secret Six. We need them.
Again. Now, Meg.
You know, I looked for you for days.
- I didn't love you anymore. - Anymore?
- How about ever? (Sy) - This Nicky Grillo--
he bought a warehouse in Hialeah. Why is that?
We will need more-- many more guns.
Get me a shopping list. I'll set you up.
- Who is that? - They call me Eddie Blue.
- Eddie Blue out of Vegas? - I guess I'm your new partner.
(Ike) Anything you see or hear when you're with Sloat
could be helpful to me.
He's a hotel guy. He doesn't know shit about casinos.
Ike lives.
♪
Sync and corrections by n17t01 www.addic7ed.com
(Soft music playing) (Sy) Good luck, everybody.
Nice to be with you. (Glasses clinking)
(Indistinct conversations)
(Whispers inaudibly) What the hell are you doing, Moe?
In my good ear, you fuckin' moron.
- I'm sorry. Sorry, boss. - Excuse my language. Excuse my language.
(Whispers inaudibly)
All-- all right, all right.
Um, uh...
Just tell him, uh, one second, okay?
♪
(Closes lighter)
(Man) Get the hell out of my place, Sy!
I built this! (Thud)
(Sy) Think I give a shit?
(Clatters)
Hey! Hey! Get the fuck off me!
(Blows landing, grunting) God damn it!
Aah!
Dad! (Door clattering)
Dad!
♪
(Snaps fingers and speaks indistinctly)
Yeah?
It's me.
Yeah, you in the booth?
Like you asked.
Good.
I can deliver Havana back to you.
I'm listening.
Castro's gonna let me come in
and manage the Capri, the Riv, and the Nacional.
I get 30% of the net. I will front
and give you all of it.
- That is a million dollars a week, Sy. - Oh...
that's extremely generous.
I want something in return.
Well, of course you do.
I want the Miramar Playa.
Completely.
I want my hotel back.
This is a much longer conversation.
Sy, the gambling bill's not gonna pass.
They've been trying to jam casino gambling
through the Florida state legislature for years now.
You better have a little chat with your, uh,
partner there in, uh, cabana one.
I mean, Ben thinks it's guaranteed.
If he's right, and it does pass,
your place becomes a very valuable
piece of property to us.
And why the fuck don't I just take it all anyway--
Havana and Miami?
Because Castro's deal is with me. Nobody else.
The next words that come out of your mouth--
choose them very wisely.
If gambling in Miami passes,
I understand that you won't give up the Miramar.
But if it doesn't pass, then it's just
- a margin business at best. - Look, I see no reason whatsoever
for me to make a bet right now.
So, I suggest you keep doing that good stuff
you're doing in Cuba.
We'll talk.
One last thing.
Of course there is.
The Cubans have livestock in the casinos.
They're a mess. They want $1 million
clean-up and good-faith money from me before they--
(Seagulls crying) You went and asked Sy Berman for the million?
I tried everyone else, Sid.
- And what does that tell you? - I need the million.
You hear what I'm saying? I need it now.
If I stumble here,
the Cubans are gonna find someone else
to run those hotels.
All right, this-- this million bucks--
it gets you what again?
A piece of my first year management fee.
In looking at their books for the last three seasons--
that's a $4 million return.
1 gets you 4. That is a sweet fuckin' deal.
Uh-huh. Except that it's with Castro.
It is not with Castro. It is with me.
(Sighs) Look, the only people that I know
with that kind of cash
are Sy's Chicago outfit,
- and... - No.
No, don't you even ask.
(Scoffs)
I can't pull Meg into fighting gambling here
and bankrolling casinos there.
She'll think I'm fucking insane.
Yeah, which you are.
Ike...
Sy even whispers to Ben
that you're trying to dump him,
and you will vanish.
Just like my brother-in-law when the check comes.
(Exhales)
(Mel) $500 to me? (Man clears throat)
Fold.
Too rich for me.
Looks like it's just you and me, Red.
(Drink pouring) I'd raise you, but I'm tapped.
So, Red,
are you still bringing the deejay convention
to the Americana this year?
Yes, sir.
2,000 wild-eyed sons of rock 'n' roll,
roarin' and whorin' down here this July.
