The James-Younger Gang vs. The Chicago Outfit: Battle and Results

The James-Younger Gang

Jesse James
Frank James
Cole Younger
Bob Younger
Jim Younger
Clell Miller
Arthur McCoy

John Jarrette 

The Chicago Outfit

Al Capone
Frank Nitti
Jack McGurn
Tony Accardo
Louie Campagna
Phil D'Andrea
Frankie Rio
Louis Barko

Chicago, 1931

Jack McGurn shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the 1928 Cadillac, his sweat staining the plush seats. The reason for his discomfort wasn't the fear of an attack. The car had been built with enough bulletproof armor to withstand an attack by anyone stupid enough to try. No, the reason for his discomfort was his boss, the most powerful man in Chicago, Al Capone. Usually when Capone was in a bad mood he would rant and rave at anybody close enough to listen, and all Jack could do was hope that Capone didn't hear the snide comments that were thrown behind his back by some of the younger members. Capone was usually a fair boss, but McGurn knew that he wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in the head of any smart-ass who pissed him off. But this was a different kind of anger, Capone hadn’t said a word in something like half an hour, and McGurn could feel the rage radiating off him like heat.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Capone was seething about, Ness. That bastard had been a thorn in the Outfit’s side for months now, and it looked like he’d struck again. A shipment from one of Capone’s largest warehouses was now half an hour hour late for delivery to one of the local breweries. McGurn would have liked to believe that they were just running late, although in the back of his mind he knew that wasn’t true. Anyone working for Al Capone (at least anyone who valued their life) never ran late. Although McGurn had never met Ness personally, he didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just take the bribe. Men had done it before him, and men would continue to do it after Capone had left him a rotting corpse. McGurn guessed that Ness thought of himself as a man of principle. Well a man a principle never seems to last long in this city he thought glumly, as the two cars sped down the alleyway towards the warehouse. Kind of a shame really, now we have to make an example of him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jesse James idly turned over one of the dead bodies with his foot. Defiantly not a Pinkerton he thought, or at least not like any he had ever seen before. This whole damn place looked like nothing he had ever seen before. Buildings loomed all around them blocking off all line of site. He felt closed in, and suddenly claustrophobic. He longed again for the wide-open spaces of his native Missouri, or anywhere but this place. He tried to remember the chain of events that had brought his gang to this hellhole. They had been resting the night at the farm of a local family loyal to the James boys. All Jesse remembered from that night was a bright flash of light in the sky, and suddenly he and his gang had woken up in… well wherever this was.

He reckoned that this must be a Northern city. He had heard descriptions of places like this, further North than he had ever been willing to travel. “Jesse, come check this out!” Jim Younger suddenly yelled from the foot of the closest building. Jesse stepped past the rest of the dead bodies. He still had no idea who these men were. All Jesse knew was that his boys had stumbled upon them loading some crates from what looked like a metal wagon. Jesse had barley gotten a chance to wonder who they were, when they pulled pistols out their coats, and started shooting at them. None of them were particularly god shots though, and Jesse and his boys had made short work of them. Jesse stopped just short of the building . It was a massive warehouse, with what must have been hundreds of boxes stacked about in piles of various size, some nearly reached the top of the ceiling. The boxes seemed to go on forever, stretching out into a seemingly endless maze of crates.

“What the Hell is this place?” Frank wondered aloud. “Only one way to find out.”  Jesse walked up to one crates and broke it open with the butt of his rifle. Inside were neatly stacked bottles of… liquor. “Check this out.” He said throwing a bottle to Frank. “So you’re telling me that they tried to kill us over a few bottles of liquor?” Cole Younger asked. “Not just a few bottles by my guess” Arthur McCoy said; he had already broken open one of the other crates and was sampling the contents. “What?” he turned to the rest of gang. “Man just shot at me. I need to calm my nerves.” "Give me that!” Jim Younger snapped as he tore the bottle from McCoy’s hand. He took a long drink, and then suddenly spat it on the floor “Whoever made this doesn’t know how to brew worth shit! I’ve had horse piss that tasted better than this!” “Like you’ve ever drunk horse piss.” McCoy grumbled under his breath. Jesse gave a low chuckle; it was good to know that even stuck in some Northern shithole he could still have a good laugh, even if it only masked the trouble of their situation. They were still wanted men, maybe not in whatever state this was, but that wasn’t reassuring. His gang was still looking to him for a way home, and he was completely out of ideas. He knew he had to come up with a solution fast, a warehouse full of liquor would only keep them distracted for so long .

