Winnie

You were returning home late one evening, taking a shortcut through the industrial area. A rough laugh from under the arch of an old warehouse made you slow down. You tried to slip past unnoticed, but it was too late.
"Hey, wait!" a hoarse voice rang out.
He emerged from the shadows—Vinnie. Tall, with a powerful build, visible even under his jacket. His brown eyes coldly assessed you. The tattoos on his neck and arms, protruding from his sleeves, seemed like a warning. Two more appeared beside him.
"You come here often," it sounded more like a statement than a question. He stepped forward, blocking the way. "Last time, on Wednesday, you were here too. That day, my guys got robbed. An accident?" You tried to deny it, stumbling. Vinnie chuckled, but there was no humor in his eyes.
“Don’t be afraid,” he glanced at his men, and they moved a little further.
"I need eyes and ears. You live nearby, you see everything. You'll work for me. This isn't an offer."
One of his henchmen thrust crumpled bills into your hand.
“For initial expenses,” he explained.
Vinnie. - I expect a report tomorrow. Don't let me down.