(Laughter)
You know what, Red?
I'll stake you.
But...
you bring your deejay convention to us,
to the Miramar Playa this year
instead of at the Americana.
You win, you get it all. The pot.
I win, I get the convention.
I'll call that your raise.
2,000 deejays? You all can handle that?
What did the record companies pay the Americana last year?
All in? Girls, booze, rooms, all of it?
About a quarter million for the four days.
For that, I could get Ike to build a new wing.
(Chair creaks)
(Lowered voice) You say it, I'll do it.
Okay.
(Normal voice) Okeydokey.
You got a bet.
(Sets down cards)
Four aces! You drew a fucking ace, you lucky retard. (Laughter)
(Men) Ooh!
Straight flush. (Men murmuring)
Hmm.
(Breathes deeply)
I'll set you up with Victor Lazaro.
Our GM.
It's gonna be a great convention.
(Chips clattering) That's my boy.
Mm. (Sighs)
I need to get some sleep.
I'm in the Atlantis in two hours.
(Men murmuring)
All right, Sol, let's see if we can work a deal
with, uh, one of the airlines-- National, Eastern, Pan Am.
Charter a plane, get some celebrities down from the city--
Jackie Gleason, Arthur Godfrey, Cugie.
Now, I know that Ray Charles and Nat King Cole
loved Vee at the Trop.
I know this is a once-in-a-lifetime deal.
We are running out of time, and we really--
Who just delivered 2,000 heads to our hotel
in the middle of summer?
Yes, thousand. In, yes, July.
You look like shit.
Thanks, pop. Guesses?
Maybe Stevie Evans, bartender extraordinaire.
Okay. I'm hooked. How?
You remember the deejay convention?
It's always at the Americana.
2,000 heads spending 250 Gs in 4 days.
Done. Ours. I got it.
Do you know why the deejay convention
is always at the Americana?
Because it is always a disaster.
Literally. A disaster. Thousands in clean-ups costs.
Shitty PR. Multiple arrests.
They're still digging out from that shit.
The GM there showed me some pictures.
It's a fucking war zone.
So we clean up a little after.
Guys, we'll be completely booked for four nights in July.
We'll double, triple the booze mark-up.
I'll run in girls from the Tri-State area if I have to.
Ike, the Americana doesn't mind pulling up carpeting every year.
It's pennies compared to the booking.
In July.
The numbers make sense. I can't speak for PR or...
Uh, we... keep the press away
and we just pray that nobody gets killed.
Vincent?
We can get extra guys. Lots of extra guys.
I could pull in off-duty cops from upstate.
And then we'll need local favors.
"Look the other way" favors from Miami Beach
- and County PD. - But we could do it.
Yeah, if we catch a break, we can do it.
If you want to.
Dad, let... let me handle this.
Vincent says it's cool. I can deal with the rest.
I can do this.
This kind of thing-- guys puking in my fountain--
that's not who we are, Stevie.
Don't do this. Don't.
I--
I take on any job you want in this hotel.
I do it because I love this place as much as you do,
and because I love you.
I ask you for nothing.
Please, believe me, I can do this for you.
I'm sorry, Steven.
Not in my hotel. I appreciate what you're doing--
Guys... (Clears throat)
I'm sorry I interrupted your meeting.
Stevie.
(Cesar shouting in Spanish in distance)
(Latin drumming in distance, men shouting in Spanish)
♪
(Man grunts)
♪
(Spanish) Stop it!
(Music stops)
Good, good.
Ten minutes.
You chase a ghost.
You almost catch her.
(Exhales deeply) Thank you, Cesar.
You push so hard. For your man or for you?
Both. (Chuckles)
Five minutes,
and then your old lady legs go again.
You open tomorrow.
(Spanish) Yes.
(Man grunts) (Latin drumming)
♪
(Bel) Ike's hitting up anybody with a buck in town.
I heard he got tossed off La Gorce
for trailing some banker on the ninth hole
in his street shoes.
Why does Ike need that kind of money?
Nobody's talking... yet. I'll get it.
All right, Bel.
You've got the day.
♪
- Eddie Blue. - Belvin.
