"You can't just fucking hit the guy like that and expect to get away with this!"

The boat from Italy had just reached the shores of America. We'd made it from the shit storm that we'd left behind back home. Hoping for a better lives for ourselves, we left the boat and made it onto dry land. America looking fucking sexy. The people looked too busy to notice a guy like Oberon though, but there was this one cop who did.

He had come over to Oberon, swinging his police baton like he owned the fucking country. Guy probably wasn't getting anything from his wife back home, so he wanted to take his frustration out on the a small time guy like Oberon. He was making a point of trying to get the better of me, and to drive my nerves over the edge. Some of the things he began saying to Oberon were enough to get a man killed back where Oberon came from. The place was fucking nasty, full of nasty bastards.

Oberon had said something back to retaliate, and the cop came right up to his face until they were nose against nose. One of the guys that Oberon managed to make an association with on the boat tried to step in and break things up. The cop lifted his baton high above his head, and brought it crashing back down on top of the poor fucks head. Enough was enough, and Oberon was ready to explode in anger.

"What gives you the fucking right, eh?"

A couple more coppers had come over, and together they all managed to throw Oberon into the back of a squad car. Not a very good start to a new life in America, as he was now gonna spend the next few hours rotting in a jail cell. This shit was fucked up, and Oberon was not happy about it at all. Fuck it, what could he do?

A few hours later and he was sat in the interrogations room, a bright light shone on his face so he couldn't see much of what was going on around him. He didn't even have a lawyer, so nobody could come and help him. But he suddenly remembered that his uncle had given him a number to call if he ever got into trouble like this. Apparently this number was for someone who was well connected, and the cops never fucked with him.

"I want to make my phone call. You hear me you thick fuck? I want my fucking phone call!"

Oberon was dragged out of the room, and thrown into the hall. He picked himself up and gave the middle finger to the tall prick who manhandled him. He noticed that the phone was next to him, so he picked it up and dialled the number.

"Hello? Yeah, it's Oberon. You know my uncle Vinny? He told me to call you if I ever got in a bind. Here's what happened..."

He began explaining the situation, and the fella on the other end told him to keep his mouth shut until he got there. At least someone had his back, because Oberon didn't know anyone in America. He felt kind of alone, but maybe things didn't have to be this way. Maybe he could get himself some work, make a few connections and make a name for himself. He didn't want trouble like this. He just wanted to survive.

The agent dragged him back inside of the interrogations room, and slammed him back down on the chair. He had his hands cuffed to the desk, and was told to sit patiently until they came back for him. Fuck it, he'd wait but only until his associate came to get him. Fuck the police...