“Jesse! Jesse!” His brooding was cut short by the yelling of Clell Miller, who Jesse had stationed as a lookout just outside the warehouse. “What is it Clell?” Jesse asked. “Two more of those metal…wagons.” He paused, out of breath. “They just came out front. I saw men get out, and they’ve got guns. “What do you want us to do Jesse?” Cole Younger asked. The question sounded innocent enough, but Jesse could hear the slight mockery in Cole’s voice. He was seeing if Jesse really have the guts to get them out of this situation, if he was really fit to lead. “We’re with you Jesse.” Frank said, coming up behind Cole “All of us.” He  shot a look at Cole. Jesse thought it over for a minute; they were in strange territory, and would not be able to fall back on their old “attack and retreat strategy”.  But Jesse knew somehow, that whoever these men were, they would hunt him and his gang down like animals, it would be no better than the Pinkertons. Jesse had already drawn first blood, and whatever business these men had here was larger than just a few bottles of liquor. He made his decision. “Get in positions boys. Let’s kill these bastards.” 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Al Capone and his men stood outside the warehouse. Capone had had enough of letting Ness off easy. Bribery hadn’t worked; small assassination attempts hadn’t worked. So now, Ness would have to be taught the hard way. Capone usually wouldn’t have opted for such a large crew for a hit, nor would he usually come along himself, but this was a… special case. He knew he could trust the men at his back with his life, and that they would die to protect it. Not likely they would die though, they had come heavily armed with Thompsons, pump-action shotguns, and Colts. Capone had taken one of the Colts from Frankie Rio, considering he had forgotten to bring Capone’s .38 revolver. Hell, even Tony “Joe Batters” Accardo had brought his signature baseball bat, which even Capone had to admit looked ridiculously  out of place. The only member of his crew that looked nervous was Frank “The Enforcer” Nitti. Despite his nickname, Nitti had never been a fighter. “I don’t know about this Al. Ness would never just kill our men this way, he’s no butcher. It looks like they barely got a shot off.” “I don’t give a goddamn what he is, or he isn’t. I want you to bring me back Ness. Alive preferably, I want to have a few words with him.” Weapons raised, Al and his men walked slowly in to the warehouse. “Careful boss.” Accardio cautioned Capone. They could be hiding anywhere in here.” Suddenly something came flying out from behind a pile of crates.

An already lit bundle of dynamite.

 “GET DOWN!!” Rio yelled, shoving Capone out of the way. A roar filled Capone’s ears, followed by an intense blast of heat that knocked him to the ground. His vision went blurry as he tried to stand. Ringing filled his ears, but even he could hear the gunshots over that. He saw Nitti’s body fall to the ground, blood flowing from the bullet hole in his throat. A few feet from that was Louis Barko, his body nearly unrecognizable from the explosion. Capone suddenly felt fear for the first time since the North Side had tried to kill him in that coffee shop in Cicero. How could he have been so stupid?  This was a trap, set by some rival gang that wanted to rub him out, and he had walked right into it. He scrambled to his feet as he tried to make his way to the entrance. Suddenly a strong arm grabbed him and pulled him back. It was McGurn; he yelled something to Capone, but it came out garbled, as his ears were still ringing. Chaos had broken out throughout the warehouse, as the  sound of Thompson Sub Machine gun fire deafened all other noise. Yet Capone's men weren't winning. Their attackers seemed to be all around them, and moved like wraiths, firing a few shots before disappearing back behind the crates, never letting Capone's men get in strikes of their own. Although they seemed to be letting up a little with hundreds of Tommy gun rounds flying at them. McGurn shoved his shell-shocked boss aside, and took aim with his Thompson. Most of the gang members were still milling around in stunned confusion from the dynamite blast. Only he and Louie Campagna seemed to be making much of a difference, letting loose devastating volleys of rounds from their Tommys. Suddenly, Campagna staggered backward, reeling from a Winchester round to the chest. He stumbled a few more steps backward before another round blew the top of his head off.                                         

