The Final Days of Jimmy Kroe.

COPYRIGHT: ALL THESE CHARACTER’S BELONG TO ME! IF THEY ARE USED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, YOU WILL FEEL THE WRATH OF JIMMY KROE! SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY IDEA’S.







The Beginning

Chapter One: One Bullet, Two Guns

He stood next to the condemned building, loud music blaring from within which cut through the night air like a knife. Inside people were dancing ,shooting up, and passing out. He was wearing what he usually wore for his “nights out”. A long dark brown trench coat with a hood, under the coat he wore an unzipped black hoody, and under that a plain black shirt. Both hoods were pulled up over his face to hide the bloodstained bandages that completely covered his face. He didn’t need to wear them anymore, but he did anyways. The wounds had long healed, but the scars had remained. He kept the bandages on because people tended to stare at him less.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag, then checked his watch. “A little longer.” He said to himself. He stuck the pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his black, baggy jeans. He looked up at the crack house and his mind began to wander. He thought about how all this started, how Lance betrayed him and had his boys go to work on his face with that knife, how they put Jenny in the hospital and his brother in the morgue, and how he was going to make Lance suffer. But first he had to find out where he was hiding and how he could hurt his empire the most.

Inside was a crack house run by one of Lance’s dearest friends, Mike Rockney, but everybody calls him Big M, and tonight he was throwing a huge party in honor of his gang gaining territory on the west side. If anyone knew where Dennis Lance was it was M. The Man finished his cigarette and stubs it out on the sole of his shoe, and then checks his watch again. “Showtime.” he says to himself, as he pulls a 9 mm berretta out of his belt, cocks it, and put it back in. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a single bullet. “ Let’s see if you come in handy tonight.”

He walks up to the front yard, where several people lay passed out, and up to the door. There two guards stopped him. The first was tall, but skinny, and had a spiky Mohawk and was packing a berretta like the man. The second was short and had slicked back black hair, and frankly, looked like a “goodfellas” reject. It was almost comical, seeing the two work together. Almost.

“What do want?” says the first, lanky guard.

“I wanna see M.” The man replies coldly.


“Sorry but the boss ain’t got time to see some fucking crack head. Go get your fix some where else.” says the short one, runt.

The man was fighting hard to keep his anger in check. “I’m not a junkie little man. Now get out of my way.” He says.

“Big words coming from a costumed freak like you. Don’t you know Halloween is three months away?” say Lanky, while trying to pull back the man’s hood.

The man slaps his arm away, and once again gave them the option to let him in with out confrontation.

“Funny I was going to say the same to you. This is your last chance to get out of my way, because one way or the other I’m getting in.” the bandaged man snapped.

“I’d like to see you try mother fucker.” Said Runt. The short man stood directly in front of the door, blocking it off, while the punk stepped forward and pulling out his gun.

“I tried to be nice.” says the man. The punk cocked back the hammer and leveled the gun off at his chest. Before the punk could say anything, the man grabbed his arm, wrenched it around and pointed the gun at the ground. As he did this the punk panicked and started shooting wildly, bullets ripping harmlessly into the yard.

The junkies that were still conscious took off running, but most couldn’t hear the shots thanks to a combo of blaring music and they’re own high. The man manages to knock the gun out of the punks hand. The gun crashed to the ground. The man, still holding the punks arm, whirled him around so they we’re facing each other and then delivered a punch square in the punks face. The punk still stood, although very unsteady. The man reared back and delivers another punch this time dropping the punk. The man pulled out his berretta and then picked up the punk’s, stuffing it into his belt. The punk reached up and futilely, grabbing the mans leg. He knelt down next to the pathetic man, pulled out one of the guns and pressed it against the punks face. “You should’a just stayed down kid.” He pulled the trigger, sending blood, brains and bone fragments across the lawn. He stood up and walked towards the other guard, who didn’t have a weapon.

“Look, man I was just kidding earlier! I never liked that guy, y’know? Just please don’t kill me!” The Runt was on his knees begging.

“Get up. Answer my question’s and I’ll consider letting you live. How many guards are inside and where can I find M?” asks the man.

“Yeah, sure there’s three guarding M office. Second floor, third door on the right. Can I go?”

“No.” replies the man, as he grabbed the Runt by the neck, and emptied three bullets into his stomach.

