• It was a typical afternoon on a rather usual fall day. I was sitting on the front steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York, New York, trying to seem as much of a normal pedestrian as possible. I was nervous, although I had no reason to be. I was the leader of the greatest lesser known gang in Manhattan. I was Charlie Daris. I had nothing to be scared or nervous about. No matter how many times I told myself so, I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach.

    You see, ever since the end of prohibition (1920-1933), we so called gangsters have run into some difficulties making profit. My gang, well, we stole stuff; and we were about to make the biggest steal ever. We had every little detail of every second of the robbery planned out, and today was the day it was all going to happen.

    Across the street I saw my gang member, Lenny. I watched him closely waiting for the signal. Lenny tripped and fell on a small Asian lady. I walked into the museum, paid to get in, and continued with my ingenious plan. I proceeded to the area that my gang members cleared out, I could tell the plan was working because no one was in the room. I unhooked the painting from the wall. I then went over to the window, pulled out a rope from my backpack and scaled down the side of the building. Once I was outside the building, I ran. I ran faster than I have ever run in my life.
    I reached our old warehouse, which was our hideout. The warehouse was relatively empty except for a few small beds for the people that lived here, a kitchen area, and a pile of our loots from different robberies. One guy was standing by the pile empting the contents of his pockets into the pile. From what I could tell he had stolen an old expensive watch, a ring, and a cheeseburger.

    “How did it go?” asked Johnny, a young, low ranked gang member.

    I pulled out the small but valuable painting from my backpack in response. Everyone crowded around me giving pats on the back and word of congratulations. The other gang members involved in the robbery walked in.

    “Good job, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said

    “You did pretty well yourself,’ Lenny told me.

    I looked around at the people in the room; they were my family, all I had. “We sure were able to do it without those other guys though,” I said. I couldn’t help but feel guilty. The other gang that was supposed to help us needed the money just as much as we did.

    My best friend, Al, must have noticed how I felt because he asked me if I was okay. I shook my head and replied with a yes.

    Weeks passed as we tried to find a way to sell the painting-which turned out to be a much harder task than expected-without blowing our cover.

    There was no sign of the gang that was supposed to help us. This made my guilt even worse. No one else seemed to be bothered by what we had done. More time passed and we carried on as usual making minor steal, and selling them for enough money to pay for food and other necessities.

    On a cold day on December, I noticed a letter under the door, I picked it up and opened it.
    Dear Sirs,

    We are sorry we have done to provoke you and cause you to take the painting without us: A source has told us that the art is still in your possession. I suggest you sell it soon, and share the profit with us, or we will gladly take it by force. We look forward to doing business with you in the future.
    Sincerely,

    Mr. George Spencer

    “Well! That’s not good!”Stated Lenny. He wasn’t the short tack in the box.
    “To say the least” I replied. He must have read it over my shoulder. “Hey Al, Come here.” He walked up to me and I handed him the letter. He read it over.

    “Well that’s not good.” Al said calmly.

    “That’s already been established,” I replied impatiently.

    “You do realize what this means?” asked Al,”don’t you?”

    “I’m so afraid,”

    “What does it mean?” asked Lenny. I shot him a look and he walked away.

    I thought for a minute.”Either they come and try to take it, and we fight back; or we give them half of the money on a painting we can’t seem to sell.” I said.

    ‘We have much of a chance if we fight,” al stated.

    “Johnny and Cal have the flu; we can’t afford to buy bullets for our guns.”

    “Well, we can’t afford any other options,” I cut off. Giving him a strange gaze.” I’m not going down without a fight. We just need to be ready.”

    “Charlie, Ive known you forever, and I trust you. Just make sure you’re making the right choice,” Al advised.

    We fell silent and continued with the rest of the day, we didn’t know when they were going to attack so we were always ready and armed. We even created a schedule of who has to guard the painting and when. A week passed by. A month passed by. They never came.

    One night I was woken by sound. It was a faint knocking sound, muffled by layers of walls. It gave me chills, something wasn’t right. I stood as still as possible, barely breathing, listening closely trying to identify the noise. It came again, louder this time. My heart was beating in my ears. Crashes and bangs filled the room getting louder and louder. Then things slowly began to fall apart. People seemed to be popping up left and right. It reminded me of a story my Uncle Lou had once told me about termites crawling out of the walls. All of the gang members seemed to have woken up also. Then it struck me. They were stealing the painting. I jumped to my feet and got ready to fight. There were about thirty-two people from the other gang in our warehouse; there were only fourteen of us. We were beyond out numbered. Chaos was everywhere. People were swinging fists and pulling out switch blades left and right. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
    I dove into the action of quarreling men, knifing one guy in the side and punching another in the jaw. I had one motive, and that was to get the painting. I dogged through the enraged crowd suffering only a minor two inch cut to my left arm and a sore and probably bruised shoulder. I ran to the painting and grabbed it, as I spun around I was faced by a large man over six feet tall, dark slicked back hair, and very muscular. George Spencer looked down at me with a scowl on his face.

    “Where do you think you’re going?” He inquired.

    “I’m going to finish what I started,” I replied.

    “Not on my watch!”

    Everything after that was even more of a blur than what had gone down in the past ten minutes. We threw some punches. We pulled some nasty stunts. We burned with a passionate hate for each other. We were once allies, but no more. I looked back behind me for half a second, and it just so happened I picked the worst possible half second to look back. I saw him fall. I saw the life escape from his body. Al, my best friend, my partner in crime, the only person that stood by me when the world fell beneath my feet, was gone. The feeling that overcame me was unexplainable. I didn’t know anything anymore. I was a primitive creature unable to reason. So I ran. I ran faster and longer than I ever have in my life. I wasn’t totally sure where I was running to, or if anyone was following me, I just ran. Then I stopped. I looked around. This was not a good position to be in.

    Over the course of the next week I randomly roamed the city. I didn’t want to go back and see the outcome of what had happened. I hid the painting in a place I knew no one would ever find. At times I felt like I was going crazy until one day I manned up, and faced the music.

    The warehouse was quiet. Our beds were scattered around and our makeshift kitchen was in ruins. There was no sign of life, yet I heard breathing.

    “Hello?” I called into the abyss. I scanned the building and saw Jonny huddled in the corner. “Hey Jonny,” I said, trying to keep my tone gentle and even. He just looked at me, silent. I patted him on the back and continued around the room.

    “How many?” I asked. He lifted both of his hands raising nine fingers. That makes three. He was so young. Too young I decided, to have to go through this.

    “Where is he?”
    he shrugged.

    “Come on,” I coaxed, lifting him up by the hand. I decided that this was time for a new life...
    _____

    I returned the painting to the museum with Jonny’s help. Lenny turned out to be the only other survivor, but he hasn’t shown up yet. Me and Jonny live in a small apartment, and are working jobs as fry cooks at a burger joint. I may not have an education, but I’ve learned some things. I’ve learned to hate the world less and to value what you have because tomorrow you might have nothing. I’ve learned violence solves nothing. I’ve learned that abiding the laws has more benefits than just staying out of jail, and that money doesn’t have as much value as I thought. I convinced Jonny to go to school in hopes that someday he’ll get a real job. All in all, life might not be good, but I’ve learned some things, and know how to make the best of it.