Kerosene pulled himself out of the flaming Model T. It was filled with bullet holes, chopped up like a metallic coffin made of shark's teeth. He was bleeding bad. It wouldn't be long until he lost consciousness. He snapped his colt .45 out from behind his back and waved it at ghosts and shadows in front of him, but finding no target, he held it in his left hand and crawled toward the alley.

Tires screeched behind him as he pulled himself up shakily behind a dumpster. The alley closed in for a moment then his vision returned. Cops quarantined the street next to him with superhuman proficiency. For a brief moment, Kerosene considered hiding in the dumpster but he decided better. He used the commotion of the backstreet to cover his entrance into the alley door of the Chicago Comedy Bar.

Leaving a trail of blood, he pushed past the startled kitchen staff, knocking over pots and pans as he struggled to keep his balance.

"Sir!" yelled Jujube, the top chef. "This way!"

Jujube took Kerosene by the shoulder and as his white chef's outfit was stained with blood, called over his shoulder with a commanding voice.

"Clean this up immediately!"

The chef led Kerosene's limping body to a different door. Kicking it open, he dragged Kerosene through into a large garage. "You'll be safe here," Jujube whispered. "Come back as soon as you can."

Two goons dressed in black suits carefully carried Kerosene's unconscious body into a delivery truck.

"Go Go Go Go Go!" Jujube yelled as the garage doors opened. "Fuck! The cops are coming! Get him out of here!"

The truck revved it's engine and sped toward the potential of freedom.

Sliding a coin into the pay phone she didn't know what had gone wrong or why the police were their, she had tipped both the commissioner and the captain to avoid people being in the area as she tapped the phone waiting for the connection.

"The captain, 89th and commercial station she anounced to the operator"

Waiting her foot tapped as she tipped her hat to cover her face, hearing Larkins voice responded simply

"you messed up, we invested in you and now you will pay the consequences for your mistake, remember we know where you live, where your daughter goes to school and where your wife has her hair and nails done"

she waited as he stuttered back acting ignorant but the fear in his voice said otherwise before slamming the phone down mid sentence on him

Dissapearing into the shopping district she knew she had to get to the comedy club but it wasn't going to be easy, her face was getting more well known and she knew she had to cover some distance.

The delivery truck screeched to a halt as Kerosene wiped blood from his hastily bandaged forehead. This wasn't the best day in weeks. Quite the opposite. Bullet fragments were lodged in his side and it would be lucky if they missed his liver.

"Fuck," he gasped as pain lanced up his spine. "We gotta turn around," he yelled to the driver, banging on the truck's wall to get attention. "The heat's on and Karen's still out there."

"Can't," said the driver. "Boss's orders. Get everyone off the streets until this mess blows over."

Kerosene cursed under his breath. He slinked out of the truck's back doors and stumbled to the office. Several dials into the rotary phone and he was on the line with a nondescript voice from headquarters.

"Get me StripheGotti," said Kerosene. After a half minute wait, he yelled. "Now! Or Hawkeye or David. Jesus! Get me somebody that can do something!" The HQ operator stammered a quick apology and promised to connect Kerosene with someone as quickly as possible.

"Kerosene, What's happening?!" came the voice on the other side of the phone

"I'm... I'm struggling Striphe, That was too close for comfort!" Kerosene's voice rasping for air between words. "The job, the whole plan, Fucked in a matter of seconds! Someone ratted us out!"

Kerosene slumped further back into the chair he'd  got sat in by Jujube.  The blood stained suit now beginning to clot against his skin where gunshots tore through his pristine suit of a few hours ago. Tapping his fingers against the desk whilst listening to the earbashing he was receiving from StripheGotti about the botched job, as his team selection not being to a substantial standard, somewhat detached from everything StripheGotti was saying. His Mind racing, thinking about the possibilities of what went wrong, what could have been done better. If it wasn't for TheWolverine1 Dragging his Ass out of the Hot spot at that point in time, Karen would have been arranging his Funeral and notifying Family. 

