Whitey was in the Principals Office again. Big fuckin surprise.

James J. Bulger, You’re constantly Truent, and a nuisance to the class. I would suspend you for being a dumbass IN school, but then you just get to be a dickhead OUT of School… What is it with you anyway? You’re a bright lad, you get straight A’s

Well ma’am I do believe they call that a paradox.

Shut up, I know what it is… But really James, You need school to have a future, you cant skip school to chase tail and start trouble.

Really? Cause all evidence up to this fuckin point would prove otherwise.

James, you know you can’t continue to go on like this, you know crime doesn-

Yeah, It pays pretty fuckin well actually, In fact bitch you’re costin me money keepin me hear so why don’t you finish your little fuckin fairytale and expel me already, I aint got time to listen to any women I aint even fuckin!

James J. Bulger, I don’t know where you went wrong, But we cant handle you here anymore. You’ve got to go.

Been a pleasure…

Jimmy Bulger walks out the front door a free man, with a smug grin breaking out across his face.

It was 1933 and Jimmy was at the young age of 14 when he left school, He formed a gang in the southie projects… They called themselves the Shamrocs.  Months later Him and his crew tried to pull their first big job. An armored car with thousands of dollars was coming out of first federal, They had the guns, the manpower and the schedule, It was foolproof. And it was all Jimmy’s idea…

Whitey and his cohorts were waiting, talking in an alleyway for the money-car to finish loading up, It seemed to take forever.

Hey, Jimmy, Ya’know the cops got a fuckin nickname for ya now ya silverhaired fuck?

Get the fuck outta hea’ they got no nickname for me… What are they callin me?

Ha Ha, get this… Whitey.

What the fuck is that shit? Whaddaya mean ‘Whitey’??

They say, ya know, because of your hair and shit, aint many micks as fuckin blonde as you in southie…

Alright, hey looks like they’re almost finished loadin up the cash…

Whitey and his crew snuck up behind the armed guards, pistols drawn. Whitey wasn’t trying to kill anybody, it would just be an extra hassle, too messy. He knocked out a guard and threw him in the back of the truck while he assumed his partners were taking out the driver.

One Boy put the gun to the back of the drivers head through the window, and the other one hopped in the passenger seat just for good measure, gun also pointed at the driver. He saw the baby-faced robber in the passenger seat and laughed, but the boy didn’t find it funny. He got flustered, distracted. Using this the guard jumped for the gun, He shot the boy with the gun to the back of his head with his own associate’s gun, wrestled it out of the other boy’s hand and shot him too.

Whitey wasn’t stupid. He knew they were both dead. He knew he would be too if he got caught. Whitey booked it down the street, his life depended on it. It didn’t take long though for someone to identify that so memorable lighting blonde hair…

To Be Continued…

Vaticus' dark stallion lurched forward abruptly from a nearby, shadowy alley, bringing it's rider quickly within striking distance of the armoured van.  Vaticus drew his vorpal blade adeptly from its scabbard in an instant - the weapon suddenly flashing forward and piercing the bullet-proof glass of the driver's side window with an uncanny ease.  The sword's tip plunged deep into the base of the skull of the guard inside the van - crimson silk spilling over the glimmering blade.  

Vaticus let out a dastardly cackle as his eyes suddenly shifted and brought Whitey into focus.  The blade was quickly withdrawn from its victim inside the van, and like an oil slick, Vaticus' melted forward through space and time on his black steed towards the fleeing Whitey.

"Soon, my precious.." Vaticus rasped at the back of Whitey.  "Soon.."