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jesse James had to admit, he was enjoying himself. The ambush had gone perfectly, catching their would-be attackers completely off guard. Jesse flashed back to the many raids he and Bloody Bill had carried out together. Now there was a man he thought. His thoughts were interrupted by a burst of fire from one of the submachine guns, tearing a hole through his cover, and where his head had been just a few seconds before. He swore violently as he took aim over the crate, drawing a bead on the man who had shot at him. The Winchester gave a satisfying -crack- in his hand. The man staggered a few steps before another bullet from Frank put him down for good. By his count, that was three down. But the initial shock of their ambush seemed to be fading; Capone’s men were beginning to fight back now, and the amount of firepower they were putting out was starting to take its toll. Clell Millar screamed as the .45 rounds from a Tommy gun tore apart the crate that he had been taking cover behind, shredding through his chest. “We’re all dead if we stay in the middle of this!” Frank yelled, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the Thompsons. Jesse nodded in agreement, yelling for the gang to fall back, as they began to slip back into the maze of crates. A little something for them to remember us by first, he signaled to John Jarrette to cover them with the last of the dynamite. Jarrette lit the fuse, but just as he was about to throw it, something terrible happened. A ricocheting Thompson round tore through his leg. He fell from the crate, and right onto the bundle of dynamite…

Jesse made a mad dash as soon as he realized what was happening, but not all the gang was so quick. The flash from the explosion nearly blinded him, and he staggered to his feet, as he and the rest of the gang tried to get away from the flames that were quickly spreading over the crates, helped by the natural accelerant inside. Jesse saw Cole carrying his brother Jim, who had been standing too close to the explosion. He swore under his breath; there was no ware to retreat to, only more of these damn boxes, seemingly stretching on for what seemed forever. But at least those flames are covering us, and costing those bastards some of their damn liquor he thought. But with two men dead, and one severely wounded, that didn’t make him feel much better

J-Y Gang: 6/8  The Outfit: 5/8

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Al Capone silently fumed as he watched his men pour what he could only hope was the last bucket of water on the smoldering crates. Hundreds! Hundreds of dollars lost due to this disaster, and now those cowards were just slinking back to whomever they worked for. But not this time, Capone would drag them out of their holes, find out who they worked for, and then kill them very, very slowly. Almost as if he could read his boss’s mind, Jack McGurn came up to him. “Al, think about this for a minute. They could be hiding anywhere back there. We sent them running, and we already have three men dead. Let this one go.”

“Okay Jack, let’s say I do let those cowardly pieces of shit go, after they tried to kill me in my own damn town. What do you think will happen then? I’ll tell you, every two-bit gang of hoodlums from here to Brooklyn will know they can push into my territory. They will know they can come after me, and I lose everything I’ve been building all these years.” McGurn sighed; there would be no reasoning with his boss on this one. “What do you want us to do boss?”  

 “You and Rio are with me. The rest of you split up, and search the entire warehouse. I want them found!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim Younger screamed in pain as Cole pressed his coat over his wounds. The explosion had sent shards of a crate he had been standing next to flying, impaling him like makeshift shrapnel. Jesse already knew that Jim wouldn’t make it. His wounds were too deep and he had been coughing up blood for the last few minutes. His screams were also getting on Jesse’s nerves, and they would draw Capone’s men right to them. Abruptly he drew a revolver from his belt, cocked it, and walked over to Jim. Cole realized what he was doing but wasn’t fast enough to stop him, as Jesse put a bullet in Jim’s head. Cole screamed in rage as he tackled Jesse to the ground and pulled out his Bowie. He would have killed Jesse then and there, had it not been for the revolver he suddenly felt at the back of his neck.

