It's been three weeks since Jim stopped attending school, and they've been the best three weeks of his life. He wears whatever he wants, goes wherever he wants, and stays up as late as he wants. The only people he has to deal with are his customers, who pay him and rush off, and the other gangsters, who are ordinary but tolerable.
This afternoon, Jim is sprawled on the couch channel surfing when his father comes home and barks, "Oi! Jim! I just got a call from the truant officer! Why haven't you been to school?"
"Don't want to go anymore," Jim mumbles, not looking up.
"You can't drop out! Hell, even I got my Leaving Certificate!"*
"Yeah, and it really helped your career," the teen says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I make more money in one day than you do in a week!"
"Enough! As long as you live in my house, you will treat me with respect!" Patrick bellows.
"Fine," Jim snarls and retreats to his room. He packs up his things and goes to The Blackbird, where he arranges to rent a flat from his Underboss in exchange for more "chores."
(Patrick is 31 and still a foot soldier. Who can respect that?) More than anything, Jim wants to avoid becoming his father.
*A/N: The Leaving Certificate is a certificate Irish students receive when they complete secondary school, similar to a high school diploma in the US. For those keeping score at home, Jim is a few months shy of 14 here, meaning that Patrick was about 17 when he was born.