The moonlight beamed down on the streets of New Orleans, reflecting of the front of the shops and the cars driving by. Fart Barf was wandering around, taking in the beauty of his beloved home town under the pale blue moonlight. With a huge smile on his face he took a drag of his cigarette, tilting his head back he exhaled upward as he stretched his arms towards the sky. Tonight was going to be a good night. Why? Fart Barf was going to make some money.

Choosing the life of a graffiti artist at the age of 14, around the time that rebellion starts to replace the innocence of youth, Fart Barf had become very good at a couple of things as he grew older. Planning his missions, getting in and out quickly, and executing said missions. Usually these missions were the theft (Or “racking”) of art supplies, painting his name on a wall, and sneaking around train stations to paint on the freights. Now that he has been taken in by La Cosa Nostra, his missions had become a much wider variety of criminal activities. But racking shit was by far his favorite, and as luck would have it he was damn good at it too. Today’s marks are a few local shops. One a bookie used as a front for his racket, and the other ran by some low life nobody’s of the crime world. Fart Barf had scoped out what he could of each place personally, as well as used his connections to get the layout to each place. He had worked out his plans earlier in the day and was ready to put them into place as he approached the back door to his first mark. He tossed his cigarette and pulled his bandana down over his face before looking around to make sure the coast was clear. He pulled out his lock pick and went to work on the back door. It took him about 20 seconds before he was slowly pulling the door open. Fart Barf pulled out his M1911 as he walked in and began to check the room. Empty. Fart’s heart began to race, the adrenaline started to rush through his blood, and that all too familiar feeling of excitement filled him. He smiled beneath his bandana as he moved through the room quietly, gun raised as it followed his eyes. As he neared the doorway he turned and placed his back on the side of it. He leaned over and peered into the room. Empty. He quickly moved through the doorway and turned to check the corner of the room. Fart continued through the room quickly as he found no one was working late. He came across the stairs leading down into the basement where they kept the safe. Fart made his way down and again pulled out his lock pick. Making short work of this lock he pushed his way inside and moved towards the safe. He pulled out his stethoscope and moved towards the safe. He spun the knob around a few times before he started. Slowly moving the knob as he carefully listened to the clicks. 5 minutes had passed before he had the numbers written down, and shortly after the safe open. He put the stethoscope away and began to stuff the cash into his bag. He smiled again and thought to himself, what a score! As he put the last stack of cash into his bag Fart Barf took a quick moment to observe the rush he felt inside. He left a note inside the safe that simply read “Thanks!” before he closed the safe up and turned to head back.

As he returned to the back alley he pulled his bandana down onto his neck and lit a victory cigarette. He made his way down the alley and turned down the street, heading towards his car, which he had left in a alley a block away. He took a drag from his cigarette as he crossed the street, still enjoying the natural high he had acquired from his mission. He approached his car and opened the door, tossing his bag inside before he hopped in. He inhaled another hit of nicotine while he started the car, driving to the next stop. As a precautionary measure, he drove past the front of it before parking in an alley across the street. Fart Barf hopped out and walked down the alley to the back door of his next mark.

He made quick work of the door, pulled out his M1911, and walked inside with his gun drawn. He looked around the room and found that it was empty. The adrenaline rushed through his veins again, another smile rose from under his bandana. Fart Barf made his way through the back end to the front of the store. He walked behind the counter and pulled his lock pick out and started the process of opening up the cash register. He soon had the cash register open, the noise of the register was almost deafening against the silence. Fart Barf cringed and began to stuff the cash into his bag. Suddenly he heard footsteps from the room behind him, he quickly turned and saw a man.

“HE-“

The man was cut off by the sound of Fart Barf’s M1911, he squeezed 3 shots off in quick succession. The first two bullets hit the man square in the chest and the last was a clean head shot. Fuck fuck fuck, Fart thought to himself as he heard shuffling behind where the first man had shown up. He jumped over the counter, the sound of gunfire could be heard on the way down. Bullet holes appeared in the wall that was now in front of Fart, he quickly leaned towards the edge of the counter and took aim quickly, squeezing the trigger twice more. The men had taken cover by now, and the bullets whizzed by and dug themselves into the wall on the opposite side. Fart returned his head and arm back behind the counter.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The bullets dug themselves into the wall in front, higher than Fart was at the time. He made his move after the second shot, and fired his last two rounds at the shadow in the door. The man fell to the floor, and Fart returned to his cover, digging another magazine out of his bag. He reloaded his pistol and took a peak around the corner, quickly jerking his head back as he heard shots erupting from the room. Fart’s heart was pounding in his chest, he had to get out of here. The front door was a hop and a skip away, but how would he get there? Fart grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He stood and began to fire intermittently through the doorway as he ran to the front. He quickly unlocked the door.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Fart pushed the door open and began to run towards the alley.

BANG! BANG!

Fart ducked behind the dumpster, his car was not that far away. He pulled his bag, noticing a tear in his shirt with blood. A bullet had grazed him, but he had no time to wrap it up. He pulled another magazine and quickly replaced the empty. He peeked around the dumpster to see the man running towards , he quickly fired off two rounds at the man. But he had made it across the street, and was now positioned against the building across from the dumpster. Fart cursed himself and then waited for the man to poke his head out. An arm and a gun came around the corner, but no head, Fart quickly ducked behind the dumpster as shots echoed through the night air. When the shots stopped, Fart poked his head back out and took aim. The man suddenly appeared.

BANG! BANG!

Fart Barf had gotten the best of his assailant. The man fell in the street and Fart quickly gathered his bag and ran to the car. He opened the door and threw the bag inside before hopping in and starting the car up. He sped off into the night, thanking his lucky stars he was alive. He lit a cigarette and began to head back to his home, he had a phone call to a certain doctor to make.