(Woman) ♪ I'm just a stranger ♪
Now that's the way to run an empire.
King Farouk insisted,
by royal decree and under punishment of death,
that every car in Egypt be black,
save one-- a blood-red Bentley.
Farouk's red Bentley.
So, whenever anyone in Egypt saw a red car,
they knew that their king was about.
Now that is the way to run an empire.
Well, it's something to shoot for.
How's my casino?
I'm fucking tiptoeing around Ike.
But I'm getting it done.
What the hell's his problem?
The guy doesn't like making money?
- Not your problem. - Well, this is--
I need his small ballroom to interview and train
dealers, casino staff.
I may need you to cool him out.
Fuck, we need everything, man,
from cocktail waitresses to ladder men.
I got some of my folks coming up from Havana.
Ladder men? What are ladder men?
You know, sitting up on ladders watching for cheating,
- bad dealers-- entry-level gig. - That'll look like shit.
We can't have ladders all over the fucking place.
We had 'em at the Riv, Capri, Vegas.
- You need to see-- - Wait.
How about we put a false ceiling
with a 2-way mirror?
Our guys go up and watch.
When the stiffs look up from below,
all they see is a beautiful mirrored ceiling.
And we watch, hidden, from above.
(Laughs) Jesus, that's brilliant!
Go. Go, Eduardo Azul.
Work your magic.
I'll take care of Ike.
Your red Bentley by Hanukkah.
(Laughs)
Hi.
_
Yeah, sure.
_
My dad knows that I'm out here?
He knows more than you think.
Go ahead. You can smoke.
I'll join you.
(Truck arriving)
(Flicks lighter)
(Closes lighter)
Would you like one?
Cigar?
(Spanish) Yes, Cuban.
From home.
Better than the American thing.
Really?
It's your heritage. (Spanish) Sure.
(Delivery truck door opens)
(Second truck departing)
(Flicks lighter) (Spanish) Turn it around.
Puff, but don't take the smoke in.
Roll it around in your mouth like wine.
(Closes lighter) And exhale.
(Spanish) That's it, now you got it.
(Laughs) Now you look like a Cuban.
(Exhales) (Man) Hey, fellas.
(Man) - Hey. (Man) - Give you a hand here?
It's nice.
It's home.
Leaves grown in Santiago,
rolled by Cuban hands in Havana.
Cuban sweat, Cuban tobacco.
This smell is my childhood.
And yours, too, señorita.
It's our childhood.
(Puffs)
(Engine starts)
You do look younger.
You should see me after you take a sip
of Havana Club rum.
Okay.
Take this shit back.
Brew up a fresh pot.
This is a fresh pot.
(Hisses) Fresher.
Don't be an asshole, Doug.
It's fine. I'll be right back.
(Telephone rings, cart rolling)
(Cart clatters)
(Door knob clicks, knocks on door)
Coffee cart.
Coffee?
You got any prune danish?
(Man) - I'll take a prune danish, too. - Yeah.
(Indistinct conversations, telephones ringing)
(Typing)
_
What do you guys do in here?
Same as you.
Catch bad guys.
(Paper rustling)
_
(Knock on door) Come in.
So?
He saw it all.
Thank you, Hal.
Third floor.
Third floor? No!
I distinctly said the penthouse.
Perhaps you should spend more time
learning the English language
and less time sitting on your backside.
You don't like mi culo, Senator?
♪
(Sighs)
It is a miracle, señorita.
I swear...
I have seen the Virgin Mary on that ass.
(Knock on door) (Laughs) Shit!
(Clears throat) Shh!
Uh, who is it?
Me. Belvin.
Ah, ye-yes, uh, come on in.
Come in.
(Clears throat)
I hope I'm not interrupting.
No, no, no. I was, um...
- I was just writing a new speech. (Chuckles) - Hmm.
Uh, what can I do for you?
Ben wanted me to get you your dough
before you head back to Tallahassee.
(Sloat) Ah. Good man.
- Now this is for-- - Senator Rollie Bowan.
- A fine gentlemen of Monroe County. - Hmm.
And $5,000 for the very distinguished
Senator Delbert Hayes out of Osceola.
