Knusprig used to lead a very different life. You might say he was just a normal guy: suburban apartment, a desk job, barely average income, a handful of friends. The years flowed by, many things became routine, and Knusprig grew bored.

Early one evening, Knusprig had just been quoted and admonished once again by his boss, his fuses blew. "A little more passion would do you good!" and "You're becoming a useless burden." as well as "Knusprig, you're pathetic and good for nothing!" These words of his superior triggered something in Knusprig, a kind of allergic reaction of the soul, something he had not known from himself before.

Arriving home that evening, things started to go downhill. Actually known for his peaceful nature and, at least so he believed, also appreciated, he was suddenly no longer the same. Instead of preparing himself a plate of pasta with homemade tomato sauce according to a family recipe, he briefly looked at the family photo on the table - the Italian grandmother sitting in the middle, the gaggle of grandchildren around her - and reached for the daily newspaper.

"Las Vegas mob boss not caught again. Gang shooting leaves dozens dead."

With blank eyes, Knusprig read the headline.

Knusprig read the article spellbound and looked at the poor quality black and white photos in peace. Pictured was a dark side street. He recognized a few police cars and a crowd of policemen. On the ground were several men in what looked like their own blood. The sight of this scene triggered a strange feeling of satisfaction in Knusprig. He reflected on his roots, looked once again at the family photo on the table, and thought about what gang crime had brought to his town. On the one hand, certainly some discomfort. At the same time, Knusprig had to admit that it fascinated him, this underworld, the raw violence, the machismo. That Las Vegas, indeed all of America, flourished was probably due in part to organized crime.

Knusprig thought back to the celebration in honor of his nonna, who was then 90 years old - and to his cousin Enzo. The black sheep of the family. Always well dressed, always conspicuously quiet, and always in the company of beautiful women. Enzo had this aura of a man on guard; a level-headed man who had a lot on his plate. Knusprig read the last lines of the article. He had always suspected that Enzo might have connections to the Las Vegas mob.

Knusprig took out his notebook. He used to document interesting everyday observations, also flashes of inspiration, poems and ideas for inventions that could add value to mankind he wrote neatly in his book. He flipped to the last pages where his contacts were listed: Name, address, phone number. There were not many of them, which is why Enzo was quickly found. Knusprig positioned the phone on his kitchen table and dialed Enzo's number. He didn't really know his cousin, but there was this urge in him to contact Enzo. And still this anger, at his boss, at the injustice that Knusprig felt to experience, at the whole world.

Enzo's phone must have been ringing for a long time. It took what felt like an eternity before he picked up the receiver. In a hoarse voice, Enzo answered the call.

"Yes? Who is this?" "It's me, cucino.", Knusprig replied, hoping Enzo would recognize him from his voice. For Knusprig had a deep bass, almost opera house worthy. Enzo laughed. "So, a cousin. I wonder which one you are? There's a regular bunch of you in this damn family. What's the matter, you need money?"

The question struck Knusprig to his core. He, who always lived at the financial subsistence level and had to calculate three times before every expense whether it fit into his budget, saw a sore spot hit. Modest was Knusprig, he liked this quality in himself. Modest, but not stingy. At the same time, he too dreamed of a little luxury and carefree living. Instead of cooking a big pot of sauce every Sunday and then eating pasta and bread for several days in a row, maybe a steak once in a while. Things like that. In any case, Enzo's callousness made him wince.

"No, Enzo, that's not why I'm calling. But you might be able to help me in other ways. Would you have time to meet me in the next few days? Ah yes, it's me, Knusprig."

The phone line crackled; it was difficult to distinguish Enzo's breathing from the static. Knusprig heard that laugh again. Sardonic, almost insulting. Then Enzo put down the receiver and the connection was gone.

Puzzled, Knusprig also put down the receiver. He leaned back in his chair. The impressions of the day made him tired. He barely managed to do his evening push-ups. Without dinner, he went to sleep in his work clothes. He only managed to loosen his tie a little.

Knusprig dreamed. That kind of rare dream, which one can remember at least partially after waking up: Diffuse scenes, gloomy, bloody, loud. He woke up twice that night, each time with cold sweat on his chest and forehead. Half asleep, he wrote text fragments in his notebook that was on his bedside table. He thought he saw eerie figures in the half-light in his small one-room apartment. Or were they merely the shadows of the bookshelf and the wardrobe where his long raincoat and hat hung? In any case, Knusprig was glad when dawn came.

On this new working day, Knusprig let everything bounce off him. Usually the reserved type, an inner wall inside him did not allow any interaction with other people. His thoughts rotated, he thought of the harsh criticism of the previous day, of his daydreaming after reading the newspaper, of the phone call with Enzo. And again and again the image of his grandmother, the patroness surrounded by descendants, appeared to him. Knusprig took out his notebook, leafed through it and was startled when he saw the last page of his notes: The name of his superior in shaky writing, crossed out several times, catchwords like "unjust" and "retribution", stick figures with cross eyes and what looked like a black hand. Almost childlike.

