I just made it here, uh, you could say I'm off the boat but the ocean scares the shit out of me, it's a problem I've had since childhood. I use to be a real piece of work. But, that's neither here or there, partly because we can't do none of that science fiction time travelin' shhhhh...uh, don't know how proper you people are around here, I'll keep it civil. The name is CHpistol, though most people call me by my full name, CHpistol. Don't forget it, yeah? Good. Somehow I got roped into this here life after I woke up in an alleyway somewhere off in Detroit. The night before started as a blur but this lady, my sponsor, she caught me off guard real quick. 

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Who the hell are you? And who are all these other crazies?"

Once she woke me up, a swarm came by. They all wanted my loyalty. They all wanted to help me. But why? I looked up at the broad extending a hand, willing to take me into whatever holy or hell driven light beamed behind her, tracing a silhouette around her that I knew meant "a different life". What the hell, I though, maybe I'll get a free lunch out of it.

The angel pulled me through the fine set of suits and coats who all had their own holier-than-thou-light thing going on. We dipped and dive through a sea of silly civilians just like me, all covered in dirt and grime and ice cream cones little kids happhazardly tossed. What type of parent allows their kid to have ice cream in this type of weather? Is this lady that type?

"I'm not that type." 

Good. Of course, though--an angel like her would know to say that. The whirlwind played out as conveniently as any plot device can and here we sat, forks in pasta, wine in belly, opera from fat italian's mouth.

"NEEEEEESSSSSUUUUUUN DORMMMMMMAAAAAAAAA"

I think that's how that goes, I've never been good with song lyrics. Maybe it's cause I was just listening to her. The angel--now only a fine-as-heaven woman in this dim, smokey light--spoke of money, more than I've ever seen.

"Immediately we can float a cool 100 on you, free of charge." She spoke quick between bites. Every little bit made it from first-lip-contact to belly without hesitation. "But you need to be loyal, till the end, till the--"

"Yeahyeahyeah, probably gonna die, tell me something I haven't heard before. Look, lady, as of about, ohIdontKNOW...7 hours ago, I was fighting a dog between those two buildings for some animal's esophagus. Do you know what they put in sausage, AND THEY WON'T USE THAT AS A CASING?! God help you if you take a bite into that animal's...well...ANYTHING!"

The lady arched her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, look...uh, excuse me for a second miss, WAITOR! MMMM, EXCUSE ME! WAITOR!" The small portly man quickly bounces over. The lady buries her head in hand and I pull out a set of spectacles from my coat, which has seen better days. 

"Can we have another bottle of your...hmmm, oh yes, the Red Label here?"

The fatman nods. "Excellent choice, sir."

"You can get a better bottle if you want."

"Excuse me?"

She pipes up, and obviously is just trying to appease me into a commitment. "Sir, can you get my friend here the finest bottle of whatever you have? And if it's wine, get him THREE of those bottles, so he can...what was it you said?"

"...um...getmybuzzon, I think."

"Yes, that was it. Anything else, pistol darling?"

"Hmmm..." I scan the menu. It's a formality, which all three of us know. "Nope. Think I'm alllll set."

"Great. Me too. Thank you sir." She gives him a small fold of bills. She must be on payroll. "Sorry for my associate's rudeness."

"No, it'sa no worry. No excusa." He of few words hides an accent well, runs off to get the mystery bottle. I take off my hate and wipe the sweat from my forehead. There are exits in the front and back, probably the kitchen too, but it can be dangerous running through there. Some tough guy chef thinks he's nice with a knife and ends up taking a couple for the team while you're in shotgun on the get away with a meatcleaver lodged in your forearm. We'll have to go out the front door. That's where our car is. Couldn't bring the getaway, but I parked it nose out, straight on through the exit. Came here and did that when the place first got busy. She told me we're taking the train in. Keeps it all public. How the hell do I know this? Is that the booze? I'm riding this one out, johnny. 

"Excuse me, my dear." I lean in close to the lady in front of me. "Not that I'm trying to question your methods, but, do you know anyone here?"

"No, I'm from New Orleans, and this place? Maybe a couple guys trying to get their foot in the door, but mostly civilians." She stops chewing, the realization that we're about to rob this place killing her appetite. "Why are you asking, you crazy son of a bitch?"

"Oh, well, I know you're not from around here, but you got enough shady money coming from your pockets that I don't think you mind shooting out a bulb or two. You need a pistol?"

"What makes you think--"

"You're crowd control, I take the cashier! It'll be easy."

"Haven't I seen this before?"

"What? This type of robbery? Nah, I'm cool f***ing charlie, though don't call me that, it's a lame god damn nickname."

"Fine, but hold onto your own guns. We go when I come up from under my dress."

"Excuse me?" 

"And where are we meeting? You're not coming in my car."

"That's fine, take a left and make your way right until you get to swampson. Fit into tight spots, and don't get caught. If I don't see you there in 25, I'm out of here."

"Good luck with that. See you there."

She reaches down to her ankle, and stands up with a sawed off. Her designer and tailor must be really top notch, they hemmed that PERFECTLY to hide that strapped to her ankle! And her right leg must be just solid muscle. No time to waste, though.

"Alright, first one to move funny gets half their brain blown. Now empty that f***ing register."

I walk up and point the pistol at the cashier's head. The women are all screaming, but no one is trying to run, thanks to my lovely associate's shotgun. 

"It's going to take a second to open it." I don't have a second. I slam down on the top of it with my pistol hand and it shoots open. The cashier tries to grab it. Nuh uh. BLAM! Pandemonium occurs. Someone tries running out. I jump over the counter and grab bill after bill. This place needs to change out their register more--a whole 800 bucks! You could make a fortune just extorting this place! BOOM! BOOM! I turn and it's a blood bath. Too many people trying to run out the front. Now she stood by the exit.

"Come on, you idiot! Let's go!"

"There's more here!"

"Just take what you got!"

I stuff it in my pockets and rush towards the door, striding over quite a few bodies. She's quite good with that shotgun. Out the door we run and both get to our respective cars. Hers is parked right next to mine. We dart out, lose ourselves in traffic, find ourselves behind an abandoned building. She bursts from the car. 

"You stupid son of a bitch! Why'd you shoot him?"

"Me? Were you trying to make a point by eliminating half their customers? Want you family across the states to hear your accomplishments on the RADIO tomorrow?!"

"If we get out of here now and down to New Orleans, we'll be alright. Come on, strip the plate off your car, we'll take mine down to chicago. I know a pilot down there who can get us on a flat pretty anonymously, if you know what I mean." 

Before she gets in her car I stick my hand out. "What's in New Orleans?"

Half way in the door she turns and flashes me a I'd rather kill you than say this smile that's so endearing: "If you're crazy enough to pull a stunt like that, I think you can make some money for us, all around the states. You come back to New Orleans, we'll get you in the fold, ready to take this country for what it's worth. And that, what you just grabbed? Peanuts."

I turn. Detroit lays on the other side of the fence, but I've got a lot of enemies out there. And just walking those streets, living the life I do...well, nobody has a problem killing the homeless.

"...will I get my own box?"

"We'll buy you a house."

On the road we go. Into the airplane. Where the hell am I, and how did I get here? The pistol was a means, now a life? Long lived, brevity not the conclusion. You can say this is an intro of sorts, let's see where this lead-led-life take me, right?