(Sighs) Give my thanks to Young Benjamin.
Though we are in fine shape on votes.
(Gasps) (Bel) Better safe than sorry, Senator.
(Sloat laughs) More of that fine Hebraic wisdom.
(Laughs and clears throat)
(Sloat sighs)
(Door closes)
Where is this damn elevator?
I have been waiting far too long!
I'm coming!
(Indistinct conversations)
But, honey, camp gets her out of the heat,
up to the mountains-- healthy.
I say yes.
Will there be boys?
I certainly hope so.
Can I be excused?
Homework?
"Dobie Gillis."
No running.
Dinner okay?
Oh...
I got to fit into my costume.
(Sighs) Darling, I love it so much.
The dancing. You know?
I love you so much.
(Waves lapping)
Please.
No! (Echoes)
Shh! It's okay. (Exhales)
It's okay, my love. It's all right.
You're having a nightmare.
(Sighing)
No matter what happens tomorrow night,
you did it.
You saved us.
(Whirring)
(Elevator bell dings)
(Breathes deeply)
(Latin music on radio)
(Singing in Spanish on radio)
Mm. What a stupid man.
I bet your measurements, baby.
(Spanish) You are crazy, old man. (Chuckles)
(Starts engine) When they call my number in Havana on Saturday,
I'm taking you to the Latin Quarter
- Saturday night-- cha-cha-cha! - Okay.
Mm. Come here. Mwah!
(Clicks)
(Clattering)
(Panting) (Gasps softly)
Shh. (Gasps) Shh!
(Growls and barks)
(Gasps)
(Clicks, door closes)
Hey. Hey. Lily... (Gasps)
Tell Hop sing here that Ben left me a box of Cubans.
Cubans?
Cigars! He told me to swing by and get 'em.
Well, I-I don't know anything, uh... (Sighs)
Lee, it's okay. Thank you.
(Clock chiming)
Money suits you.
(Huffs) You should leave.
I should do a lot of things.
You know, I didn't really come here for cigars.
Ben will be home any minute.
Mm-hmm. No.
Ben's getting head from one of Madame Renee's whores.
My treat.
You know he's a fucking fool.
When I had you,
I didn't even look at other pussy.
I want you to leave.
You still walk around without any panties on?
Hmm?
I bought you all kind of silk undies,
and you just left 'em in the box, remember?
You aren't wearing anything right now, are you?
(Lee) Missus?
(Exhales) Thank you, Lee.
Here. I-I'll tell my husband you came by.
Yeah, you do that.
(Sighs)
(Locks door)
(Coughing and retching)
(Tapping, toilet flushes)
(Sighs)
(Whispers in Spanish) Fuck.
(Inhales and exhales deeply)
You should frame that uniform.
Or burn it.
(Chuckles)
So this guy offers you a job but doesn't say doing what.
Antonio's family owns half of Miami.
I'm sure there's space for me in some Rivas business.
Yeah, I hope that's what he has in mind.
What?
Let me talk to my dad.
We could find something else for you-- here.
How about in PR with Sol or--
It's time. Okay? Change is good.
Antonio says that since Castro,
so many Cubans are coming to Miami, you know?
You know, this wave of my people--
maybe there's some way I can help, or--
Okay, but I don't want you to leave us.
(Sighs)
Hey. That's life, right?
I'll see you soon.
(Scoffs) Bye.
(Typing)
Thank you for coming by. Appreciate it. (Telephone ringing)
- Uh, Mr. E... - Inez.
He begged me not to tell you.
What?
- Your father. - Well, I figured that.
Bolita. La bolita.
$200, $300 last month.
He betting with those gangsters on Española.
No more restaurante dinners.
Now we eating fishes out of the can.
Sardines?
Si, si, filthy, stinky little fishes.
Okay. Is he home?
No, no, he's downstairs in the car.
I tell him I come to make a beauty salon appointment
- because my-- - All right, Inez,
why don't you stay here with Flo?
- I'll be right back. - Okay.
(Arthur) Just 'cause it got voted down once,
don't mean a union couldn't go ahead--
- I remember once they had to vote three times, and they-- - Mr. E. Hey.
