Bootleg
Legacy Name: Bootleg

Story

Bootleg leaned against the wall and stared into the tiny shop across the street. He tapped his scythe against the wall, waiting for the proper moment. After a minute of observing, he watched as a large man, his face hidden beneath the hood of his jacket walked into the store. An unnerving smile appeared on Bootleg's bony face as he followed the man in through the door.

Rows of designer purses filled the walls of the shop. Bootleg stepped silently around the man and came to rest behind the glass display case of watches. He scowled at the sight of the merchandise. Fool, Bootleg thought. These fakes aren't worth a penny. I could spot these a mile away. Of course, Bootleg had a keener eye than some, having worked in the counterfeit business for many years before his death. But he wasn't here to look at the merchandise; he was more interested in its owner.

The man who had entered the shop disappeared into a back room. He returned moments later carrying a cardboard box. Stepping out of the main door, he looked quickly about at the street and then shut, and locked, the door. He flipped the sign to 'Closed' and waited. As the man stood there beside the box, nervously tapping his fingers, Bootleg saw the man's hands go towards his waist, where a gun lay concealed. When he reached towards the gun, his sleeve slipped up, revealing a small X on his wrist.

Bootleg clenched the bones that were all that were left of his hands. The tattoo was the marking of his rival gang, the North End, who constantly got into turf wars with the other gangs over who they were dealing drugs to. It had been a member of the North End gang who had gotten Bootleg at last. He was just on a typical buy, picking up some goods from his supplier, when, on the way back to his apartment, he had been stopped by a gang member. The North End-er had held up a gun and told him to hand over the goods, but, Bootleg being the man he was, reached for his gun instead. It hadn't ended well for him. Since then, he had spent his time watching men like the shop owner in their final moments of life, waiting to drag them down to the depths of hell, where they would suffer for their actions in life.

Just then, a man walked by the store. Bootleg got a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm as he raised his gun and began shooting. It was time to collect another soul.

Credits:
Profile by Ringo
Wonderful Prose by Shakespeare
Art by Boofrickityhoo