“Drop it Cole.” Frank James said, his voice deathly calm, “Or I swear to God…” The rest of the gang just stood there in shocked silence, even Bob Younger wasn’t sure who to support. Cole, still pissed, but not suicidal; reluctantly, he got off Jesse and put away the knife, Frank’s revolver still trained on him. Jesse scrambled to his feet, angry and embarrassed. He pulled out his gun, and started menacingly towards Cole, but Frank jumped in between them. “No Jesse! We still need him.” “Get out of my way Frank.” Jesse snarled. “Or are you going to side with him over your own brother?” Frank knew there was no easy way out of this one. “Jesse, listen to me for a minute, we’re who knows how far from home, and whoever those men are, they’ve got us outgunned. We need every man we’ve got, and I’ll be damned if I die in this shithole because you and Cole were busy killing eachother! We kill the rest of these bastards first; then you can settle your business.”

Jesse’s eyes softened a little. Whatever problems he and Frank had had in the past, he could always had a way to talk sense.  “Alright Frank, we’ll do it your way.” he said reluctantly, his eyes never leaving Cole.  “Gather round!” he yelled to the rest of the gang. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I want the rest of you to spread out and find a way out of this place. Once you’ve found it, signal the rest with three shots” “Only one problem with that plan Dingus,” Frank said, addressing Jesse by his old Civil War nickname. “Once we fire off those shots, those bastards will be hot on our heels.” Jesse just chuckled, and Frank’s eyes started to widen as he realized what his brother was planning. “You want them to follow us don’t you?”

“You think I’m going to let them hunt us all the way from here to Missouri? No, we ambush them at the exit. We kill them all this time.” That wasn’t the best plan Frank ever heard but he knew he had to let his brother have this one; his ego was still sore after the incident with Cole. They quickly spilt into groups, with Jesse refusing to let the last two Younger brothers join up together, maybe fearing they would abandon the rest of the gang. At first Frank thought that Cole would raise an argument, but he simply nodded in sullen agreement. Frank realized that he would need to keep a close eye on Cole, it wouldn’t be above that bastard to put a bullet in Jesse’s back. As the groups spread out, Frank walked up to Cole “I’m sorry about Jim, but you know there’s nothing you could have done, he was going to die anyway.” Frank nearly backed away at the hated he saw in Cole’s eyes.

“Fuck you Frank” He snarled. “You could have stopped him, but you didn’t. I’ll follow your brother’s plan, but once we get out of this place, he’s dead.” Before he could make another threat, Frank grabbed him by his coat and slammed him against the crates. “You hurt him, and I swear to God I’ll kill you, and your brother”, his tone was deathly serious. Cole swallowed hard as Frank let him go. He didn’t plan on testing him on that threat.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Phil D'Andrea moved cautiously throw the maze of boxes that seemed to stretch on forever. His footsteps echoed throughout the eerie rows of crates, the only other noise coming from the occasional flickering of the lights overhead. He was tense; he hadn’t seen Capone or any other of the men since they split up, but neither had he seen the men they were hunting. Every shadow in the warehouse seemed to look menacing, and D'Andrea was surprised that he hadn’t accidently shot at any of them yet. His ears strained to make out any noises around him. For minutes, nothing, and then… he could faintly make out hushed voices and hurried footsteps from a few rows over. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, he hurried towards the voices.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cole Younger and Arthur McCoy stumbled through yet another zigzagging row, both pretending to know where they were going , but neither really having any clue. Whatever problems Cole may have had with Jesse, he had to admit it was damn clever not letting him partner up with Bob, or else he would have been out of here by now, leaving Jesse to deal to with the mess he had created. But now he was stuck with McCoy, who not only was an idiot, but a very loud one at that. 

“Are you really going to kill Jesse?” he asked, breaking the silence yet again. “Yeah I’m gonna kill him, and you too, if you don’t keep your damn voice down.” Cole hissed back. McCoy opened his mouth as if to speak again, but thought better of it.

