Brooklyn, March 21st 1930 Little Italy

The small apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. Across hall an old woman peeked out of her door twice squinting at the tall skinny man pacing up the staircase. He didn’t pay her any mind.They called him CrazyMax, and CrazyMax had work to do.A cigarette hung from his lips as he knelt down and started fiddling with the lock.
He muttered a curse under his breath, then spoke aloud.

''They think I’m some rookie? Sending me on cheap break-ins like this… I move ten times the money dealing booze and heroin. What the hell am I even doing here?''

Truth was CrazyMax was making a killing on the streets but his superiors didn’t care. They weren’t testing his earnings.
They were testing his loyalty. In this life, when you’re given an order, you don’t ask why. You just do it no questions.
Questions are for made men, and even then... you better watch how you ask. The lock finally gave way with a soft click. Max stepped in, scanned the room, and began ripping open cabinets, flipping drawers, this is pointless,he spoke:

''There’s gotta be a loose floorboard or something, no way they sent me here just to rob some sucker....''

And he was right.This wasn’t some petty burglary.The place belonged to crooked agents, moonlighting as smugglers.
What Max didn't know yet this job wasn’t about loot.
It was a test. A test he had already stepped into... whether he liked it or not. CrazyMax had a habit whenever he got mad, he cursed everything that breathed, including himself, Holy Virgin, and the whole damn universe. After ten minutes of tearing around the apartment like a wild dog, he finally let out a roar:

''Loose board! I knew it!''

He dropped to his knees.

''Alright... let’s see what’s in here, then I’m outta this dump!!!''

Beneath the floorboard was a hidden stash just big enough to fit a medium-sized travel bag. Max tugged it out. Heavy.
He unzipped the top just a bit, enough to confirm his suspicion a few kilos of heroin, neatly packed, and a bundle of cash.Nice.That’s a hundred... maybe a hundred-fifty grand, he muttered:

''After boss takes his cut, of course''

He grabbed the bag, stood up, and made for the door. His steps quickened down the hall fingers already brushing the doorknob scent of money in the air... Then 
a sharp blow to side of his head...BAM!
His vision spun, colors smeared into black, and the world collapsed around him.In those last flickering seconds of consciousness, one thought crawled through his mind.......Figures… that old bat was the damn lookout!!!!

Part II Interrogation

Manhattan, March 23rd, 1930 Little Italy

That's how the story of the break-in went. After getting hit in the head back in Brooklyn, Max was transported to the precinct in Little Italy.In the cell he met a guy named Thomas DeSimone. He didn't talk much and rarely answered questions, though he had already helped CrazyMax a couple of times. He had a habit of telling stories from his life. The stories were good, but sometimes they made Max feel uneasy, he still didn't know whether he ended up there because of his own stupidity or because someone had set him up. That's how the first day passed...

On the 23rd, Max was doing push-ups in the cell, waiting for interrogation, suddenly Thomas DeSimone launched into one of his monologues.

''Praise be to Jesus Christ.
You know kid..., I once got out after a year in the joint and met a girl. She looked miserable dirty clothes, two little kids, clearly underfed and sad. And me? When I see something like that, my heart melts. So I said to her: Hey, maybe you want to warm up a little and get something for the kids. She agreed and came with me. Everything was fine, I took her to one of our boss’s bars. We ate, had a drink. I gave her an envelope with $2,000 for the kids. I told her to buy them some candy for Christmas and presents, you know?
I didn’t have much money myself I had just gotten out but hey, God in Heaven will reward me. And besides... the kids.''

''So everything seemed fine But the next day, you know what?
I saw her in Angel’s bar with a bunch of drunks, wearing a fur coat. That thing must’ve cost at least $1,500.
Completely drunk. So I said to her:I gave you money to pay rent and feed your kids, and now you’re here drinking with bums in a fur coat?
So I hit her. I had a big hammer on me, just came from a job with some debtors.
There was nothing left of her head.
I pulled the weed.''

(I walked over and offered him a cigarette. I stayed silent, probably better that way. And I kept listening to Tommy.)

''I’ll smoke one. You know, in prison they’re always afraid to share a cell with me. One time I met this guy, Franz Maurer always bragged he wasn’t afraid of anything. So I asked him: You’re not afraid of anything?
He said: No, I believe in God. I asked him: What about the Pope?
He said if he got close enough, he’d kill the Pope.
Then I asked: What if you had a child?
He said he’d take the baby and nail it to the door, right through the head with a spike.
And I thought... why does a man like that even live? Like a weed.
I pulled the weed.''

The story was cut short by the guard, who took CrazyMax to interrogation.

At the interrogation, there was some funny looking detective with a big nose and belly.
He questioned Max about where he got the heroin and the money.
He threatened him, talked about consequences.

Max usually replied:

''Don't know.l got lost.''

He knew his excuses were weak, they wanted to bury him for good. After a while, another guard came in. Max thought he recognized him, maybe he’d seen him with the StripheCorelli crew. His name was Tommy DeVito, or something like that.

He started talking: 

''Alright tough guy, you're gonna tell us something soon''

So l sad:

''l said alright l'll tell ya something... go fuck your mother.''

BING! POW! BOOM!

My face was swollen like a balloon.The rest of the interrogation went the same way, but I didn’t say a word. After two hours, I was back in the cell. DeSimone was gone, probably got out, l thought, An hour later, a guard walked in and said the charges had been dropped. On the stairs, as I was walking out, I saw the Don StripheCorelli

That’s when I understood what this was really about....

Everyone's got their flaws, that's just being human. But what truly matters is standing with honor, and speaking under your own name. Real men don't hide in the shadows.

Best regards,

CrazyMax