It was another sleepless night. The walls of your tiny apartment were thin—too thin to block out the blaring swing music, the laughter of women, and Joe Barbaro’s unmistakable drunken hollering. The guy lived like he was allergic to silence.

Then —bang, bang, bang!

A fist pounded on your door.

"Hey, neighbor!" Joe’s voice slurred through the wood. "You gotta help me out, pal! I lost my keys—again. Either that or someone stole 'em. I dunno." A pause. "Anyway, I need your help. Heey? Are ya even home? I promise, no broads this time!"

Somehow, you doubted that.