Some mobsters made their names through feats of marksmanship, some by their skill with a lockpick and others through oratory skill, but not Barry. He wasn't going to be shooting anyone of note, busting one of the most wanted from their cell or impressing anyone with his diverse vocabulary. Oh no. Instead, his true genius lay in his remarkable, almost uncanny ability to organise a crime. Rumour circulated that his gang was so unbelievably talented that they had never actually failed an organised crime in his entire lifetime. Maybe this was due to his enormous forehead, perhaps it was his down to his prowess in the kitchen or even perchance due to his youth spent relentlessly categorising the different type of beetles he encountered in his garden, but who could say? All that was known in illicit circles, spread on the tongues of the dregs of humanity in the many cesspools in Brooklyn's business district, was that regardless of the reason, if you needed a heist of any repute pulling off; the Barry gang was the one to run with. 

With such a formidable reputation behind him, it was no wonder that Barry was literally inundated with requests to join his organised crimes. It was amazing, so popular was his gang, that he actually got any business done. People had seemingly experienced the shame of failure with the likes of the inferior Batiatus outfit, failing even to pull off the simplest of bank jobs and the grapevine had told them that better was out there. If you wanted a gang which knew how to actually crack a bank vault and not just stare at it, with a stupid fucking slack-jawed expression on your face, demanding it present you with "fucking coin" (Batiatus) until the cops showed up, the grapevine cooed, then you needed Barry's team at your back. 

Unfortunately though, it wasn't just Batiatus who had shown himself to be woefully incompetent when it came to organised crimes; The_Stig's lads had been no better. A run of the mill trucking job had ended up with them all being delivered right on time to the local police station when The_Stig had suggested to close the door to keep the chill out, locking them inside with the very same goods they had meant to jack. And Curtis had done little better. His attempts at blackmailing the Mayor had ended up with Barry getting a $5,000,000 bill and a few nights in the cells for his trouble; the many judges on his payroll helpless against the might of the city's chief authority and it's bungling Godfather Chairman.

What did all of this mean? Simple. If you wanted to work with the best crew in New York, there was only one team to choose; the Barry Gang. They've never even failed an OC, so who could actually be better? Nobody, that's who. And with this knowledge safely accumulated in your mind, you decide that next time you see Barry offering work, you won't decline his invite to work for one of the other little scrotes knocking about, you would jump at the opportunity, take it with both hands and run the fucking bollocks out of that prostitution ring. 

Vodrux was looking for Barry. He found him standing on a podium and giving a speech, his head wobbling severely as he spoke. He walked over to Barry and whispered in his ear.

"I am sorry to interrupt boss, but we have a problem. You see I lost control yesterday and murdered two guys using your forehead while you were in a drunken stupor, so now the cops think you did it given the massive forehead-shaped holes in the victims' faces and they are looking for you".............