TinyTim was five foot nothing on a good day and that was only if his shoes had his extra heels glued on. TinyTim liked to think of himself as small but mighty. Emphasis on "liked".

When his Godfather, Dixxon, told him to start his own crew in Brooklyn, TinyTim nodded confidently while internally panicking so hard he would lose the sensation in his legs.

Their first job was simple, Tim would need to recruit someone to help him to manage the operation. He'd been dormant in this life for some time. His old connections had now retired - some by choice, most by force. 

Only one person sprung to mind, Ginge. Could Tim trust him? Probably not. Could Tim rely on him? Probably not. Did Tim have any other option? Probably not. 

Somehow … it worked. Ginge agreed to join and assist with running the operation. He would look after all of the recruitment, management, keeping up morale, funding the headquarters and fetching Tim's coffee. 

Tim might be clueless. He might be tiny. But when it mattered, he knew that he could palm all the responsibility off on Ginge.