Rain hit against the window as it fell into the streets below like shellfire. Thunder could be heard as a police siren rang off in the distance. Whitey slouched in through the apartment door with no energy to hang up his coat on the rack. Instead he went straight to the side-table of his simple living room. The table overfull with bottles of rum, rye, and scotch, he poured himself a glass of scotch and then took his coat off and threw it over the couch. He then strutted over to the window of his 14th floor apartment with the floor creaking under his feet. He would often look out into the city streets, pondering, trying to shake the feeling that he felt trapped in the city as he longed for a home in the countryside. He turned on the radio, took a quick glance at a newspaper, then threw it on his coffee table. He moved his legs with a sense of weight bearing down on him over to his living room couch where he then in one swift motion put his feet up and laid down on the couch with his drink still in his hand.

He took a sip. "How did I get here?" He thought to himself. "Is this living or am I just getting by? There's gotta be more to all this" Whitey seemingly had himself a quick brush with death today, while also helping send a man to his own grave. Unfortunately enough, a suit salesman close to downtown Seattle refused to pay his monthly payment for the protection of his business and his loved ones. On top of this he made a couple soldiers of the family look like fools when he promised to tailor them suits for an esteemed wedding of a city official. Nonetheless he had left town by the time the street soldiers came to pick up their suits which they soon found out were not attended to. He knew that the family would send someone after him soon. Whitey's job was to convince the salesman to get in a car which was being driven by the families top triggerman. After that, whatever happened was none of Whitey's business as far as he was concerned.

When he showed up to the salesman's shop, he didn't expect for the proprietor to be wielding a M1911 pistol from under the counter. Before Whitey could pull out his gun, he realized that the side of the counter was the salesman's 4 year old son playing with a toy train. That froze Whitey in his tracks. He quickly realized that he would have been shot dead if it weren't for that kid in the room. He also realized that he was about to leave this kid without a father, a halfway mark to being an orphan, which Whitey himself was. 

"Billy, go home" Said the salesman to his unaware son. "But papa, the train's almo-" "Billy! Go find your mother and go home. And know that I love you, son." The salesman raised his son with left arm to his chest, kissing him on the cheek with his eye's still on Whitey. The boy then ran out the door. Not knowing that that would be the last day he would see his Father, for the rest of his life.

"Do you have children? A wife?" Asked the salesman with a hint of desperation in his voice. His right hand still holding his gun under a stack of papers. "No, but I can respect that you do. I mean no harm Paul. My boss just wants to renegotiate our deal with you. Maybe make the payments a little easier on you, that's all". "I know what your boss wants" Paul says with a strain in his voice "He wants blood, and that's all he ever wants". "Paul, we wouldn't be making money or helping people out if all our partners were dead. You know how it is". "Fuck how it is. You slippery bastards won't leave me and my family alone. No, I'm done with your shit Whitey, I'm done with you dirty bastards and your god damn tricks" In a hail of papers flying across the room as Paul lifts the gun in the air aimed at Whitey, a shot rings out and Paul falls to the ground, screaming in pain. The triggerman meant to give Paul his final ride emerges from the doorway of the backroom "I'll take it from here, you take the day off, Jack, you look like you's just seen a ghost". The triggerman then pulled Paul through the shop towards the back of the building, blood drips from Paul's left thigh as he yells for help, the triggerman brutally punches Paul and gages him. Throwing in the trunk of his car before driving off. Meanwhile Whitey's first instinct is to take whatever is left out of the cash register. Seemingly as he makes his way around the counter, he spots the boy's toy train splattered with blood against the blue wood. He picks up the train to take in all the events which has just happened. Opening the lid of the top of the train and then the cash register, he places all the money in the toy train, hoping it might make it to the boy and his mother instead of the cop's and their clean-up crew. He then proceeds to flip over the shop's open sign to closed and proceeds to leave.

-Switch to First Person-

You see, I grew up as a orphan raised by nuns. And if I know anything, I know that no kid should have to be an orphan from birth. From what Sister Maria tells me; my father, a Sicilian, met my mother in Glasgow on his stop-over with merchant navy crew. Soon after they got married they decided to have me. And when they had me, they decided that Scotland wasn't good enough and got themselves on a boat to New York. Then they figured, in continuation with all their quick decision-making, that maybe bringing a brand new baby to America without a job between the two of them or a education past the third grade was the greatest of idea's. This was the point in which they decided to leave me on the steps of the convent in the Bronx not long after getting of the ship from Scotland.

I grew up as a pretty pious kid but I'll be damned if I can't admit that I enjoy seeing a little trouble happen every now and then. I could tell ya the Book of John off the top of my head, but I could also tell ya why I need a dollar to help out the nuns (which never really happened, more like why I needed chocolate and a pack of smokes). My boy Jimmy and I ran wild growing up in the orphanage, I probably wouldn't have survived without that slimy son-of-a-gun. I'd work the door and do the heavy lifting, he'd talk his way in and outta things like he was a saint in disguise. Together we ruled the world. Even when we both would go behind bars for leaning on the wrong newspaper crew or breaking the window of the wrong donut shop (how was we supposed to know that there'd be coppers in there?), we'd make sure that neither of us got trapped and rolled up with the gridiron gangs on the inside.

When I hit 16 I took a fall that I couldn't get myself out of. I had shot a cop in self-defense (as always...) and the judge thought maybe it was the cop trying to cap me in self-defense. I was looking a death sentence square in the face. Waking up each day in a cell not sure when my final day would come. Low and behold it was a priest I'd never met before that got me a deal. A shit deal, but it was better then gettin' the chair. He had heard about my case through one of the sisters at the convent and thought it would be suitable to give me a second chance, alleluia. I had to do 4 years of service in the army before the good state of New York would send me home.

So I went off and got my uniform and tin can hat, they's was reluctant to hand me over a gun until I proved that I'm a better shot then most of the guys who volunteered. Eventually I got thinking that maybe I could get me some medals, earn a living out of Uncle Sam's army. In my first year I's got shipped out to China to guard some shitty little government embassy which wasn't worth anybody's time or thought. Eventually the tour was so shitty that it gave my poor soul pneumonia. They's sent me home after that to help train at rifle range's in base's across the country. Sooner than later I got myself a nice little enterprise going with oversea's units who wanted real American smokes shipped out to them 'cause what they's officers were supplying them wasn't worth the matches they lit them with. Before I knew it some asshole major put me up on the chopping block and sent me to a military prison before I could even defend myself, I assume he knew about my past issues in New York. I spent my final year in the army peeling potatoes in a prison and sharking out smokes to the poor sucka's betting in dice with 'em.

Finally a free man, I went with a small crew with Jimmy back to the old routine, except now we used money instead of lead when we dealt with the cops. Time's was getting tough for the neighbourhood and we didn't need the same cop's we's went to church on Sunday's with leaning down on us. I've spent the last 7 years running around town with Jimmy and the squad racking up cash, chasing dames, shipping around booze, and playing poker with the sons of big-time guys. Now's finally the time that I make a name for myself. I'm gonna find that kid's family from today and pay them what this world owe's 'em. I can't give the kid his dad back, but I can make sure that he'll get through school and not have to live a life like mine. I might do bad things, but that don't mean I'm a bad guy. I'm gonna make this world better when I leave it then how it was when I came into it, just you watch.