Knusprig more or less sat out his target working hours. His output that day was practically zero. Without a word, he left the office after work and headed home. Once there, he tried to calm his thoughts and distract himself. He prepared a sandwich, filled a glass with ice-cold milk and took a book of poetry from the bookshelf. Thick flakes of dust found their way to the floor as he did so. The last rays of sunlight that fell into the room through the yellow-stained curtains mercilessly revealed the mess and dirt inside. Knusprig tried to ignore it and concentrated on his reading.

Hours passed and night fell. Slowly his eyes became heavy. He was about to give himself over to sleep when he became aware of engine sounds. The slamming of a door, heavy footsteps in the stairwell. Then a thudding against his apartment door.

As if frozen and suddenly anything but tired, Knusprig sat in his armchair. His gaze was directed towards the apartment door. The moon shone brightly that night. It was the only source of light, but it was enough. Knusprig thought about what he should do. Another rumble. He got up, went to the apartment door and listened - nothing. He waited a few seconds that felt like an eternity, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The next thing he perceived were voices of at least two men. And the sound of engines. He was sweating, his breath caught in his throat, and it was cramped. Knusprig was presumably sitting in the back seat of a vehicle, sandwiched between two people. He could not see anything. The heat and the smell of his own breath made him suspect that something had been pulled over his head. His limbs ached and he was paralyzed.

Knusprig decided to stay as calm as possible and wait. He tried to meditate, to escape from the frightening reality. He began to count. First to 100, then to 200, then to 500. He perceived the people next to him only by the heat emanating from them, which he felt on his shoulders, flanks and thighs. Knusprig‘s soul seemed to detach itself from his body; he thought he could observe himself in this predicament.

Then the vehicle came to a halt. Knusprig heard that slamming of the door again and footsteps on uneven ground. At least three voices. And then a fourth, raspy, hoarse, familiar to him. "Pull that damn thing off his head!" - Enzo, clearly. When that "damn thing" was gone, Knusprig felt the desert air, still warm despite the advanced hour. He blinked and as his eyes adjusted somewhat to the moonlight, he could make out several blurry figures. In addition, the glow of cigarettes. "Welcome, cousin. Don't hold it against me. Safety precautions, you understand."

Knusprig looked around, trying not to let his uncertainty and quiet fear show. Enzo stood leaning against the wooden door of a tin shed, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The headlights of the vehicle were pointed at him. Enzo grinned and opened the door. "Come on," he called to Knusprig, beckoning the latter to join him. Before Knusprog even took the first step he was shoved by one of the three other guys toward Enzo and the open door.

Knusprig stumbled over the threshold. Amid laughter from the men behind him, he just managed to catch himself and prevent a fall. He looked around. Inside the hut it was dark, the air was damp, practically no interior decoration. He could only perceive a table and a few chairs, on the table a few bottles with some liquid and drinking glasses. Then there was a very simple kitchen.

Behind the stove stood a well-dressed older man in the semi-darkness, a chef's apron over his suit, a mixing ladle in his hand. Knusprig heard something simmering. It smelled good. The man stirred the pot, tapped the ladle on it, and set it aside. With a towel, he wiped his hands. Then he turned to Crispy and looked him straight in the eye. The man's gaze was piercing - and it pierced through Knusprig.

"So, you're Enzo's guy. Good boy, that Enzo. Why are you here?"

Knusprig knew this encounter was going to be significant. He had this feeling of a key experience.

"Sit down", the man said, pointing to one of the chairs at the table, "and drink." What Knusprig was poured into a glass burned in his throat, yet it did him good. Surprised at himself, he confided in the man. He told about his emotional state of the last days, about his boss, about the nightmares, about contacting Enzo. Why he did this, he didn't know. It just felt right and familiar.

Strangely enough, he trusted this man; even more so after tasting his risotto.

The return trip was incomparably more pleasant. It was already daylight again and the first rays of sunlight penetrated through the windows into the vehicle interior. One was silent. They drove Knusprig to the door of the house in which he had his small apartment. Hardly gotten out, the driver already pressed on the gas pedal and only seconds later the vehicle disappeared around the next corner. Knusprig knocked the dust out of his clothes and made his way up the stairs to his flat. He washed his face and hands, brushed his teeth more badly than well and looked at the clock. For just under two hours he lay down in bed.

Dog-tired he got ready for work after this short recovery period. He felt relieved of his worries and the anger that was in hin and clear-headed despite his fatigue. It was as if he had confided in a medical professional during countless sessions. Quite satisfied Knusprig put back the way to work.

There was unrest in the office, a great babble of voices. Knusprig, who normally walked straight to his desk and turned to his daily tasks, asked a colleague what was going on. "The boss is not here“, she said. That was special, since Knusprig's supervisor was always the very first one in the office. Knusprig suddenly had a very bad feeling.

Knusprig's boss didn't show up for work all day. He tried to distract himself from this circumstance as best he could and concentrated on his tasks. He almost enjoyed indulging in the routine after last night's excitement. Knusprig even worked overtime and didn't leave the office until night fell. At a butcher around the corner who sold sausages on bread in the evening, he just managed to order his favorite panino before closing time. He ate it with relish on the way home.

