Peter Crown felt down today. It had been raining now for several days, and he was losing money. Peter is in the narcotic business, and have several street pushers he has to look after, and keep in place. This morning he got a call from his boss, Paul Lander, that told him that there was a shortish in yesterdays money. We are short only three hundreds, but to be short is no good. I am trusting you Peter to take care of this problem. There he disconnected the phone.
Fuck it! thought Peter. Now I have to go out in the rain, but at least it gives me an opportunity to beat up a few of the street pushers. With those thoughts Peter drove down to the wharf area. He hated this place, but most of the business were done down here. He found one of the pushers that was willing to rat on the other pusher Peter was after, not to get beaten up himself. This pusher said he had the money in his desk drawer. I'll get it for you Peter. Peter pushed him to the side and opened the drawer himself. There was no money in the drawer, but a gun. So you were going to shoot me were you? Peter took the gun, and the pusher said to save himself that he had a lot of money hidden, that Peter could have. Peter took the money, and shot the pusher. He had made the mistake of touching to many places, and only the following day he heard on the news that the cops had prints from a Peter Crown. Now to save his buts, he drove to the next state to visit an old girlfriend of his, that's where the real problem started.