A Federal Reserve Bank Note to the value of five dollars flicked up from beneath the soul of the two-tone oxford as the man ran for a passing taxi.

"Wait! Taxi!" He shouted as his arm waved high in the air, hoping to catch the driver's eyesight in one of his mirrors. His briefcase dangled at his side, swaying too and fro yet not picking up much vertical. It was stuffed full of papers. And a semi-automatic Beretta M1923, a somewhat weird addition to his moving work station. Maybe not for a policeman, or someone of ill repute, but for a lawyer it wasn't what you'd expect to find among his case files and unorganized notes.

He was in a rush. The luncheon went well. But he wasn't as sharp and to the point as he usually was. He had to mince his words, as if the dark brown leather-bound addition to his professional attire had a meat grinder stuffed in there too. He was being followed, being watched. He swore he was. He just knew it. The newspapers were full of stories of court cases being dismissed on account of a member of the prosecuting team, a member of the jury or a witness, going missing. Or worse, turning up with their toes turned up! He had to drag things out, to not be heard saying too much from a prying set of ears.

It was three refills of a long black coffee cup later and three more turn downs to the waitress when he had to leave. Not because he was already too long winded explaining simple details of the closing argument to a colleague, but because he was anxious to not stay in one place for too long. His movements were all the while jerky, as if the black coffee was also being pumped full of amphetamines. His right eye already had a twitch to it. He wished it would stop. And it made him even more self-conscious just thinking about it, which had it twitch even more.

And what if someone was in there, listening in? Everywhere, listening in. He felt like his shadow had its own shadow. Everywhere he went. And everywhere he didn't. When at home, his curtains were forever draped closed. Behind them, an upturned dinner table. His meals became less and less frequent, so it wasn't an issue. When he did eat, he just nibbled. His diet now mostly liquid form to keep his eyes from closing due to a lack of sleep.

When the waitress accidentally dropped something on her way to a different table, he practically shot out the door, quickly stuffing what he could into his briefcase before she even had a chance to retrieve a dustpan and brush to clean up the ceramic shards. He was skittish. And some would say for good reason. The person he was up against had a long line of criminal charges. But none ever stuck. People knew who he was. What he did to make his wealth. And therein was the problem, and the very reason this man was a car backfire away from having a heart attack right there in the street.

The taxi didn't stop. It didn't see him. The driver belonged to someone else. Technically, he wasn't even a taxi driver. Technically, it wasn't even a taxi. A disguise to allow the car to be parked and waiting where most would otherwise arouse suspicion, being that it was parked for long periods of time and with the same face in the driver's seat. A nice little guise, if you think about it. But something that this lawyer would've liked to not be the case, as he cursed and flipped off the now distant vehicle, kicking up dust and flinging the briefcase around like a madman.

On account of his hurrying he hadn't even noticed that all the while he'd sat in the cafe he'd had a bank note attached to the bottom of his shoe. It was dropped on the tiles of the coffee shop by another patron who'd also been in a hurry, but for a very different reason. Off to get his rocks off with a mistress. Some time to relax away from his nagging wife. He was already five minuets past their scheduled rendezvous. Couldn't start the mid-afternoon without his cup of Joe, though. But if he kept this up, the Adonis would soon have a nagging lover too!

The five dollar bank note wafted through the air as the sketchy looking lawyer paced down the street, looking this way and that as he did. From behind and where the paper note was airborne and drifting, it looked like he had something on either side of his shoulders he was trying to lick clean. A small gust of wind caught the piece of currency, and off it went.

A boy playfully grabbed at it but was yanked back by his mother's arm.

"Come along, Frederick!" She said, tugging him along without a desire to look back at what was keeping him. Also in a rush. Busy were these streets. It was just that time of the day. A car zoomed by and gave the gust of wind some more momentum, and just as the boy gave up hope of taking home the small fortune. He had lived but a drop in the greater scheme of things, so to him, it would be his most prized possession. But it wasn't to be, so he skipped to his mother's side, like a dog that finally figured out what it meant when its owner told it to heel.

The bank note only traveled a short distance beyond the cafe. It was brought down to earth with a thud, with a small flightless bird that found itself toppling out of its nest. Both hit the sidewalk, a newly paved addition to the ever growing common Streets, catching the attention of a less scrupulous individual compared to the man of law. This person had a brown paper bag in their dominant hand which was scrunched around a bottle. It left only the very top bare, giving their lips easy access.

They had bent down initially to look at the bird, but then something else caught the haze in their eyes. A Federal Reserve Bank Note to the value of five dollars.