Inside the house the party was at its peak. The music was blaring, people were smoking and shooting up, men and women were passing out on the floor. No one noticed the man with the bandages walk in. “Gotta get rid of these people first.” the man thought to himself. He looked over and saw the giant speakers emitting the ear splitting music. The man drew his gun and emptied four shot’s into each speaker. The music cut short, and people had finally noticed the man with his smoking guns. “Party’s over.” The man says, and as if on cue people started screaming and running for the door.

He pushed his way past the throng of panicked junkies, and made it to the stairs. Before he could climb the stairs though, one of the three guards came running down the steps, almost crashing into him. Before the guard could act, the man had his gun drawn and emptied the remaining bullets into the guard. He was dead before he hit the ground. He made his way up stairs, only this time the remaining guards got the drop on him first and opened fire. The man wasn’t fast enough and caught a bullet in the shoulder. Instinctively, he dropped to the floor and with his good arm pulled out the second gun. He fired at the two guards. The first guard caught two in the chest and a third in the neck. And the second guard caught a bullet in his wrist and leg, the second guard dropped his gun and fell to the floor cradling his wrist.

The man stood up, a twisting pain shooting through his shoulder. “Damn it!” He screamed while clutching the wound. He walked over towards the fallen guards. The first guard was very much dead, and the second one was too distracted by the gaping holes in his body. The man kicked the injured guards gun away. “I’ll deal with you later.” said the man to the guard. He walked to Big M’s office and kicked in the door. Inside was a very obese man cowering under his desk, Mike Rockney.

“Big M! Just the man I’ve been looking for!” He says.

“Look take whatever you want! There’s a safe over there, combination 10-13-89, it’s full of money and drugs! Take it and leave me alone!” Whimpers the fat man.

“I don’t want your trash fat boy, I want info. I wanna know who Dennis’s drug supplier is, and where I can find Dennis himself.”

“I don’t know! He doesn’t tell me anything! I’ve never even been to his house!”

The man points his gun at the fat drug dealer. “You’re lying Mikey, and if it’s one thing I can’t stand, it liars mike. So better start talking, because I’m staring to get twitchy.”

“Okay! His supplier’s name is Jack Winslow. He runs his operation from his fancy restaurant downtown, it’s called Winslow Italianate. Lance goes there every Friday to drop off money. Lance lives up on the hills in a big mansion, address 667 Castle St. !”

The man lowers his gun, he then pulls out the magazine and takes the bullet out of the chamber, then does the same to his back up. “So are we done?” ask Mike. “Not yet fat boy, we’re gonna play a little game. You see I heard that you were involved in the killing of a certain person. Brandon Kroe ring any bell?” The man says, as he pulls out the single bullet from his pocket.

“I didn’t kill him!” screams the fat man.

“Save it. I saw the video tape on T.V. I saw you!” The man screams back.

The fat man backs up into the wall. The man turns his back to Mike, and chambers the single bullet in one gun, Then he turns around and places both guns on M’s desk.

“We're gonna play a little game. Rules are simple. One of these guns has a bullet in it’s chamber, the other is empty. You get one chance to pick a gun, because I get the other one. And just because I’m a nice guy you get to go first.”

Mike looks at the man apprehensively, and then reaches for a gun. He pauses for a moment and then decides on the left one. The man picks up the right one. Mike checks his chamber, inside is the bullet. Mike smiles and points the gun at the mans bandaged face.

“Just for the record, I was there when Kroe was killed.”

Mike squeeze’s the trigger and a loud bang echoes through the room. Mike's face is that of terror. The man is still sitting there unharmed. He calmly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his magazine, loads his gun and presses it against M’s forehead.

“What's the matter fat boy? Never heard of a blank before?”

“Wwwhy?” Stammers Mike.

“Ever see a cat play with a bird before it kills it?” replies the bandaged man.

“What did I ever do to you?” Asks the fat man.

The man leans in close and whispers into M’s ear, “For what you did to my brother and girlfriend. For what you did to my life.”

A look of shock washes over M's face, as if he just seen a ghost. The man leans back and presses the gun against his head harder. “Goodbye, fat boy.” He pulls the trigger.

He walks out of the office a few moments later covered in blood and chunks of brains. The injured guard still there, staring at him. The man looks at him while lighting a smoke.

“I want you to give Lance a message for me.” says the man, “Tell him, that Jimmy Kroe is looking for him.”




To be continued…