The gangster in his tailored suit fled across Chicago, and the gunslinger followed.

The city was gloomy on this dark night. The moon was full but partially hidden behind low rolling clouds, giving an eerie gloom to the shadows. The downtown skyline pierced the bottom of the low clouds, the tops of man's achievements disappearing into them. Everywhere people were bustling about quickly, on their way to do whatever it was that was so important to them. Occasionally, Roland came across someone he recognized on the street, and they simply nodded their head in the direction Roland was heading, confirming. It was simple enough to follow someone in a hurry through a crowd of automatons carrying out their daily routines; the disturbance in the flow was particularly easy to spot. Roland followed.

Roland had been indulging in a wonderful strawberry tart and delicious cup of coffee when the young barista approached, signaling that there was a phone call for him in the back. Roland nodded, immediately knowing the nature of the business. Roland was known by his close friend and Don, Nakamura, to spend most of his time here when not working, making it very easy for Nakamura to know how to reach him should the need arise. Folding his napkin neatly and lying it on the table, Roland pushed back his chair and stood slowly. Replacing the chair with care, he walked across the small cafe and through the doors leading into the back. The phone was lying on its side, off the hook, on the day-manager's desk. Roland picked up the handset, placing it against his ear and simply asking, "Yes?" Roland made no visual indication that he was listening until the end of the conversation. The corners of his mouth curled down in slight disgust, only for a moment, before he said, "Yes, sir," and hung up the phone. “New guys..this always ends the same way," he grumbled as he turned back towards the doors and walked out into the cafe again. Stopping only by the door to collect his hat and jacket, Roland stepped out into the street. With his long overcoat fit snugly on his shoulders, Roland placed his leather cowboy hat on his head and smiled. Not many people in Chicago were used to seeing a three-piece suit, cowboy hat and leather banded cowboy boots.

Roland had crossed Firnbank Avenue West, into territory that belonged to his family but had been 'claimed' by a new local street thug, self-proclaimed kingpin. The earlier phone call from Godfather Nakamura had informed him of this recent development. The Godfather had also requested his services, the one thing in this life at which he truly excelled. Also on the phone call, however, Nakamura had insisted that he bring one of the family's new associates with him to test his mettle. Nakamura mentioned his name, but Roland did not care. These things always ended the same way, with another dead new guy who couldn't keep up when the shooting started. Roland had hung up the phone and walked outside, and nothing had gone right since.

The sun was just setting over the skyline as Roland's driver pulled up in front of the building where he was to meet the fresh meat. Roland stepped out and scanned first the street, then the windows of the surrounding buildings. He noticed Rocco as soon as he stepped into view out of a side alley. Before the two could even introduce themselves properly the explosion of gunfire from the end of the street interrupted them. Almost instantaneously, the crashing roar of Roland's revolver filled the air as he returned fire, faster than the associate could even process. Roland had killed the gunman before he managed to pull his trigger a second time. Both guns now drawn, Roland moved towards the body, still scanning for threats. Without even searching the corpse, Roland realized that the man belonged to the new thug crew that had the audacity to claim a part of their turf. Good riddance. Replacing his guns in their low slung holsters, he turned back to see the new guy still standing on the curb where he had left him. Roland's lip twitched. This was going to be a long night.

After sorting the associate out on the street and moving the body out of sight, the two had headed towards Firnbank Avenue West, where the new 'territory' of the street gang started. At a small bar just on this side of the Ave, rumor had it that the self-proclaimed kingpin would be holding a meeting with other local gangs. Richard, they said his name was. Roland did not care, and neither did his sandalwood gripped revolvers. 

Outside the burger joint, Roland leaned against the wall and pulled a hand rolled cigarette out of his coat pocket. Lighting the cigarette he inhaled deeply, the familiar euphoric feeling spreading through his chest and throat. Looking at the new associate, he explained what he was to do. "Inside you'll find this Richard character. Take care of it." Before he could could even ask a question Roland cut him off, "I'm not here to hold your fucking hand."

The commotion inside was short. The explosions of gunfire ripped into the otherwise quiet and gloomy night. The sound of tables and chairs being flipped, glass breaking. None of this bothered the gunslinger. He already knew that the kid was dead, and his quarry had escaped. Crushing his cigarette against the wall, Roland looked inside the restaurant. The scene was just as he suspected. Roland walked down the side alley towards the back of the building, where Richard would have fled. As the would-be gangster fled across the city, Roland followed. 

Tonight was the night, the last night on earth for this intruder in the territory of the Godfather of Chicago.

The entourage fleeing into the western part of Chicago had not noticed Roland following them. As they filed into a two story home on the brink of the suburbs, Roland waited two blocks up on the corner, smiling. They had no idea who they had just led into presumably their safest space. Wounded and scared, this is where they ran. This is where they would die.

Standing just outside the doorway to the house, Roland took a deep breath and relaxed his posture. He did not need to check on his guns, they were always ready. Quietly, Roland tested the knob – it worked, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Low voices were coming from what appeared to be the kitchen, so Roland made his way there. Catching a reflection in the window over the kitchen sink, Roland counted seven men situated around a table. He had followed nine back from the house. That was all right, though – they would surely appear when the shooting started.

Silently, Roland stepped through the doorway and stood to the rear of the majority of the men at the table. Only two of the men could see him, and for a moment, they were speechless. Instant recognition swept their faces and they made the smartest decision they had likely every made – to remain absolutely still. One of the two men muttered, “Roland.” The others did not even make to turn around. The one they called Richard began to plead almost immediately, “What do you want?” Roland knew how this exchange went, no different than any other.

First comes smiles.

Roland appeased the young man, saying, “You know why I am here.” The immediate relief caused by the idea that there was a possibility that Roland may be open to conversation spread amongst the group. Richard made a nervous smile, turning around to face Roland. Roland’s stone face made no expression, his eyes only revealing mild interest in the existence of this job. “What do you think of Godfather Nakamura?” asked Roland, to the shock and confusion of the would-be gangster.

Then comes lies.

“W-what? I have nothing bu---“ Roland cut the young man off immediately, “Do not insult me. You must think he is a bitch, weak enough for you to take whatever piece of our turf you want.” Richard began to wring his hands together, eyes scrambling around the room as if searching visibly for the words to get him out of his desperate situation. Roland waited patiently for the realization to strike. When it did, Richard’s eyes came back to level and almost froze on Roland. Finally, the kid had realized that there was no chance that Roland intended to leave him alive after this exchange – his only means of survival was to kill Roland. After all, he was just one man.

Then comes gunfire.

The nine bodies scattered around the room laid as a testament to the skill of the gunslinger. His inhuman speed allowed him to draw and fire both guns, dispatching all seven members inside the kitchen, before the two men smoking out back even had a chance to drop their cigarettes. Roland reloaded his guns and replaced them into their holsters. Scanning the room silently for just a moment, he took in the devastation. Little of it processed aside from his mission being complete. Turning, he walked out of the room and headed back into the street through the front door. Pulling another hand rolled cigarette from his jacket pocket, he lit it and moved out into the night, heading back to his headquarters to report to the Godfather.