I knew that it wasn’t a good idea to take the shortcut home from school. Afterall, it ran through the roughest part of town, where the mob ran the show. I did it anyway, and had been doing it for three months without trouble, but then trouble found me, as it always seemed to do. I was briskly walking past a house when a guy stuck his head out of a house. He looked middle aged, about forty-five I’d say. He had mutton-chop sideburns and a long scar down the left side of his face.

“What are you doing here, kid?” he said with the thickest Boston accent I’d ever heard.

“Nothing, just passing through,” I replied.

“Kid, no one ‘just passes through’ this part of town,” he insisted. “What do you want, did Big Eddie have a bone to pick with you? Do you want a job? What’s up?”

At this point, I knew that he was clearly a mobster, and from what I heard, they didn’t like foreigners very much. So I had two options, talk to him, and reveal my very thick German accent, or run. I picked the latter.

“Hey! Get back here, kid!” he yelled. I ignored him, and kept running.

Suddenly, he whistled. Right away, three of four burly and armed thugs appeared out of nowhere. My gallant run halted instantly, and I was seized by one of the men and dragged back to the man that had called to me. The man addressed me,

“So we’ve got a little runner here, eh? You’d make a very nice porter for us! Want to?”

“Erm, no” I said, trying to hide my accent, but clearly to no avail, as his expression changed from one of intrigue to one of anger in a millisecond.

“Damn German,” he said, “Go back to yer fuckin’ Kaiser.”

Now this pissed me off, but I also found it funny that he clearly didn’t realize that I left Germany because of the Kaiser. In the end, I spat on his feet and glared at him.

“Oho! We've got a real feisty one here, boys! Let’s make an example of him.” Now this didn’t sound good. Whenever my teacher called on me and asked me to come to the front of the room and be the ‘example’ it usually anded with me being laughed at and embarrassed. I couldn’t even imagine what the Mob was going to do with me.  

They dragged me to a big piece of plywood in the center of all the houses. I was stood up and my clothes were nailed to the board, then they went into the houses for a bit, while I was counting all the different ways that they could kill me. But when they came back out, they were only carrying tomatoes. They grinned at me, and began commentary like it was one of the Boston Americans games.

“And Nap Lajoie digs in to face Cy Young.” One of the men stepped up next to me and pretended that he was at bat.

“Lajoie leads the majors with a .416 batting average at the moment, boy is he hot. Here’s the pitch!” He threw the first tomato. It splatted directly in my face.

“STEEERRRIIKKEE!” the man yelled, laughing. I was humiliated, not sure if my face or the tomato was more red. All the men were roaring with laughter.

“That was a great fastball from Young there” one of the men said, jokingly. Then he continued,“And Young gets the sign from the catcher, comes to the set, fires!” The second tomato hit me in the face.

“STEERRRIIKKKEE TWO!” the man called. More laughter. By this time, I was dripping in tomato pulp, humiliated.

“And Lajoie is quickly down 0-2” the announcer said, trying to keep it together.

“Young will now try to put away Lajoie with two strikes on him. Young gets the sign, comes to the set, and fires!” The third tomato was a little lower, hitting me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“STEEEERRIKEE THREE, YER OUT!” By this time it seemed the men were satisfied, drunken with laughter, and released me, where I promptly hightailed it home. I made certain never to step foot in that part of town ever again, but apparently I am really good at breaking promises, especially ones that I make to myself.

Well I’ve got some bad news, and some more bad news. Things aren’t going so well for me or my family. I have close to no friends at school, for my English is still very poor. My family is also very poor. My parents are having lots of trouble finding jobs, especially after my run-in with the mob. Wanting to help my family, I set out to get a job. I ask around my class where a good place to get one is, and get a bunch of different places. Some say that the convenience store on the corner is a good place to work, but it doesn’t pay much. A lot of them work as paperboys, but I don’t have a bike, so that isn’t going to work. Finally, a quiet boy in the back of class tells me discreetly after class that he does odd jobs for the mob. They call him a porter.

“So that’s what a porter is,” I said.

“Yep,” he replied, “It is quite risky, but if you pull off the job, then you get a lot of money.” After school, I’m contemplating going to where I had been caught and asking for a job. My subconscious is screaming “NO!”, but my greed and desperation get the better of me. I set off to ask for a job.

Dusk is falling when I finally find someone in the neighborhood to talk to. I describe the man I had seen before, and am directed to an unmarked door behind one of the houses. I knock and wait. Suddenly, the door opens quickly and two muscular arms reach out, grab me, and pull me inside before I have a chance to cry out.

I am dragged into the house, hands over my eyes and mouth. I am then lugged down some stairs, and dropped on a cold, concrete floor. When I open my eyes, the same guy that I had spat at is glaring down at me.

“You’ve got a lot of guts to come back here, kid” he says, “You’ve got about ten seconds to explain yourself before I kill you.”

“I, I , I wanted a job” I stammer, “One of my friends told me to come to you if I wanted to become a porter.” The man looks at me curiously.

