MichaelLaMotta was walking through the back alleys...

He had just stole another purse from an old lady. This addiction of his was continuing to get worse and worse. There wasn't an old lady in sight on the local street. All of them had had their run in with him. They didn't want to get robbed again. Some of the ladies were even heard saying that Michael did it because he loved lady hand bags. That was far from the truth.

The truth was, he loved stealing things. And why not a better target than some old lady. She wasn't going to do anything. He didn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder or anything. This was easy crime.

As he continued to walk through the alley, he felt something grab his butt. It was a slight little pinch and then a release. He was flattered really that someone would grab his tushy.

"Oh hey there, can I help you with something beautiful?"

As he turned around, he realized this wasn't a pretty women pinching him to get his attention. He was now the victim to his own displeasure. He had been pick pocketed. 

"Get the fuck back here! Gimme back my five grand!"

He had sprinted to the end of the alley to catch the perp. However when he reached the street, he didn't see his robber. Michael had had enough of the pick pocketing lately. This wasn't the first, second, or even third time he had been a victim. Had the old women he's been robbing hired someone to steal their own money back?

He grabbed an old wooden milk bottle carrier from the back street and flipped it over. He stood on it and started to speak in a loud, aggravated voice.

"Whoever you are, whatever I may have done to you, I will find you. I will put this to an end. I am tired of you taking my money from me. You will be caught one of these days. Please let it be tomorrow, or the next day, or even the day after that. I promise you, I will find you."

He jumped down and when he did, he noticed an old lady across the street...

As Michael made his way across the streets, he was called over by a woman. 

"Hey honey, come here."

She was standing in the doorway of one of the local clubs. She was a greeter and she did it well. She was a perfect dime. Her smile, her curves, he couldn't resist but to head over to her.

"You looking for a good time? Why don't you..."

And within that second, he felt someone in his pocket. First his wallet, now his pocket. How do people keep getting so close to him? "Am I that oblivious?", he thought to himself. 

He turned and no one was in sight. No one was running away, nor did anyone look suspicious. The thief had gotten away again...

"Shit I'm down 10k now..."

He continued to chat with the beautiful woman before heading into the local club. Maybe there he'd be safe. He figured he was going to lose his money either way, so why not spend it on cheap strippers.

Bridgette stood on the corner, leaning against the lamp post minding her own business. She was about to take off when she heard a wooden crate hit the ground, she looked across the street and saw a man step up on the crate and begin to call people out. She listened with a smile of amusement. 

After he finished his speech, she watched him cross the street. She waited patiently for the perfect moment. A distraction of some kind... Ah, there it was. As he ambled over to speak to the greeter at the club, Bridgette passed by. She slipped her hand in his pocket and back out just as quickly, stuffing the money into her shirt pocket. She walked away slowly, calmly, ducking quickly into an alley before he had a chance to turn and look. 

She watched as he looked around with a confused look and then resumed his conversation with the greeter. After he finally disappeared into the club, Bridgette pulled the money from her shirt and peeled off a couple of bills. Whistling, she walked out of the alley, heading back the way she came. As she passed by the club, she slipped the bills into the greeter's hand and winked, whistling still as she continued down the street.