Suddenly Cole froze in his tracks .He hunched down and motioned for McCoy to do them same. His years fighting as a guerilla had given him an very good sense of when things weren’t quite right, and this was one of those moments. Things seemed to have become unnaturally quiet, and there was a tense stillness in air.

The silence was broken with a roar, as .45 rounds tore through the crates as easily as they would paper. Cole threw himself to the ground amid the pieces of wood, glass, and the booze that now soaked the floor. He looked over at McCoy, his body riddled with rounds, his face etched with a shocked expression. He could see their attacker through a space in between the crates. He looked pleased with his handiwork, and moved towards them to check the bodies. Cole, seeing his chance, pulled out his Colt, and took aim at the man through the space.

Bang!

He fell with a cry, Cole’s bullet tearing threw his leg. Before he could recover, Cole leaped over one of the shorter stacks of crates, revolver still in hand. D'Andrea, surprised and wounded, rolled over just as a round from the revolver took off a chunk of his ear. Screaming in rage and pain, he began spraying rounds at Cole, who leaped out of his line of fire just in time. Struggling to get a good aim, and still screaming like a madman he wheeled on Cole, but he was already too late. Another bullet got him through the arm, causing him to drop the Thompson. Before he had a chance to reach for the Colt in his jacket, one final bullet took him right below the eye, and he finally stopped screaming.

J-Y Gang: 4/8       The Outfit: 4/8

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jesse, Frank, and Bob Younger had heard the shooting, although it was any man’s guess on who the winner was. Jesse secretly hoped that it was Cole on the receiving end, as it would save him having to kill him later. Right now he was more worried about finding a way out of here, and about Bob. Although he had remained neutral in the fight earlier, he wasn’t sure about the man’s true loyalties.

“I’m getting tired of this” Frank suddenly snapped, “There’s no way out of this place, and the longer this takes us, the quicker it is for those bastards to hunt us down.” “So what do you want us to do Frank? We can’t ambush them again with just three men”  “Then we spit up, cover more ground that way. Me and Bob, and then just you” “So you’re going to leave me alone to fend for myself huh?” Jesse said jokingly “Glad to see that you care Frank.”

Although he wasn’t a fan of splitting up into even smaller groups, Jesse had to admit that this wasn’t getting them anywhere, and those shots he had heard earlier defiantly were not Cole and McCoy signaling them. “You’re call again Frank” he said “But if they kill me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days.” Frank just chuckled “You couldn’t haunt me if you tried Dingus.” “We’ll see about that. Good luck.” Frank and Bob slipped away, and all Jesse could hope was that wasn’t the last time he would see them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Jack McGurn had always meant to keep one promise to himself since the day he had taken the oath of Omerta, and sworn loyalty to Capone; never disappoint his boss or the Outfit. But this day seemed to be doing just that. They had found Phil D'Andrea’s body just a few minutes earlier, along with another one of their attackers. They had also run into Tony Accardo, who had no such luck finding the men. Capone, who had been in a pissy mood all morning, and had gotten no better. He ordered Accardo and him to spread out again, though not too far in case they were ambushed. McGurn didn’t have the heart to tell his boss that they were probably long gone, another group of assassins that would blend back into the streets of Chicago.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost jumped when he heard it.

The roar of Accardo’s shotgun.

 He began running towards the noise when something crashed into him from above, knocking him off his feet. He struggled to get up as a revolver cracked him over the top of his head. White-hot pain seared through his skull, but he managed to kick out at his opponent, knocking him back as he scrambled to grab his Thompson, and feeling its familiar grip, he took aim and let loose. Bob Younger was thrown backwards from the force of the rounds, his body convulsing as they tore through him. He slumped backwards, dead before he even hit the ground.

“NO!!”  McGurn spun around at the voice just in time to take a 12-gauge shotgun blast to the chest. He flew backwards, smashing into the crates behind him. He tried to stand weakly, raising the Thompson as he did so. He knew that he was dying, but he raised his arm weakly, trying to fire off one last shot. Cole’s shotgun blew his head off before he even had a chance.

