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Every day someone has to make a name for themselves. Step out of the crowd, and take a stand. Become strange.
It's been several years since the bloodline was created, the McKnighter name was common for the time, overshadowed by other great figures that reigned supreme. He was the common mobster, a figure among the background. Perhaps it was preferred that way, though a death in the family sealed any leads for that flower to spring. It was the life of the gun, the fast lane, that caused the grief and destruction. A different course was to be employed, regardless of how 'stupid' or 'dangerous' the route may be.
The thin figure strolled into the back alleys of Chicago, his clothes two sizes larger than they should be to fit his body. A simple driver's hat was tucked over his eyes, shielding him from the light drizzle that plagued the city. With hands firmly shoved into empty pockets, McKnighter pressed into the short-cuts, taking in the surroundings for future escapes. The local post office was visited for the 'borrowing of stamps', and the blue boys were already screaming their positions as they closed in.
The thief was already gone, however, though his journey has not ended just yet. As the man rounds a tight corner, a blur of motion knocks him right across the face. Vision went dull and gray for a brief second as our 'hero' was dazed from the fist, stumbling back several steps to recover from the blow. He rubs his face, the sticky warm liquid was already trickling from his forehead. McKnighter narrows his gaze upon his attacker, who was flanked by two others. All three seemed like high school drop-outs, even younger than McKnighter himself. Kids, attempting their hand at a beat-down. "Come on, ya Irish bastard! Your money or your life!" one taunted, jeering with a switch-blade.
Regaining his senses, McKnighter leveled his eyes towards the gang. At this point, many would simply withdraw a pistol, squeeze the trigger and kill as many as he or she pleased. A quick, easy method to solve any problem... Though, was it the best solution?
The mobster ducks into a defensive stance, raising his fists in a challenging formation to the trio of ruffians. "Kill him!" shouted the one in the middle, the two lackeys rushing forward with a lead pipe and switch-blade. The boy with the pipe engages first, swinging wildly towards McKnighter. He calmly ducks low, exhaling softly through his nose as he thrusts forward with a clenched fist, forcing his knuckles into the gut of his opponent. A outcry erupts from the pipe-wielder, retreating back from the blow. His friend slashes at McKnighter next, the thin blade ripping through the air in a strange sort of grace.
A sharp burning sensation rips into his left shoulder, as the blade finally manages to cut through the bobbing and weaving of the mobster. Blood already began to seep through the small cut in his jacket, dripping down his arm among with the rain. The knife-wielding kid grins broadly, pointing the blade towards McKnighter as he circles about his wounded figure. "I'll make you bleed like a stu-"
The taunt was cut short as McKnighter dashed forward, seemingly aiming straight for the blade. The mugger holds his knife outward, prepared to ram it through the man's torso once he was in range. As he pulled the weapon backward for the killing blow, McKnighter jukes over to his right, a dazzling shuffling of his feet positions him well-outside of the sharp blade. He sends a quick jab into the teen's jaw, then followed with an upper-cut right under his chin. Two cracks sounded off as the kid's jaw became dislocated, howling madly while he dropped his knife, both his hands occupied with his jaw.
The leader of the gang falters, stepping back as his lackeys retreat behind him. "What's a matter with you two? He ain't even that big!" He rams a hand behind his back, pulling out a small snub nose to direct at the mobster. "Now ye gonna..." His threat trails off, as McKnighter had also drew his own revolver, squeezing the trigger before his target could react. A crack echoes throughout the alleyway as the bullet blasts into the right arm of the thug, the limb going limp as blood gushed from the open wound. McKnighter kept his gun pointed at the trio, switching from each man after a two seconds. "You boys are lucky I'm not about to put a hole into your heads." the wise guy muttered, the rain only getting worst by the minute. The trio backed away slowly, each pair of their eyes searching for an escape route. "... I'll tell you three what. You come see me in a week, not looking like a bunch of alley-rats, and I will make you earn your money properly." He gestures towards the boy who held his gun loosely. "And if I catch word that you're trying to murder hard working citizens, I'll gun all three of you down. Understood?"
The trio nod like dogs, and dash into the night once McKnighter waved them off with the barrel of his gun. Sighing as he safely stores away his weapon, he returns on his route back to his safe-house. Thoughts linger into his mind, most regarding about how he would most likely never see the trio again. However, he had prevented the lost of life. Rather than simply slaughter his way through the issue, perhaps those boys will shape up. Or, they'll simply fall back into crime. Maybe even work for him. God knows, but the idea in his head still lingered as he walked, the storm picking up to a complete downpour. |