"Who would have fucked it up? Who is the mole?" he pondered once more. The pain was excruciating, Kerosene needed medical attention and quick!

Using the edge of the desk he struggled with what little strength he had left to lift himself up, his suit leaving a bloody body print against the tan leather of the chair in which he previously sat. Slowly and gingerly, he walked over to the doorway and shouted "Someone get me a fucking medic, stat!"

Everything went black, A thud was heard downstairs. The Next thing Kerosene remembers, is being surrounded by 2 Doctors in scrubs at the Hospital in Chicago's South Side, wondering what the fuck happened.

There's nothing like waking up in a haze, thought Kerosene. Striphe stood over the hospital bed, smoking a cigarette.

"In some pain?" he asked. Kerosene grunted an affirmation. "Serves you right. Cops ran over the club last night. Word is, somebody killed one of their sacred cows."

"It wasn't me," said Kerosene. "A setup. Some other crew wanted to make a distraction."

"They did a damn good job of it," Striphe said. "We'll be kicking the streets for answers. I'll expect some soon."

Kerosene strode down the street, propped up by meds. The recent war took it's toll and there were loose ends to wrap up. But where to start looking for answers... where to go to figure out how his own Don had been betrayed and ambushed, that would be complicated to figure out.

His first stop was the neighborhood underground liquor store. Inside, Smiley Willis manned the counter. "$5 bottle of anything you want," he said. But looking at Kerosene, he saw the grimace on the gangster's face and started to tremble.

"Look," said Smiley. "I don't know nothing about what happened. Honest. Here, take a few bottles on me and just believe me. I wouldn't lie."

Kerosene stared at the shopkeeper, eyeing him carefully.

"I mean," Smiley stammered. "Here. Ten bottles. Twenty. Just take whatever you want. I don't know nothing I seriously wouldn't lie. Not to you, Kerosene!"

It was obvious Smiley was telling the truth by the smell of urine that wafted from behind the counter. Kerosene took one bottle and left, in search of his next lead.

Kerosene pistol whipped the dock worker on the south side of the Pier. "Please," the worker begged through bloody teeth. "I'll tell you everything."

Now he was getting somewhere. "Who paid you off, Charlie?" Kerosene demanded.

"It was..."

A shot rang out and Charlie collapsed, grasping his chest. "Dammit!" yelled Kerosene as he ducked behind barrels. Several more shots ricocheted around him then the screeching of tires took the shooters down a side alley and out of Kerosene's sight.

"Not my day," said Kerosene. Looking at Charlie's lifeless form, he sighed. "His neither."

Everything had gone from bad to worse. The Comedy Bar had been closed by the cops so Kerosene decided to hole up in a safe house. His normal place on Michigan and Washington was too hot, especially without knowing who was behind the betrayal. He lit a cigarette and knocked the secret pattern onto the safe house door. Lincoln Park was a nice place to hole up, but not exactly his cup of tea when it came to making his rounds.

"Who's there," a voice asked as an eye level hatch slid open.

"It's me, Barney," Kerosene replied. "Open the fuck up."

"Sorry, boss," Barney replied. A few clasps rattled and the door swung open.

Kerosene strode in straight into the path of two unhappy looking thugs with guns pointed straight at him.

Barney shrugged his shoulders. "I wasn't gonna let you in," he said. "But they kind of persuaded me."

Several things happened at once. A car rolled over right next to Kerosene as he dashed out of the safehouse, leaving a smoking cigarette in his wake. Pigeons flew down the alley, startled by the human newcomer. Bullets erupted from behind him and a cop car pulled up, siren blazing.

"Not my day," Kerosene said. "Good thing I'm not in Vegas. I'd lose everything."

Kerosene whirled. Two quick shots and the safehouse thugs fell to the ground. The rolling car crashed into the brick alleyway wall. Cops poured out of their vehicle. "Stop!" one yelled, but Kerosene ducked around the corner and dove into his own escape vehicle. A quick crank and the engine roared to life. Pedal to the metal. He sped expertly down the alley and swerved around another cop car that drove up to block the exit.

