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[Pyro]

He strolled the bar, one hand in his jacket pocket and the other holding a beer. He stood at five seven, a mildly tall height for somebody his weight. He was pushing around 300lbs, and it was muscle, not fat. If anybody never had to worry about dieting again, it was this guy. He weight lifted everyday, he could bench press around 500lbs, which was seen as top of the world's best weightlifting class on television. He could easily become Mr. Unvierse, but of course this kind of guy prefered to stay in the background, never had his face seen. He kept everything out of his name, the only thing you would ever have to know he was alive was his police report, and his birth certificate. He was a background worker, the worse kind, the kind that involved the Mafia.

Now, it would do to surprise you that this man was the bane of my existance. I, my name is James Douglas Roads, they call me either Jimmy, or Roads. Of everybody in the club, where was I? I was under the spotlight on stage finishing up my fifteen minutes of standup that week, and this mafia man was waiting for me to step off stage to break my neck. This man would be a mild battle, for when you're Jimmy Roads, no man is stronger... But there are men much better protected then I. He has the backing of the Italian Mafia, I don't care who you are, you don't fuck with that.

"And that's my time! I'm Jimmy Roads, have a great night!" I stated as I stepped off the stage and made my way to the back lounge where the rest of the comics who had already done their set relaxed. I had always envisioned walking back and seeing a buncha guys with girls hanging all over them, making out and smoke in the air when I thought about these things. That might be true for rockstars, but when you go backstage after a comedy show it's a buncha guys with notebooks writing down things, with one or two crying at times, and maybe a girl or two, but they're usually MARRIED to the comic, so no action tonight.

"Good job Jimmy, you did great." Andrew said.

"Yeah, you were fantastic," Threw in Charles. "You've come a long way since we were younger."

"Yeah yeah," I replied before quickly running out the door and into the janitor's closet by accident. What people didn't realize is that to be a comic, you need to have some kind of appearance. I'm a 6' 5" muscle man with long black hair that's usually tied back, a tattoo on his right shoulder of a mark me and a few of my friends invented, and three piercings in his left cartildge (upper ear). The beard that was once on my face was just shaved, and I go on stage talking about baby kittens and puppies and how I want to save a bear cub because they're adorable. I'm a great comedian (or so i'm told), but off stage i'm nothing like I am on stage. I don't take shit from anybody... Except the Mafia.

"HEY ROAD! YOU GOT SOMEBODY NAMED ISSAC HERE WHO WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!" Charles screamed from the front. I scrambled through the closet, and managed to grab a large mallet and a steel hammer. They were the only two things I could hide under the back of my black dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up too tight to hide anything there, i'd have to keep it in the back. I slipped the hammer into the space between my belt and my back, and then just held the mallet against my forearm as I stepped out to great Issac. He lead me outside and almost the second the door closed behind us his face went from friendly to buisness.

"Where the fuck is my money?" he growled.

"I don't have it, what do you expect me to do Issac? Kill people for it?" Issac actually stopped to think about it, and then smiled.

"That wouldn't be a bad idea, how would you like a job?" He stated. The only thing I could think of was my mugshot, but any other way it would be the photo of my body found in the rivers of Philli. That's not somewhere I wanted to be, even if I was dead. From inside the club the letters 'G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S' began to sound, they were playing Fergie. I fucking hate this song I thought as I grasped the mallet tighter. Killing a mob boss, wasn't a good plan, but it was what I had at the moment. "Roads? You gonna answer me?"

"Uh, sure... I'll take a job." He smiled, and looked each way up and down the alleyway before reaching underneath his jacket and unstrapping the silver 9mm pistol that he had.

"Take this, your job is tonight. Here's the directions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with words scribbled on it. "Good luck, we'll be watching."

"Yeah... Yeah..." I said to him. Look what I just fuckin' did, i'm a felon... I'm going to jail, i'm going to become somebody's bitch... Or... I rise the ranks of the mafia. And then kill the Don. That was where I knew what needed to be done. Me, once a simple comedian trying to make it, was going to topple the Organization. I was going to bend organized crime over and take it around town... Metaphorically of course, and hell... Maybe there were some girls in the mafia who wanted out? That would be nice, but highly unlikely. All I knew right now was that if I made it through this, it would make a GREAT comedy bit.