Skinny Jim had finally had enough. He'd hit rock bottom, and nothing was going his way. Two days prior he had been rushing around doing all sorts of odd jobs to raise some money in an attempt to keep the meager apartment that he had called home. If he hadn't been so reckless in the first place he would never have been in this situation.

His gambling scheme was a complete disaster, busted up by the police before it even took off. His 'associates' had run off at the first sign of the police, leaving him with the blame for the entire operation. The cops weren't very nice to him either. They had their fun beating him and pocketing as much of the cash as they could. He'd spent that night in the jail. The next morning they released him, all but throwing him out of the police station. 

After that he went back home, only to find his lock had been changed and a note on the door. He snatched it off and muttered a curse under his breath. 

<font face="courier, Courier New, monospace">Jimmy,</font>

<font face="courier, Courier New, monospace">You owe me a lot of money. If I don't have the $70 </font>

<font face="courier, Courier New, monospace">by tomorrow all of your shit is mine. Your ass is </font>

<font face="courier, Courier New, monospace">on the street until then. You'd better pay up!</font>

<font face="courier, Courier New, monospace">- Management </font>

Skinny Jim cursed loudly this time. He slammed his fist into the door and turned around to lean against it. He slid down to the ground, holding his now bleeding hand out. 'Well that was stupid, you fuckin' idiot" he thought to himself. After a few brief moments he sighed, crumpled the note up and tossed it into the corner. He had to find work, so off he went, looking for a good way to earn a quick buck. 

It didn't take him long to find a job that would put enough cash into his pocket to pay off his landlord. The problem was that this was one of those 'shady' jobs. He had to tag along with a local street gang to shake down a local business. It seemed like easy work to Jimmy, but boy was he wrong. His luck was shit, and that seemed to bleed into everything he did the past few days. He joined the gang outside of the store, and after they exchanged a few words and formulated a plan, they went inside. 

That shit luck kicked in almost immediately. The biggest guy of the group charged right at the shop owner, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and raised him into the air. He started hollering about money and threatening the man. That was when the first blast went off. Another person in the store had drawn a revolver and blasted the back of the big guy's head right off. Blood sprayed all over the shop owner as they both fell to the ground.

At the same time that this was happening another man jumped the other guy that Jimmy was with. A knife was quickly drawn and pressed into the back of the other guy. He let out a sort of drowning howl and slowly fell to the ground. The other man shh'ed him as they both went to the ground. The man with the knife helped Jimmy's companion down onto the ground, and when they reached it, he pulled the knife out and proceeded to stab him a few more times.

Jimmy just about shit his pants as the man with the revolver turned to him, pointing the gun at his head. 

The man spoke up. "These two jackasses we know, but who the hell are you?" The man pulled the hammer back on the revolver. "And don't lie..."

Jimmy's voice was high and cracked with fear and adrenaline. "I-I'm Skinny Jim! I-I ju-just joined these g-guys today to try and earn some ca-cash! I dont run with them! I sw-sw-swear!" 

The guy with the knife stood up and laughed menacingly. "Oy! This is that dumbass that was tryin' to run a gambling shack on our turf... You just dont learn do yah?" He punched Jimmy in the back, which forced Jimmy down to his knees. 

The guy with the gun spoke up. "Well, he ain't with these morons... Lets take him out back and teach him a lesson."

The guy with the knife grabbed Jimmy by the back of the shirt and dragged him out into the back alley, and both men began to beat him within an inch of his life. Sometime during the brutal assault Jimmy lost consciousness. 

He woke up the next day, bloodied and bruised. He was homeless now, without a penny to his name. As he exited the alley he saw and older man, also homeless, holding a paper bag with what he assumed to be booze inside. He reached down and snatched the booze from the man. 

"Hey! That's mine!" The old man called out weakly. "Yeah well fuck you!" Jimmy responded. He rounded the corner and began to walk down the street. 

He took a long drink out of his newly acquired drink and stumbled down the street. After a few steps he jumped back, startled. Something had nearly fallen on him. As he looked down he noticed a baby bird. "What the fu..." Then the bank note caught his eye. He looked around quickly and snatched it up. Maybe his luck was finally on the up and up. He sniffed a quick chuckle and then winced in pain. 

Skinny Jim began to feel less and less pain as the inebriation took over. He limped down the street until he found a nice park, with a nice bench. He sat down and continued to drink, thinking of what he could do to earn some more cash. This bill was a good omen. He'd payed for his sins, and now it was time to rise from the ashes. As he took another drink he held the bill up in the sunlight. 

At that exact moment, a black car pulled up in the street behind him. He heard it roll up and stop, and then a familiar voice called out. "That's him!" It was the old man from the alley way. What the hell did he want now? Jimmy glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the old man sitting in the back seat of the car. In the front seat, now hanging out of the window with a gun, was the knife man from yesterday. 

