Chapter 1: Cracker Jack Team

Tyler Pennington looked out his 3^rd story apartment window. He saw a man in the ally holding a gun to a lady’s head. Tyler walked to his closet and pulled out his pistol, complete with a silencer. He examined it and loaded it. Tyler closed the closet and walked to the window. He pulled up his gun, and took aim of the man’s leg. He fired and turned back into his apartment. Tyler jumped on the couch and turned it to I Love Lucy.

The man in the ally-way limped away. The lady being held at gunpoint picked up her purse, and looked up at the apartment complex in front of her. She was alluded to who had shot him, but very thankful.

Tyler walked into the kitchen, and poured himself some coffee. He sipped at it then said out loud, “Shitty way to start off the day.” Tyler yawned, then walked into his bedroom. His bedroom was small, so Tyler only had a twin bed in it.

Tyler was tall with short dark hair, and a five-o-clock shadow. He had a six-pack, because he worked out at least every other day, and was naturally buff. Tyler had a scar on his right breast from a knife. Tyler remembered he pulled the knife out of him and stabbed the man who stabbed him. After that he blacked out, he woke up in the hospital. He found the knife lying on the counter and took it. Now Tyler was never without that big bowie knife. He kept it as kinda a memento of when he was close to death.

* * *

Robert McCarthy walked down the stairs of his two-story farmhouse. Everyone called Robert, Bob. Bob had light brown hair and a thin mustache. He just woke up so he was wearing boxer shorts and a wife beater. Complete with his underwear was a leather holster. The holster held Bob’s Duel Peacemakers, his two trusty revolvers. Why Bob would be wearing them in the morning, no one knows.

Bob was very free spirited, and kinda weird. He was thin but very muscular. He had a strong southern accent, which made everyone think of him as a redneck. Bob walked over to the front door off his run down house. He tugged on the door, it didn’t budge. Bob pulled out his pistol and shot the door handle. He twirled the gun on his finger, accidentally firing a round into the ceiling.

“Damn,” Bob said, “That’s the third time.” Bob walked outside, to see his paperboy staring at him. Bob waved the put his gun back in its holster. “Hey Jimbo, paper wok treating ya good?”

Jimmy just nodded and rode of on his bike. Bob walked down the driveway and picked up the newspaper. He flipped through them and found his section. “Ah the comic, lets see what’s with the orange kitty-cat.” He took the rest of the newspaper and threw it behind him.

Bob looked up from the newspaper, and turned around. The second story to his house was on fire, “Oh shit, musta left my iron on.” He ran inside to get some last minute things.

Bob came running out in his right hand was a blue flannel plaid shirt, his jeans, and cowboy boots. In his left hand was a six-pack of beer. He slipped on his cloths and pulled out a beer. He sipped it and said, “Damn, I couldn’t save my whisky collection.” There was a loud bang, “There it is. My mamma’s ganna be pissed.