"This is getting complicated," he said, lighting another cigarette as he tossed a couple guns onto the seat beside him. It was going to be a long night.

Two cars careened down the road, engines roaring as they closed the gap between themselves and Kerosene. Shots rang out, ricocheting on the pavement to his left. He screeched around a corner and busted through a graveyard fence, then grabbed one of his pistols from off the seat, rolled out the driver's side door, leaving the car heading forward.

He ducked behind a tree and waited for the pursuers to approach. The first car passed and as the second followed, Kerosene put a bullet into the driver's head. The vehicle swerved off the road and into the graveyard's pond.

"I'll need to take the next one alive," he whispered to his gun, as if it could hear him. "Wing, not kill. Okay, Matilda?"

The first car came to a halt behind Kerosene's crashed vehicle. Two people got out and scanned the night for their target.

Kerosene slid into the shadows, letting the two men approach his position. They talked quietly amongst themselves, and their movements were erratic, scared. Kerosene waited, patiently letting them walk into a weak position. One circled the pond toward the sinking car. The other headed straight back down the path their own car took.

As the first neared the sinking car, Kerosene snuck up behind him and brazenly slit his throat. Then, he climbed through the car's broken window. The pond wasn't deep and the car wouldn't submerge. So he took out his pistol and waited.

The second pursuer called out. "Slinky?" he asked. "You there Slinky?"

He walked toward the car. Seeing his companion's dead body, he whirled, pointing his gun across the tombstones. "Come out, you bastard!" he yelled.

Kerosene stuck his pistol out of the broken window and fired two shots. The first hit his pursuer in the elbow, making him drop his gun. The second took him in the knee and he crumpled to the ground like a bag of rice.

Kerosene opened the car door and waded out through the mud.

"It's time to give me answers," he said, pointing his gun at the pursuer's head.

"I... I..." stammered the goon. "I won't tell you nuthin!"

His mouth frothed and Kerosene slammed his gun into the goon's cheek. The goon laughed as he died.

"Shit," said Kerosene. "A poison tooth! Like the KGB!"

Kerosene whirled and shot two men who raised themselves out of the pond wearing full scuba gear.

"It's the KGB!" Kerosene yelled. Three more shots and three men fell from the trees. Each bore an assault rifle.

"I did not expect this," Kerosene said to himself. "Fuck. Nobody wants to mess with the KBG. But they're about to learn what it's like to get burned with kerosene!"

He took a dramatic pause as a hawk soared past the full moon. "It's time to take this fight to MOSCOW!!!"

The trip to Moscow was completely unfruitful, especially since Kerosene never went. His latest jail sentence dealt with drugs and racketeering, plus a few charges of extortion and embezzlement. So as he spent his time in jail, not saying anything to anybody and doing his sentence like a good mobster should, he had time to reflect.

Maybe it wasn't such a big setup after all, he thought. Maybe it was a comedy of errors. Either way, when he got out, he resolved to hit the Chicago Comedy Bar and kick up some inquiries.

Suddenly, the cell room door opened. "Fuck you!" said a large cop. "Apparently your friend Marla said you need to be let go now and we need to give you and apology! Well fuck you and fuck your apology!"

A couple other cops dragged him out of the cell and tossed Kerosene onto the street, tossing his possessions behind him in a series of evidence bags.

"What just happened?" Kerosene said. In front of him, a model T waited. A door opened and someone stepped out and said his name. 

Kerosene ducked a barrage of gunfire. "We're gonna kill all of you and take over everything!" the assailant yelled.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The people who were interfering with his operations, the ones that had put Karen in danger... they were Durdens! They were always up to no good and promoting social discord, but Kerosene hadn't thought they'd go so far as to take on the entire mafia.

With anger, he dodged another spray and sprinted through a neighboring abandoned building. If he lived through this, Kerosene vowed, he would take his revenge. He was going to find a gun and go after every stinking Durden he possibly could.

Footsteps raced after him and he slid into the shadows of a doorway, letting them pass.

A few moments after things cleared, he slinked down a different street and headed back toward the Chicago Comedy Bar.