Len is on his way to a meeting. A routine pickup, at least for this life. To anyone not in this world, going to meet a smuggler at 10 o'clock at night in an alley in New York sounds rather disturbing. Perhaps it is. But if it is, Len didn't think so. It was simply another meeting, a way to make money and live a good life. And many of Len's friends thought the same way.

Len arrived at the location. A truck sat in the alley. A man got out, carrying a crate. "Here it is, sir," he says. Len takes out a wad of cash. Several thousands of dollars, in fact. Another unconventional thing to do, according to the laws of men. He hands it over to the man and picks up the crate. He freezes. It feels light. Len drops it and yanks off the top. It's empty. Len looks up, his hand going to his side. The man is already in the truck. As the engine roars to life, shots ring out. Yet another strange thing to most eyes. Four tires suddenly have holes in them. Len marches up to the immobilized truck, and pulls open the door. The driver jumps out the other side, and runs for it. He fires a shotgun over his shoulder, a wild shot and a miss. Len runs after him, then stops and raises the revolver. BANG BANG. Two bullets meet bone, and a life is ended.

Len takes his cash from the tightening hand and stalks off, leaving another unconventional lump behind him. Soon, this place will be swarming with onlookers and cops. Another shooting that will go unsolved, but solved at the same time. Unconventional? Maybe not. At this time in history, things are bad for the majority. And in this city, in this district, this is not unconventional.