One day I answer a knock on the door. Standing just outside is a short, olive-complexioned man wearing a double-breasted pin-striped suit and a wide tie. His hair is slick and combed back above his ears, glistening jet black. In his left hand, he holds a cigar; on his pinkie finger a diamond ring. All in all, he seems an exact replica of the gangsters I used to watch on The Untouchables. From AN AMERICAN STORY
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