As he awaits exoneration, LaRocco busies himself with a strange nocturnal schedule. Because he cannot sleep at night, Charlie naps during the day and heads into Manhattan near midnight. He drives a 1996 Isuzu Trooper because his 1992 Isuzu Trooper was seized by Customs agents. In the back of the truck is Charlie's trusty bicycle. Nowadays he is riding a Raleigh R-40, but that could change momentarily, since LaRocco said he has had 13 bikes stolen in the past two years. There is something about a bicycle chained to a No Parking sign at 4 a.m. that attracts those with a larcenous heart.

He rarely has a route planned for his two-wheeler, he just goes "where my bicycle takes me." Often he'll bike someplace, lock up his wheels, and go for his nightly three-mile run. Charlie can be found crossing the Triborough Bridge, running on the Coney Island boardwalk, or even jogging up and down Eighth Avenue. With the terrain changing nightly, how does he know when he's run three miles? Well, he counts the number of strides he takes. For every 700 times Charlie's New Balance 875s hit the ground, he has traveled a mile. Twenty-one hundred paces, and three miles have gone by.

Certain days of the week have their own rigid schedules. On Monday nights, Charlie heads for an Avenue C club to watch a favorite honky-tonk band. On Tuesdays, he drives his mother into Little Italy for dinner on Mulberry Street (usually Pellegrino's). He then drives back to Valley Stream, drops her off at home, and then returns to Manhattan for some biking and jogging.

But for Charlie, his schedule will not be whole again until he can start selling a mountain of bootlegs. "I don't regret doing anything at all. I would do it again. I'm just gonna wait for the government to say, 'Okay, we made a mistake. Continue operating the way you were operating.' It's only a matter of time before they realize that I didn't do anything wrong."

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