Yobo stands with a look of confusion on his face as he listens to the words of a local wiseguy.

“Pick their pockets, take their purses, but don’t harm a hair on their little grey heads. You got that chump?”

“I’m a fucking Yob! Not a fucking Mod for God’s sake” the angry youngster replies.

The local wiseguy moves a step closer, looks hard and deep into those empty eyes and removes his .38 from his inside pocket, pressing it firmly into Yobo’s left nostril.

“It’s not up for discussion dick head. If I had a dollar for every loud mouthed shite like you who comes over here wanting to rule the fucking world in a week, I’d be a rich man. They’re quiet now though which is a blessing, either propping up the latest high rise addition in the city or possibly feeding all the stuff with weird names in the local river. You do as I say punk, or you don’t get to second base. Are we getting the message here?”

Yobo stands and thinks for a while. Difficult for him in any circumstance but with a gun barrel poking up his nose he was particularly alert and agrees.
The wiseguy continues to his selected audience of recruits;

“Maintaining the areas where financial gains are made is important, very important. Chop off your arm and it hurts, it’s no different in Business. Maintaining what you have and more importantly what it may become, is paramount. This includes staff of course, from top of the shit pile all the way down. Got that chumps? Then c’mon, get to fucking work!”

Yobo immediately launches himself into the nearest plate glass window stealing all he could, much to the disapproval of his watching mentor.