“Well, you were pretty quick when you ran from me the other day, and you’ve got some guts…” he pauses, “Tell you what, we’ll give you a practice job for no pay. Do it well, and you’ll get a job. Fail, and you get the tomato treatment again because you’ve wasted our time and resources.”

I get my first instructions via a note pinned to my bed. How they got into my house without me or my family noticing, I have no idea, but I pick it up and read it anyway. It tells me to go the the docks and look for a man named Bill O'Reilly. He had blue overalls and a red sox hat on. I find him easily, he stands out like a sore thumb.

“Whaddaya want, squirt?” he asks. I tell him that I am the new porter and that I was to see him for my trial job.

“Ah, so you’re the new porter,” he says, “Here’s your first job: Break Eddie out of jail.”

I stare at him flatly, expecting him to laugh and then tell me to do something easier. Then I realize that this was in fact my job. It then dawned on me that they chose my to do this job for a reason: I am disposable.

I calmly walk into the state prison. I ask to see Edward Beckham IV. I am directed to a room with booths that have plexiglass panels that separate the people from the prisoners. A big man comes to the window and picks up the telephone.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks.

“Bill sent me to get you out of here,” I say.

“Never did like them employin’ children,” he mutters in disgust, “They don’t deserve to die. Anyways, what's your plan for getting me out of here?”

I pause, realizing that I hadn't thought out this part of the operation.

“Um... he he, What do you think, break the glass and run?” I ask.

“You really haven’t planned this out yet?!” he asked incredulously, “Stupid rookie.”

We decided to go with the “Break the glass and run” plan.

We break the glass. The alarm sounds. Eddie jumps over the counter and we run.

“Stop! Or we’ll shoot!” one of the guards yells.

We ignore him and keep running. Shots are fired. I can hear the bullets whizzing by me. We keep running for the exit of the cell block. We pass it, and are out into the courtyard of the prison.

“Where now?” I ask.

“Out the gate, it’s the only way.” Eddie replies

I’m not sure how we will get through the gate, but I run to it anyway. We reach it, and decide that we need to arm ourselves. Eddie rushes a cop, tackles him, and takes his gun and hands it to me.

“Do you know how to use this?” he asks.

“Not really” I reply.

“Ok”

At this point, the scene is pure chaos. Guards are running at us, I’m shooting them, and Eddie is tackling and strangling them. We are a two-man wrecking crew. Eventually, we force our way through the gate. We run into the street, where Eddie proceeds to hijack a horse and buggy, telling me to climb on. I do so, and we quickly ride to a part of town within running distance of the same neighborhood where I first met the mobsters. As we walk in to one of the houses, I can hear people talking downstairs. I pick out Bill O’Reilly’s voice.

“Ye should have seen the look on the kid’s face when I told him to go break Eddie out of jail! He thought I was kidding! It was hilarious!” he said.

We proceed to the basement where I could hear all of the noises, and as I walk in with Eddie, Bill nearly falls over, and there is a collective silence in the room. You could hear a pin drop.

“Now just one minute, kid” Bill said, “You actually broke Eddie out of jail?”

“What does it look like, nimrod?” I shoot back.

“Hell, I was just kidding about that!” he said, “I expected you to turn down the job, and then I would tell you the actual practice job I had set up for you.”

The man that I first ran into on my way home from school speaks up.

“Well kid, you have most certainly proven yourself.” he says, “Breaking someone out of jail is something that even some of our bravest men wouldn’t even attempt, and here you are, succeeding on your first job ever. That is mighty impressive, if you ask me.”

Eddie pipes up.

“Ya, and he took down some of the dicks, too!” he said.

A collective cheer echoed throughout the room.

“Welcome aboard!”

I go home, and go to bed. Right before I go to sleep, I recount the day’s events in my head. I am overjoyed at the fact that I have proven myself with the mob, and I now have their protection and backup. However, my subconscious is absolutely going ballistic. In the course of a day, I have killed several guards, and caused hundreds of dollars in damages. I have ruined families, and cost the state money that could be better used elsewhere. I think to myself, and come to the conclusion that this is not the way to earn money in this world. I have to rat the mob out.

I walk into the police station. I walk out of the police station. I walk into the police station, I walk out of the police station. I can’t make up my mind. I have reached the point where I have to make a decision, one way or another, but I can no longer be on the fence.

Meanwhile, I gain the complete trust of the mob, and I stumble upon a great and disastrous plan of theirs. President William McKinley is making a visit to the city in September, and they are planning his assassination. Now that I know this information, I would be a traitor to my new country that so graciously accepted me to not tip anyone off.  

I decide to make an anonymous tip. I do so, and security is heightened for McKinley’s visit.

I do a few odd jobs for the mob after my big jailbreak, but nothing as major or nearly as violent. I gradually stop doing jobs altogether for them. I will never be able to forgive myself for killing those innocent guards, but at least the President shouldn’t be killed.

Unfortunately, the mob carried through with their plans for the assassination, even though McKinley canceled his trip to Boston due to security risks. They contacted some of their friends in Buffalo, NY, where McKinley was to go instead. The orders were carried out, and McKinley was killed on September 6, 1901.