“Then, one day, by sheer coincidence, he came pulling up to my apartment building, driving a convertible Ferrari. Thankfully he was kind enough to condescend to me, and he explained that all the rumors were true—yes, he said matter-of-factly, he was on pace to make over $1.5 million this year, and last year he'd made almost a million. We spoke for a few more minutes, during which time I lied incessantly—explaining how well I was doing in the meat-and-seafood business, pointing to my little red Porsche as proof of that fact. He shrugged his shoulders and mentioned something about chartering a hundred-foot yacht off the Bahamas with a bunch of blond models—ironically, one of whom would become my second wife one day. And then he was off, smoothly, immaculately, and with a puff of expensive Italian exhaust fumes in my face, which at that very moment was a mixture of awe and astonishment.”

I let out a few chuckles. “Anyway, I can tell you that I had never been so affected by a single encounter in my entire life. I remember watching his Ferrari pull away and saying to myself: ‘If that guy can make a million bucks a year, then I can make fifty million a year!’” I paused, letting those words sink in. “It turned out to be an uncanny prediction, don't you think?” Then I quickly added, “Although I guess I failed to predict the other half of the equation: that I'd be facing a couple of hundred years in jail”—I locked eyes with the Witch—”as well as the eternal damnation of my soul.

“Anyway, I was living with my first wife, Denise, back then, although she wasn't actually my wife yet. We were sharing a tiny apartment in a yuppie-infested apartment building in Bayside called the Bay Club. That's where I first met Danny Porush. He was living upstairs from me, although at the time I hadn't met him yet. I'd seen him around from time to time, but we'd never really spoken.” I shrugged. “It's funny, but I remember always thinking how normal he looked, as if he were the perfect yuppie. In fact, he and his wife, Nancy, were the pictures of success and happiness. They even looked alike! But, of course, I didn't know at the time that the two of them were first cousins. And I also had no idea that Nancy's sole mission in life was to torture Danny—to make his life as miserable and as difficult as possible—and that Danny, despite his normal appearance, was completely off his rocker, spending the bulk of his day holed up in a Harlem crack den, smoking his latest business venture into cocaine-induced bankruptcy.

“But I'm jumping ahead here. I still wouldn't meet Danny for another year. Getting back to Michael Falk: It was that same afternoon when I told Denise about my little run-in with this erstwhile loser. When I was done, no words were necessary. Denise just looked at me with her big brown eyes and nodded slowly, and that was that. We both knew right then and there that my destiny was Wall Street. I was the most talented salesman in the world; she knew it and I knew it. My mistake was that I'd picked the wrong product to sell.”

“How were you able to get a job as a stockbroker?” asked the Bastard. “Your degree's in biology and you were just coming off a bankruptcy. Why would someone hire you?”

“I was able to get my foot in the door through a friend of my parents, a man named Bob Cohen. He was a mid-level manager at LF Rothschild, and he had enough clout to get me an interview. And from there I sold myself. I went out and bought myself a cheap blue suit, and then two days after that I found myself sitting on the express bus on my way to Manhattan for a job interview. Meanwhile, Denise was sitting at home waiting for a tow truck to come and repossess our Porsche—which it did—right about the same time I was getting myself hired as a stockbroker trainee at LF Rothschild.”

Then I smiled sadly and said, “And after that, my next stop was to my meat company, where I dropped the bomb on Elliot.” I paused for a moment, thinking back. “I still remember this day like it was yesterday, the bittersweetness of it, the mixed emotions I felt. As happy as I was about my future, I was sad about parting ways with Elliot. He was like a brother to me. We'd been partners since our mid-teens. We'd been through a wall of fire together-digging trucks out of the mud and knocking on doors until our knuckles bled. And now we were going our separate ways.

“The warehouse, of course, was a complete wreck. We were surrounded by broken-down trucks and empty boxes, and the freezer was a total disgrace. The door was wide open, and there wasn't a stitch of food inside. Thick layers of frost were growing out of the freezer, like fungus. It served as a grim reminder of how badly we'd mismanaged things. I remember my self-confidence being shattered.

“With a heavy heart, I said to Elliot: ‘I'm sorry I'm leaving, but this is something I gotta do. I gotta give Wall Street a shot. The money that people are making down there is staggering, Elliot. Truly staggering.’

“ ‘I know that,’ he answered quickly, ‘but I couldn't imagine sitting behind a desk all day. Everything is done over the phone. You'll be cold-calling people you never met before, trying to get them to send money. It doesn't make sense to me….’ “

I shook my head slowly. “You know, it might sound funny now, but I remember thinking the exact same thing—that it was inconceivable that someone I'd never met before would send in hundreds of thousands of dollars, based on a phone call. Not to mention the fact that I'd be calling people from all over the country. I mean, what were the chances that a complete stranger from Texas would be insane enough to send me half a million dollars of his hard-earned money without ever laying eyes on me? Yet I still had the image of Michael Falk burning on my brain. The simple fact was that kids were making fortunes on Wall Street. Wall Street was where I belonged.”

The Witch chimed in: “So Elliot didn't want to come with you?”

I shook my head. “Believe it or not, he didn't. He wanted to stay in the meat-and-seafood business and give it another shot. He figured he could make money as a one-man show, staying lean and mean.” I thought for a moment. “Don't get me wrong—it wasn't like I actually offered him a job or anything; it wasn't in my power to. But I didask him if he'd be interested in coming down for a job interview if I could arrange it. But, again, he said no.” I shrugged sadly.

“I arrived home that evening carless, penniless, and personally bankrupt. And you know what? I couldn't have given a shit. I was a Wall Streeter now, and that was all that mattered. And the fact that my pay was only one hundred dollars a week didn't bother me a bit. I had hope—hope for the future, which is the greatest hope of all.”

I paused and spent a few moments studying the faces of my captors, wondering what they were thinking about, what they thought of me. And while it was impossible to say, I had a sneaky suspicion that they were more confused than ever. Not about my story but about what made a guy like me tick.

In any event, this morning was just a warm-up. The juicy stuff— the hookers, the drugs, the wanton lawlessness—was still a day or two away. With that thought, I looked at OCD and said, “You think we could take lunch now? It's almost one, and I'm getting kind of hungry.”

“Absolutely,” OCD said warmly. “There're some pretty good places on Reade Street. It's less than a two-minute walk.”

The Bastard nodded in agreement. “It's been a very productive morning. You've earned yourself a good lunch.”

“Indeed,” snapped the Witch. “You've afforded us a rare glimpse into the criminal's mind.”

I offered her a dead smile in return. “Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Michele, because I'm eager to please.”

1*Name has been changed

2*Name has been changed