J/Y Gang: 3/8   The Outfit: 3/8

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile Frank James was struggling with Tony Accardo. They had both run out of ammo, and were now fighting hand-to-hand. Accardo had his signature baseball bat, while Frank had a Bowie. They circled each other warily, both looking for an opening. Accardo struck suddenly, swinging wildly with his bat. Frank ducked quickly aside, and struck back with a nasty slash to Accardo’s side. Pressing his advantage, he then went for Accardo’s chest. Accardo suddenly brought the bat up, blocking the strike, and followed up by bashing the bat into Frank’s face. Frank staggered backwards, as Accardo slammed the bat into his chest. Frank collapsed in pain, he was sure that he had at least one broken rib. He looked up at Accardo standing over him with the bat, bringing it back for one last finishing blow.

“Well go ahead and do it already you son of a bitch” Frank spat. Accardo sneered; he really was enjoying himself. Suddenly a gunshot rang out; Accardo staggered backwards, looking down at the bloodstain that was forming on his shirt. He looked back at Frank with a shocked expression, right before he collapsed to the ground.

Jesse stood behind him, revolver still in hand, and a slight smirk on his face. “Well looks like I had to save your sorry ass yet again Frank.” Frank normally would have given some smart-ass comment right back, but now? Now he was just damn happy to see his brother. He started walking towards him when Jesse saw his eyes widen. “Jesse, behind you!” His warning didn’t come soon enough however, as Capone put three bullets into Jesse’s back.

Frank screamed in rage as had grabbed his brother’s falling body. He pulled the revolver out of Jesse’s hand and began firing wildly at Capone, who moving much faster than a man of his size should have been capable of, dove out of the way, and behind some nearby crates.  Rio suddenly ran from behind one of the crates, firing at Frank, who dragging his brother’s body, retreated further into the warehouse.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Frank didn’t know how long he had been on the move, only that the men hadn’t followed him. At least not yet anyway. It would have been easy to kill him while he was dragging Jess’s body, but thank God, that probably hadn’t thought of that. 

“F-Frank stop… p-please stop for a minute.” Jesse croaked, his voice growing even weaker. 

“Not now Jesse. We’re almost there.” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit Frank, I know I’m not gonna make it, and so do you. “Don’t talk like that! I’m going to get you help, you’ll get through this.” “Frank.” Jesse gasped, “You always were a terrible liar.”

He gave another short and sudden gasp, and then a long sigh. He eyes became suddenly peaceful, and Jesse James finally gave his last breath. Frank closed his brother’s eyes. There was no time for tears. He grabbed Jesse’s revolver. It still had two shots, and by his count, there were still two men to kill.

J-Y Gang: 2/8   The Outfit: 2/8

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Capone took Rio’s lead through the row of crates. He had wanted to go after Frank right away, but Rio had urged him to be cautions, and now it seemed like they had lost the trail of blood from Jesse’s body. It just suddenly stopped, at the intersection between two rows of crates. “Careful boss, there’re close no-.” he never the chance to finish his sentence because just then a crate came flying from above them, crashing into Rio. Frank suddenly appeared and fired one of his shots at Capone, but missed. Capone quickly ducked into another aisle of crates, robbing Frank of a good shot. He jumped down off the crates, and walked toward Rio, groaning, and now covered with booze from the crate. Not wanting to waste ammo, Frank pulled out his Bowie, and turning Rio over, causally slit his throat.

Now for the other one he thought. He turned around just in time for Capone’s fist to come crashing into his face, knocking him to the ground. Capone followed up by smashing his foot into Frank’s wrist, nearly breaking it, and knocking the revolver away. It had been years since he had been in a street brawl, but all the old moves were coming back to him. He lashed out again with his foot, catching Frank in his injured ribs. Frank screamed in pain as Capone hauled him to his feet.

