Ifi_Degatoth didn't like stealing purses. Its trifling the amount of cash you get from an old lady wandering the streets, but he knew he had to start somewhere to make a name for himself in this business. So here he was, leaning against the side of a building looking for the right grab to get him on his way to less trivial tasks. After leaning against the wall and carefully scanning the civilians passing by for nearly half an hour he finally found his mark. An old lady was moving down the sidewalk towards him hobbling along with the help of a cane. Easy pickings, she would never be able to chase after him when he snatched the purse and bolted. It would be like taking candy from a baby, all he had to do was wait till she was right up next to him, grab the purse and run the other direction. Five minutes later he'd be tossing the purse and taking the cash off to see the local drug dealer and begin his life as a drug runner. 

Ifi_Degatoth snatches the purse as the old lady passes him and bolts down a nearby ally. He crosses the street a block down, runs down a few more blocks and then ducks into an ally again and leans against a wall near a dumpster so he can count his winnings. As hes counting his winnings he hears a voice behind him.

"It's not very nice to take money from crippled old ladies young man."

Ifi pockets the cash and tosses the purse, turning to face this unknown voice he locks his eyes on the man. He gives the mid 40s man a cold stare and then smiles cruelly at him and says, "And it's not very nice to involve yourself in my affairs."

With that he runs headlong at the taller man and tackles him to the ground. He begins hammering the man with his fists and doesn't let up until the man's face is broken and bleeding heavily. When the man is knocked out cold and no longer fighting back Ifi gets off of him and wipes the blood off his hands onto the mans clothes. He delivers one last kick to the mans mid-section and walks away coolly as if nothing had even happened.

"Stupid do-gooders," he mumbles to himself as he leaves the area.

Watching the young man sprinting by with a purse, Keats couldn't help but remember his entrance into the world of crime. Headmistress Walters. God, what a bitch she'd been. But her purse had helped him get started in the life, set him on the path he was on now. As the young man turned down an alley, Keats continued down the sidewalk and silently wished him good fortune.

Joey leaves one of his favorite speakeasies in the city via the backdoor, to have a smoke in the alleyway before returning to the festivities inside. He leans against a dumpster just on the other side of the door and allows a satisfied sigh to leave his lungs As he lights a nice cigar, given to him as a gift, he takes a couple of puffs before noticing the man's feet on the other side of the dumpster.

Joey casually takes a peek around the corner of the dumpster, never actually moving his feet from their place and still holding the cigar in his mouth. He chuckles to himself at the sight of the bloodied and beaten man laying in a heap by the garbage. "Must've really pissed someone off." Joey thinks to himself as he resumes his smoke.

A little time passes and he finishes his cigar. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air he puts the cigar out with his toe and then approaches the body. Bending down, his leather jacket crinkling, he reaches for the man's throat. Feeling for a pulse, and finding one faintly, Joey chuckles yet again.

"Guess it's your lucky day..." Joey thinks to himself as he removes the man's wallet from his jacket pocket. Counting out the bills to himself Joey stands once more and walks back into the speakeasy to buy everyone their next round.