Scofflaws, Outlaws, and the Buzzing in the Blood

I'm reading Three Seconds by Roslund & Hellstrom, Swedish authors, and finding myself immersed in the world of the Polish mafia, executions, prisons, and explosives. And I wonder about the people who find themselves involved in such worlds. When I was growing up, I knew that many of my relatives were scofflaws and viewed authority with disdain and distrust. But what I didn't know was that the people who I thought were on the up-and-up -- straight-as-an-arrow-and-doing-great-thank-you-very-much -- were the actual outlaws. And now I wonder, were their days filled with anxious moments? Did they spend sleepless nights or nights filled with dreams of chase scenes ending badly and prison cells? Was there a constant singing along their spines reminding them of their vulnerability? Or were they so cocksure of their right to other people's money that they never felt that buzzing in their blood? I think I prefer the scofflaws. I know where I stand with them. Their contempt is obvious. They don't live behind a mask of virtue. Me? I'll read about those guys - the scofflaws and the outlaws alike - and be glad that I'm not waiting for my cover to be blown. I will pursue tranquility, but read about chaos. Escapism is a wonderful thing.