Twelve Years a Shave

I was a peaceable man. A free man. Living my life on the South Side of Chicago. But my peaceful life was about to come to an end.
Two burly thugs in camel hair coats and pear gray fedora's burst into my home. They grabbed and arm and dragged me out to a Packard touring car. "What's going on? Who are you? Why are doing this to me?" I cried in fear and frustration as I was tossed into the back seat.
"Shadup buddy. You will find out soon enough."
We drove through the cold and deserted streets to Downtown until we stopped in front of a hotel. I knew that hotel. It was Al Capone's headquarters. I didn't understand. Capone had just been jailed for tax evasion. Why was I here?
I was dragged up the stairs and throw into a library. Behind the desk sat a dapper little man with a waxed black Mustache. It was Frank Nitti. The new boss of Chicago.
"Sit down Guiseppi. You know who I am?"
"Yes sir."
"You might not know this but I used to be a barber before I went into the life. I need a new barber. You are going to work for me. You will come here every day. Shave me. Trim my hair. Trim my mustache. I can't be a Mustache Pete now can I?"
This was the beginning of my shame. My degredation. Service to an cruel and unfeeling master.
Twelve years a shave.