The house was not very big. The interior of the house was strange. There was only one room at the entrance, while the rest of the area was turned into a small household factory. Seven steps ahead, the entrance door was the stairs. Three regular-sized paintings were hanging by the wall, indicating some war scenes. There were four large tables, two at the left and two at the right, at the distance of 3 ½ feet each. The tables were dusty, and there were small briefcases like the one he saw on the street in a man's hand.

Mike heard foot-steps on the staircase. He rushed into the room and closed the door. The room was dark. The only light coming was from the bulb lightning on the porch.

He reviewed the room in dim light. It appeared as if it was used as a storeroom.

A few pieces of broken furniture, broken window panes, some machines, and steel rods were there. One of the room's corner was neatly cleaned. There was hanging a dress, more likely some kind of uniform, one pair of shoes, a few accessories.

He heard some voices outside the room. There at least five or six men were talking to each other. A man with a heavy voice started instructing them about the briefcases and the location to drop them. His sixth sense warned him about some danger that might happen shortly.

He immediately changed his clothes. It was a uniform of pizza-boy. He peeked through the door and noticed that everyone was wearing the same suit. He could sense that there was fear among the boys. The man who was addressing them was hidden behind this small crowd. He buried his face with the help of a cap, came out un-perceived, and stood behind the group.

The man with a solemn voice said in fearsomeness, "If I saw anyone going somewhere else except your target, you'll pay the price by your life. And this is no threat. Now take your briefcases, and your bikes are standing behind the garage."

Everyone started moving one by one. Each took the briefcase, placed it in a pizza box, and left from the back door.

When it came to Mike, the man, whom everyone was calling 'Black Hand,' said, "You must be the new boy. What's your name? Johnny. Right?"

"Y…. Yes," he replied frightfully.

The Black Hand said, lowering his voice, "Don't worry. You do this work for me, and I'll give you the money you desire. Do you know well where to drop it?" the boy looked up with his eyes wide open. He looked aghast.

For the first time, he notices the Black Hand. He was a middle-aged, stout, small heightened, red-faced man. Deep lines on his forehead indicated that he frowns a lot. He was wearing a black leather glove on his left hand. His left eyebrow, both ears, and nose were pierced. He looked like a furious bull, ready to kill matador.

At the boy's reaction, he laughed sluggishly, "You look nervous and seems like forget the place. You have to drop it at 16th Ave," he said, putting stress on every word. Changing the tone, he said, "Remember, boy! If you'll mess up. You'll end up with your life."

The boy took the briefcase and left.

On his way to 16th Ave, he stopped near a passageway. He first looked around carefully and then opened the briefcase. He sniffed one of the transparent packets with white powder. He was taken aback when he came to know that it was cocaine. Dealing in cocaine was illegal in New York and was strictly banned. The icing on the cake, it was smuggled from Australia.

A voice from inside prevented him from delivering the package; it was patriotism or the duty to stop what was not legal. It was in his veins to die while protecting the dignity of his country. Although he was a thief, he never stole more than he needed. He spent 10 minutes thinking about what he should do. Then he stood conclusively. He decided to take the bull by horns.