- Just saying hi to your father. - Thank you, Monte.
Pop, come here for a second.
Later, Monte.
(Indistinct conversations)
What the hell are you doing?
What? It'd be a valet union, just for the--
No, pop. You bet bolita?
Come on, you know better than that.
You ran a book for years.
That shit is a sucker's bet.
Inez, huh? That Benedicto Arnaldo.
Pop, the numbers game is rigged.
No, no, smartass.
Bolita is tied to the Cuban National Lottery.
Whatever numbers they pick in Havana,
wins here.
Nobody-- I mean, nobody-- not even Castro could ever--
would ever touch the lottery.
See, all through history, those Cuban goniffs--
they would steal from their mothers.
But the lottery-- sacred, man.
I bet Inez's measurements, right?
- So when they call the numbers-- - Pop.
What?
You are a fucking genius.
Finally he sees it.
Send the traitor down, will ya?
(Indistinct conversations)
(Rotary dial clicks)
(Woman) Yes, Mr. Evans?
Havana, Cuba.
The number, please?
2-0-7-3-8-1.
I'll connect you.
Mr. Evans. (Spanish) Good morning.
(Spanish) Good morning.
What if I told you there was a way to cripple the gangsters?
Really hurt them and take back a few million dollars
that they stole from you?
I'd say... I'm listening.
Madame Minister, do you play your National Lottery?
(Door creaks)
Are you looking for something?
I-I-I-I thought I had a mink stole--
Just ask me. I can help.
(Chair thuds)
God, it's a-- it's a mess in here.
You are a little piggy.
(Chuckles) I'll straighten it all up.
This stuff up here by the-- by the heater--
it's a fire hazard.
(Lee) Mr. Diamond? Mr. Bel's outside.
Yes. Have, uh, Sylvia clean up this mess.
Um... so the-- the show tonight is at 8:00, right?
How the fuck should I know? Just be ready for once.
(Closes door)
Bel.
Your Doris was a fine-looking woman.
Yeah. Yeah, she was, wasn't she?
Mm.
Fine both inside and out.
(Sets down frame)
Ike's looking for a cool million to give Castro.
Good faith money.
For what?
He wants to run the hotels for the Cubans,
get a management fee.
The Riv, Nacional, the Capri.
"The" hotels? My hotels. My fucking hotels.
Even a small cut could mean millions.
Do you hear that?
What?
The wheel of fortune, and it's spinning my way.
(Chuckles)
(Jazz playing)
Underwater, they're all beautiful.
Underwater, they can't fucking lie.
How about some coffee?
White Horse, up.
This one I'm talking about--
I won't dignify her by saying her name.
This cunt that ruined my life
was a fucking mermaid.
Square business, kid.
She wore the fucking tail,
and she sucked on the fucking hose.
(Laughs)
Well... (Sighs) yeah.
I was in this sticky-floor joint up in Hernando Beach.
I was gonna smoke one cigarette,
and if the guy owed me money didn't show,
I'd go to his house,
maybe fuck his wife, maybe kill his cheerleader daughter.
Maybe vice versa.
(Thuds)
Then, out of nowhere,
this beautiful woman appears.
What does she do?
Well, she takes my hand and lights her own cigarette.
(Woman) ♪ tenderly ♪
♪ the trembling trees ♪
♪ embraced the breeze ♪
♪ tenderly ♪
(Slaps back)
I got this. Shift's over, Cuda.
(Lighter clicks open)
(Flicks lighter)
(Lighter clicks closed)
(Inhales deeply)
Says not a word,
this cunt-to-be.
Just looks at me.
And, kid, she is beautiful.
Ava Gardner-beautiful.
So finally I ask her, "Who are you?"
What do you think she says?
(Lighter clicks open) (Under breath) "The wrong woman."
"The wrong woman." Mm.
(Lighter clicks closed)
Lesson fucking learned, my friend.
When a cunt says something bad about herself,
pay attention.
(Telephone rings)
(Ring)
Yes?
(Bel) Chick just called.
The fucking idiot slept through them showing up,
but he's watching Grillo's trucks
in Hialeah right now.
The spics are inside moving the shit.
What? Now?