It was pitch dark in his apartment. Knusprig closed the door behind him and put the keys on the small shelf in the entryway. Then he turned on the light - and was almost scared to death. In front of him stood Enzo and one of the three guys from the car. Both made a serious face. On Enzo's shirt collar he recognized splashes of dried blood. Otherwise, the two gentlemen were superbly dressed. "I take it, cousin, that we don't have to pull the same stunt as last night, do we? Follow us, it's urgent."

The three men left the apartment block. Sooner than he had hoped, Knusprig found himself back in that car. The streets were empty of traffic. After a short stretch on the main road, the vehicle turned into a dimly lit side street, then another, then another. Each time, it seemed to Knusprig, it got darker. The drive took much less time than that last night. In front of an old building, it must have once been a department store or something the like, the driver stopped the car. The three men got out. Enzo knocked on a large sliding door and it didn't take long for it to open.

Inside, Knusprig quickly realized that they were in what must have been a vehicle value shop that hadn't been used in a long time. In the middle of the room was a lifting crane. Long metal chains hung from it. And at the end of them was Knusprig‘s boss. With his hands tied, his body stretched out and only his toes on the floor. His superior‘s shirt was sweaty, downright brown from sweat and blood. Knusprig recognized several lacerations on the head and forearms. The eyes were swollen, soft whimpering could be heard. Next to Knusprig’s boss stood two other men. Knusprig has never seen them before. "Welcome!" heard Knusprig from the darkness of the other end of the room.

Out of the darkness stepped the dapper older man, the risotto cook. He had a fedora on and was smoking a cigar. "Walk with me a bit, Knusprig", the man said. Knusprig followed him. "Well, what do you say? What does this picture do to you? Did you want to see your boss like this, helpless, vulnerable, maltreated? Or do you feel pity and a guilty conscience?" Knusprig hesitated with an answer and did some soul-searching. To his horror, it was very quickly clear to him which way his feelings were leaning. "The former, sir“, he said. Together they walked around the hoisting crane three or four more times. Then the old man gave a hand signal and Enzo joined them. He had a baseball bat in his hand.

"Well, since you've seen way too much anyway, show your boss what you think of him, show him what happens when he messes with Knusprig and Knusprig's family", Enzo said. Knusprig‘s family...that touched Knusprig. He looked alternately at the baseball bat, at the grinning Enzo and the old man, and at the helpless boss at the lifting crane. Then Knusprig took a swing.

The next morning he felt different than usual, stronger, liberated and like he had been reborn. The frustration of the past few years was gone. He hadn't slept through the night like he had for ages. Three days had passed since the incident at the old auto shop. Knusprig had called in sick after that. Malicious joy and the fear of being picked up by cops at any time alternated almost by the second. The latter did not happen.

On the fourth business day of the week, Knusprig went back to work. His boss was there again, with a big band-aid on his forehead and one arm in a sling. He was startled when he saw Knusprig, but greeted him in an unusually friendly manner. That afternoon, Kusprig packed his personal belongings in a cardboard box, went to his boss's office down the hall with the box under his arm and handed in his resignation.

With his eyes still swollen, his superior looked at him in disbelief. His mouth was open, Knusprig could see that a few teeth were missing that must have been there a few days ago. Wordlessly, he left his boss's office and the building. "So long, suckers", he thought to himself.

At the newsstand just around the corner he looked at the latest issue: politics, domestic section, business and some sports. Knusprig was almost disappointed not to read any bloody local news. Just for a little thrill, he took the newspaper without paying for it. He got rid of his cheap civil servant's tie at the next trash can - and without hesitation he also threw in the box with his things from the office. Only his notebook he put in his jacket pocket.

Knusprig watched a police operation on Main Street for a while, saw how the cops fixed two men on the ground. Then he went home and called Enzo. "I want in, cousin." Enzo laughed out loud and then answered him in his husky voice, "You already are, boy, you already are."

Knusprig sits in his luxurious Las Vegas apartment, a glass of gin in one hand, his notebook in the other. Next to the elegant leather sofa on which he has made himself comfortable, there is a glass display case with the baseball bat from back then. And on the table is the old picture of his grandmother with her grandchildren.

Knusprig has just finished reading the last lines and closes the book. He regularly goes through his handwritten notes on his career. It helps him not to lose touch with his humble origins and, at the same time, to remain grateful that his cousin Enzo has given him access to the "family" and that he has found a firm place in it. His activity in the mob has made Knusprig wealthy and helped him to achieve a certain prestige. He has shed many of his former traits, has become more ruthless, cool-headed, focused and profit-oriented. Family is above all else for him and he has committed himself to a code of honor. He knows that there is no turning back now and is aware that he has chosen a dangerous life - and he does not regret this decision in the slightest.

Knusprig looks out the window and at the city lights, then at his watch. His two favorite escort ladies should be here any minute. He grins, takes another sip of gin and mentally prepares himself for the evening. He'll meet up with his cronies and show off his double escort - all Enzo style, no, Knusprig style!