"You just couldn't keep yourself out of trouble, could you." A bright flash was the last thing that Jimmy saw. A bullet slammed into the side of his head and he fell forward off of the bench. 

A few fleeting thoughts passed through his mind as he collapsed into a heap on the ground. The first was that he had been reckless, again. He hadn't considered the ties that bum might have had. The last thought was simple, and solemn. His luck had finally run out. With that he hit the ground and Skinny Jim was no more.

The $5 bill was still in Jimmy's hand when he his the ground. The force of the fall knocked it out, and strong gust of wind picked it up, high into the sky. It flew off, and the only sign of Jimmy on it was a small dot of blood. 

Louie Canicatti was walking through his neighbourhood's commercial zone looking to expand his protection racket even more. He needed to convince more storeowners to get on his weekly payroll. He knew that if he had a large area under his umbrella of protection, the ability for storeowners within that umbrella to refuse his offers was much, much smaller.

He was much more well dressed than many of the people he encountered in his journey, but he did like the extra attention. While walking down the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, he stopped outside of a convenience store called "Joe's Convenience." He stood outside for a while writing down the name and address of the store.

As he made his way to the entrance of the store, a strong gust of wind came blowing. The wind was strong enough to even stagger Louie for a moment. To his side he could hear the noise of paper flapping in the wind, and on the signpost besides him was a Federal Reserve Bank Note to the value of five dollars, wrapped around the pole. Louie scooped up the bill and slide it loosely into his pocket.

The sounds of the morning and the intense morning sun burning through the blinds became enough to wake up Jack. He lay there a while listening to even more sounds that started to formulate as his brain whirred back to life. From the kitchen he could hear the popping, and smell the aroma of bacon being fried for breakfast. He could hear the kids acting up with each other before being hushed by mom. He slipped out of bed and brushed his teeth in the ensuite bathroom before leaving the room.

It was just another regular Monday morning for Jack. "Good morning, dear" was heard from the kitchen as he stepped out of his bedroom and into his slippers. He made his way into the kitchen where his wife was cooking breakfast for the kids. Jack sat and the table, patting his son on the head and kissing his daughter on the cheek, while his wife poured him a coffee and let him know breakfast would be ready soon. It was almost time for Jack to head out to open the store "Jack's Convenience" which he had owned for nearly a decade now. My family knew that I was going to work, what they didn't know, is that today, like all Monday's, I was going to be extorted by the Mob.

Jack knew all about what a protection racket was, he was no idiot. These guys came into the store as businessmen, and depending on how you respond to them, they are either your PROBLEM, or your SOLUTION. Jack began to think about the very first time somebody came through his door with an offer he couldn't refuse.

Mid-way through his shift, around 2 in the afternoon, the doorbell rung to the store and in walked a peculiar man. He was well off, and resembled a white-collar businessman, like a lawyer or doctor. He took a look around the interior, and I said "Welcome." from behind the counter. The man nodded, and proceeded to approach the counter. Nobody else was in the store, and he looked at me right in my eyes, and said;

"Hello...Jack. I offer my services to many of the other businesses in the neighbourhood. My services involved security and protection provided to the properties, in exchange for a weekly salary. A personal accountant of mine will show up every Monday, and as long as you keep paying, you will not have to worry yourself over anything happening to your store. I believe you will find my offer to be gracious which is why I have come to speak in person."

Jack was skeptical. A businessman comes through your door and tells you to pay him for protection. He's not a bodyguard, or a cop, or a security company. That left only one more profession through deduction. The Mob. Jack looked at the man who remained steeled, eye to eye with each other but the man winning the stare-off. 

"I can see that you may be a little hesitant. Perhaps if I progress this discussion into numbers we can move forward. The salary will start at $600 per week in cash, to be paid every Monday. Simple, easy, and protection guaranteed."

The mans eyes shifted left and right inspecting Jack's face. Then he continued.

"Now, I'm sure you know of the things that happen in this neighbourhood. Arsons, robberies, murder. My security detail will prevent all of that, if you partner with me. You need to decide now, your first payment is today."

Jack was shocked, this man expected $600 right now. That was a lot of money up front, although he probably had it in the safe in the back. He considered his options, say Yes to the Mafia, or say No to the Mafia.

After wrapping things up with the individual and paying him the $600, Jack had realized he'd just sealed a deal with the largest organized crime syndicate in the world, and in the grand scheme of things, he was just a pawn.

The man went to the back of the store and returned with a cold drink. He reached into his pocket, and stuck out a Federal Reserve Bank Note to the value of five dollars. "Keep the change." He said, smirking and exiting the store.