“You little piece of shit! You come into my city! You screw with my business! Do you have any fucking idea who I am?!”

 Frank responded by spitting into Capone’s face. Al snarled and followed up with another punch, this time shattering Frank’s nose.

“Well by the time I’m done with you, you’ll know exactly who I am". He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stiletto; the blade popped out with a –click-. Suddenly Frank started smiling. The man must be completely insane Capone thought, about to die and he’s smiling!

Suddenly Capone heard the cocking of a revolver. His blood ran cold as turned around, and finally realized what Frank was smiling about. Cole Younger stood behind him, his revolver aimed squarely at Al’s chest. Frank pulled out the Bowie from his coat and drove it into Capone’s leg bringing the big man down. Capone howled in pain as Frank stood to face him, his Bowie pressed against Al’s neck. Frank had to give the man credit, at least he wasn’t begging for his life. He fixed Frank with a glare of pure hatred.

“That was my brother you killed back there,” He told Capone coldly.  “So I say you can go burn in hell you fat piece of shit.” Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Frank staggered backwards, a mixture of emotions on his face; anger, confusion, and betrayal. He turned back towards Cole. “W-Why…” he asked. “Because you’re just as responsible as he is.” Cole answered calmly. Frank gave him one last look before he finally collapsed to the ground, dead.

There was an odd silence for about a minute before Capone finally broke it. “Thank you. You saved my life. If there’s any-” Cole abruptly cut him off “Shut up. I’m going to kill you too, but first I want to know… what is this place?” 

“This is where I keep my wares” Capone responded. “There’re shipped out to my speakeasies where they are enjoyed by the good people of Chicago ”

“And why would anyone want you’re shit? I’ve tried it, and I can’t say I’m too impressed.

“You would be surprised what people will do to get something they can’t have.”

That last statement confused Cole. Was booze illegal in this city?  He supposed it didn’t matter, he still had to kill this bastard anyway. He was out of bullets, but he still had his Bowie. He walked over to Capone, who was still remarkably calm. He should have known something was wrong then, that no man could be that calm when he was about to die. He failed to realize what was happening, that was until he saw the glint of metal in Capone’s hand. 

Al's hand snapped out like lightning, grabbing Cole’s arm, and extending it in front of him. With one smooth motion, he cut the arm open from elbow to wrist with his stiletto, severing everything in between. Cole dropped the Bowie is surprise and pain, but before he could do anything else, Capone slashed the knife across his throat. Cole looked at Capone with a shocked expression. He tried to say something, but   when he opened his mouth only blood came out. He finally collapsed, bleeding out on the warehouse floor.

Al Capone stood weakly, his leg still on fire from where Frank had stabbed him. At least the wound wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. He began limping back towards the entrance of the warehouse. He was sure someone had heard that racket, and he still had quite the mess to clean up before any of the cops in Chicago not on his payroll arrived.

Winner: The Chicago Outfit!

 

Results:                       

Category	The James-Younger Gang	The Chicago Outfit
Long Range	14/20	18/20
Mid-Range	13/15	13/15
Close Range	6/15	13/15
Special	6/10	4/10
Explosive	3/10	8/10
Tactics	14/20	12/20
Training	11/15	4/15
Morale/Motivation	11/15	9/10
Combat History	7/10	7/10
Leadership	9/15	8/15
Total Score	94/145	96/145

                                                 

 

This was defiantly a very close fight. But in the end, Capone’s nearly 50 year advantage in technology gave him the edge. While the James-Younger Gang had plenty of Civil War experience, they were ultimately facing a much larger, better organized, and much better financed gang. This prevented them from being able to completely dominate the X-Factor scores, while Capone easily had them beat weapons wise. Two points is still a very close margin though, and if these gangs ever did actually meet, I think it could go either way. Please let me know if you have any comments or problems with the result or the fight itself, but overall  I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As for my next fight, it will be an absolute bloodbath, as two of the greatest killers in movie history face off.

  Jason Voorhees

                            

                     Anton Chigurh                     

                                                           
Who is Deadliest?