Jax was leaning against the rails of the pier, remembering his upbringing and how he came to be where he is now. 

Of course he was always destined to be a gangster, as was his father and grandfather before him, so on and so forth. His entire family tree was full of crooks, bullies, and murderer's; but he liked to put things in chronological order.

It started when he was seven, he guessed. His father had gifted him with a break barrel shot gun. Jax spent the entirety of that summer out back of their family shack that they called a "house" blasting the plethora of whiskey bottles his dad left lying around. Actually, he spent most of the following years doing just that, aside from when he did odd jobs for the local Underboss. But once he was 13, his targets grew fewer, as his father had gone off to America after the news of his grandfathers death. He didn't make it long, his father. Unknowingly he had walked into the middle of a war, family loyalties forcing him to play on a losing team. His family was humiliated. The Everett's most promising member gunned down so shortly after setting sail!

Jax didn't follow in the foot prints of his father immediately though, not in the sense of setting sail to America. Instead, he grew bored no longer having the constant supply of whiskey bottles to fill his boredom. No instead he found the love of cocaine. He'd spend most of his earnings from running errands for the Underboss on coke, and whatever was left over on the lovely women who occupied the street corners.

After awhile though, even this wasn't enough to keep his attention, and he started to run his beloved coke for the boss. Boy was there money in that racket! He got in all sorts of wonderful trouble, from fist fights with rival kids selling on his turf to running from the police. Then yet again, by the time he was 16 he was bored of this mediocre life he was leading. He turned to the Underboss, and found a solution. 

Why hadn't he thought of it before? He loved his guns, and loved thrills. So he became a hitter. He killed mercilessly, asking no questions, and giving no complaints. It was perfect! He got to cause destruction with his beloved jewel, which is the name he had given to his shotgun, and had more than enough money to support his lifestyle and pleasures. 

"The thought on his mind, Jax took a moment to sniff a quick bump from his belt knife"

He loved his new job, all the thrills he could ever ask for. But eventually he began to believe he deserved more. His father had shamed the family by proving to be a mediocre gangster, with Jax being 22 now, it was time he left to pick up where his dad had left off. But HE wouldn't fail. He wouldn't die as scum, he would make a name for himself. So with this realization in his mind, he shot down the Underboss he had worked for since he was seven years old, looted his body, and robbed his safe. And with that, he caught the next boat to America, landing in Los Angeles California.

Now here he stood, member of a crew he trusted, living the high life in the city he loved. Life couldn't get much better. 

But now, as Jax cut up another line, he thought to himself, he wasn't done. He still hadn't truly made a name for himself, nobody knew who he was. Jax quickly rolled up a hundred dollar bill, railed his neatly cut line, and headed for home.

Once he arrived, he wrote dozens upon dozens of letters, inviting the recipients to introduce themselves, and addressed the letters to every gangster's name he could get his hands on.