The days blended in for young Joe. His time in America thus far consisted of robberies, pick pocketing, and petty theft. Working in the streets of Harlem and Little Italy was showing Joe there was plenty of money for the taking. His respect was growing from the local sergeants as was his wealth. 

Walking the streets with his buddy The Clutch Hand Giuseppe bursts out from the silence. 

"I got the word on hitting a port warehouse from a guy I know. Says there's guns being stored there tonight. I say we hit it and give a cut to the boss."

The Hand nods in agreement, a smile curving his lips. 

They strike off walking around the streets looking for a car to steal. There on the side of a Irish pub was a top of the line Ford Model A. The shine from the chrome made the young Joe take off in a near sprint. Landing in just feet of the vehicle he takes a look around. He nods at the hand in a silent manner signaling him to keep watch. With a quick movement Joe enters the vehicle and gets her started. The hand jumps in and with a fluid motion the take off into the proceeding night. 

They arrive just after 12AM having set themselves several hundred yards from the warf docks. Sitting in the car cigarette smoke wafts up as Joe watches the entrance and area surrounding the mark. The Hand itches his clutched hand and proceeds to check the chambers of his .38. Having found the time of entry suitable he nudges The Hand in a signal that its time. 

Joe leads the pair along the side of containers, warf cats traverse the dark crevices. Their eyes glowing from the pitch black. Lights scatter the edge of the docks providing a source of light from the new moon. As they approach a abandoned and beached sail boat the pair stops in their traps from the sound of a cough and spit. There on the other side was what appeared to be a guard. His keys jangle with each stride. Joe puts his hand up to The Hand signaling to stay. He produces a ice pick from his jacket and begins to creep around the boat. His footsteps thud in his head as he makes his way to the oblivious guard. At that moment when he was about to pounce, a light shines on him from the left revealing a second guard. He has a weapon drawn from what he can tell. He makes a clicking whistle sound to signal The Hand to run. 

Joe assumes the position of being caught. His hands outstretched as the guard begins to pummel him with his billy club. At last the blows end. Over the ringing of his ears and the blood coming from his nose, Joe hears them agreeing to spare his life. Opting to have the police arrive. 

Joe wakes up in a prison infirmary. His nose bandaged and his arm is in a sling. And added accessory are shackles on his legs and on his free wrist. Giving out a sigh a doctor can been peeking in the glass of the door. Soon after a guard enters followed by a man in a dark suit, a pencil mustache, and a briefcase. 

"My name is Robert Feinstein. I am your court appointed attorney. You will spend no time in jail for your attempted burglary and your sentence will be suspended. Once you are able to leave in a wheelchair you will be released."

To Be Continued