That's what the man said.
All right. Call Doug right away.
Tell him I said, uh, "You're welcome."
Well, November is right around the corner.
No. Not unopposed this time.
(Door opens) Some kid...
Big arms shipment going down right now in Hialeah.
Herb, sorry, uh, duty calls.
As long as I can count on something significant
from you in the fall...
You think about it. Okay. Bye.
(Hangs up receiver) Call the troopers.
- Have 'em meet us there. - Done.
- Is this reliable? - Gospel. Best source I know.
Cubans are stocking up for the trip home.
It's gonna be big.
You wanna fight crime, or you wanna fuck around?
(Click, elevator stops)
(Lowered voice) This is for you--
what you wanted.
Some names, the days, how much money.
Bel paid this to Sloat?
(Spanish) Bel, yes.
He work for el señor Ben.
Goddamn. This is good.
This is...
This is very good.
I can get more.
No, this is really great. It is so helpful.
Thank you.
This I don't do for money.
This I do for you.
Thank you, Theresa.
(Button clicks, elevator resumes running)
(Knock on door) Come in.
(Indistinct conversations in distance)
(Door closes)
Wow.
You look... amazing.
(Exhales) Please tell me it's gonna be okay.
I don't need to. You know.
This is your night. Yours.
Enjoy it.
I love you.
(Kisses)
I will see you after?
(Door opens and closes)
(Turns lock)
(Indistinct conversations, laughter)
♪
(Spanish) Calm down, Antonio.
Okay? We're good.
Alberto can do this.
(Spanish) Have fun.
It's a night at the Tropicana.
(Spanish) Go ahead.
(Zips skirt)
(Sighs)
Mrs. Diamond. (Kisses)
You look beautiful as always.
I'm so looking forward to this.
Good. I think you're gonna have a-- (Camera shutter clicks)
You won't be disappointed in the show.
Disappointed? Are you kidding me?
Vera Cruz will change your life.
I saw your wife in Havana more times than I can count.
I'm her biggest fan.
Probably not. (Chuckles)
I need to freshen up. I'll be right back.
Butterflies?
She's ready.
I know. I mean you. A big move-- Havana.
Taking over my hotels.
If you need the million, you know where to come.
I'm your partner, Ike.
Enjoy the show, Ben.
Break a leg. Chat soon.
♪ The shore was kissed ♪
♪ by sea and mist ♪
♪ tenderly ♪
(Lily) Stevie.
(Footsteps approach)
What's wrong?
Why'd you pick me up at the Sir John that first day?
Why me?
Are you kidding me? (Chuckles)
Jesus, honey, take a look in the mirror.
I thought you were--
Tell me.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Ask Nicky Grillo.
Ike Evans, this is Jim Cox.
His family owns the "Miami News."
- Jim, welcome to the Miramar Playa. - Thank you.
And Elizabeth Moore. Her family owns WMIY,
the largest radio station in South Florida.
I thought you all should know each other.
Miss Moore, a pleasure.
It's a pleasure to meet you both.
- Enjoy the show. - We cannot wait.
Thank you.
(Lowered voice) Thank you.
I haven't really done much... yet.
I hope to see you in the Atlantis lounge after.
(Chuckles) (Kisses)
♪
Danny will show.
Big night, boss.
Yeah, like a time machine.
Back to Cuba.
♪
(Lighter click open, flicks)
(Lighter clicks closed)
♪
(Camera shutter clicks)
♪
(Man) Get on the floor!
(Man) - Get down! Let me see those hands! - Let me see those hands!
(Grunts)
♪
Get down.
♪
Someone got away!
♪
(Grunts) Over here.
♪
(Grunts)
Cuff this asshole.
(Handcuffs click)
♪
Stop or I'll shoot!
Uhh! (Gunshot)
Stop him!
Fire!
♪
(Laughs)
(Man grunts)
♪ Ave Maria Purisima ♪
(Grunts)
(Man grunts)
♪
Aah!
(Grunts)
♪
(Song ends)
(Cheers and whistles)
♪
(Cheering continues)
Better you not be here, Senator.
Of course, of course.
♪
Sync and corrections by n17t01 www.addic7ed.com