#Harry pierpont is not real

[spacedoutman]

【𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤】

(𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭)

Description: They called themselves Kiss, deciding the moment they joined, they'd kiss everything goodbye in exchange for going out in a blaze of glory. But is it really worth it? Is anything really worth it?

(Heavily inspired off the Dillinger gang + Pretty boy Floyd.)

♥ X

Note: I wrote this at 1:42 a.m and finished it at 2:20 am. I am running on no sleep for the past few days. It's canon, Peter Criss wears a stetson and dresses like walking dollar bills. Ace has had about thirty death scares and looks like a farmer (Reference: Homer van Meter) , Paul has been arrested twice and Gene had an edgy phase a little too early.

(I have so much lore for this | Art is Gerda Wegener, Queen of Hearts)

Warnings: Violence

!𝐚𝐨𝟑

Cackling and gunshots made for a terrible chorus—oh, and screaming. There was a hell of a lot of that. Ace’s legs shook as he sent a fury of bullets into the crowd after the pure gold chandelier. His heart jumped like he’d been shocked. His shoulder threatened to fly out of socket as his Tommy gun kicked like a mule. The light was so bright it burnt.

He stumbled back into Paul, who gripped his colt, jerking it to any unfortunate soul in the crowd who dared to twitch. His eyes rested ungodly wide. He breathed shakily, Ace pulling him a bit as he fell.

“You gonna’ give us what we want?” Gene snapped to a low growl as he let the rough sack sink over his shoulder.

The bank teller’s eyes widened. More people dropped. He stumbled back, slamming against the larger-than-life safe. Crystals glimmered in the sunlight as they dropped off the chandelier like rain. Ace jumped to catch as many as he could. “Ace, you’re supposed to be watching!” Paul hissed, pushing Ace off. Ace wobbled back, giggling as Gene kicked open the golden gate, storming around the counter.

He pressed his fingers into the teller’s face, pulling him over hard. He made it look easy. He glared at him through a wicked gaze. The man’s chest caved with every shallow breath he took. Gene grinned as he watched the cold sweat pour down his face. “What’s your name?” Gene taunted slyly, caressing his cheek.

Paul gulped. Hard. Ace shoved him away. “Back off.” Ace groaned, more bored than anything. He combed a hand through his messy hair. The teller’s eyes darted to the rest of the staff, who cowered against the sparkling fence separating them from the rest of the lobby. Paul rushed in, his heels clicking and reflection racing across the blue marble tiles.

Gene could hear Paul’s heart thudding through his ribs. Paul leaned to the counter, snatching everything that even looked valuable. His head was about to burst.--oh. He also grabbed the shotgun. “You know what?” Gene reached in his pocket with his spare hand. “I like that. What’s the code?” The teller shook his head rapidly.

“It’s a time lock!” He shrunk as far down as Gene would let him.

Gene looked down from a lifted chin. A smirk spread on his lips. “Is it?” Amusement drenched his voice. “You’ the manager?”

Paul raced out, slamming the gate behind him. His hat threatened to fly off. “I like those pearls.” Ace said childishly, holding out his open hand. Large, gaudy pearls hung around a lady’s neck. She reached back with trembling hands, barely able to hold herself up as her legs turned to jello. The man beside her held himself. A tight scowl landed straight on his face. “—Oh, and I’ll take your rings.”

“Paul, is anyone outside?” Gene’s shouts echoed through the massive bank.

Paul hopped over the sprawled out bodyguard and the pool of red. He raced to the window, sliding the dramatic gilded-maroon curtains out of the way. A crowd started to gather and no one in it looked particularly happy. Paul jerked to face Gene, who leaned closer to the teller, flicking his tongue like a snake. Ace climbed onto a desk, swinging his legs to and fro like a kid.

“Peter, work your magic.” Paul huffed, barely able to even chase his breath even though the smell of fine perfume was appetizing.

Papers flew off along with a jar as Paul caught himself on another desk. Ink splashed. He held his machine gun tight, crouching behind it and gulping down his thudding heart. His ribs were too tight for it to go down. Ace’s laughter boomed louder than any explosion. Gene smirked, backing out with the teller. He took him by the hair and turned him around to face the vault. The teller gasped.

Peter Criss straightened his silk tie. His face was straighter. He wore a dull look as he slid his sleek black bag off his shoulders, kneeling in front of the safe. The teller gulped down vomit. “Come on out, girls.” Gene cooed, glancing at the all male staff, who could win a record for how fast they did what they were told.

Peter grabbed his bag and walked out, dusting his hands like he wasn’t robbing a bank. Ace curled up on the desk, chest burning from laughter. He forced out little sob-wheezes and clutched his bowler hat tight to his head. Paul dropped his gun, throwing his hands over his ears. Gene dropped the teller, doing the same and crouching away.

BANG!

Ace screamed and giggled as his heart picked up pace. The adrenaline pumping through their veins numbed them, just like the intense, grating ringing. Gene swept his bag off the floor, blowing a kiss to the teller, who hugged himself tight as possible. Gene backwards jogged, tipping his hat before spinning around and speeding in.

The safe door creaked before—CRASHHH!!! It fell like a boulder, denting the floor. Peter ran over with a couple bags.

“Watch them, Ace!” Paul cried, holding back panic as he rushed for it.

Gene held his jaw from dropping. He had never seen anything like it for the third time. Peter’s bags were already almost full. Paul stumbled and fell. It was like being a pirate and stumbling on millions of years of treasure. Cash was stacked to heaven—aka, the roof of the shiny, dark grey safe. Gene clutched his chest as his heart leapt over a beat so hard it hurt.

“Get packing!” Paul cried, his voice breaking a bit.

Gene knelt. Ace slung himself up. “Alright, the lot of you..” He purred all flirty, resting his finger on his lower lip. “Whose ready to play a game of.. drop or get shot?” The thirty or so people hit the ground. Ace cackled, lifting his gun from beside him like it was his baby. A man stood up. He opened his mouth. Ace narrowed his eyes. A tight, long smile crept across his lips.

“You don’t want to play?”

Ace made a circle around the end before running his finger down the barrel. He watched like he was thinking over something. He couldn’t be more wrong. He looked back at the man, his hands shaking as adrenaline pumped. The man’s eyes were shut tight and his face contorted in fear. His arms were glued to his sides. He could hardly stand.

Ace was bordering euphoric.

He aimed the thing. The man’s eyes shot open as he tried to choke up anything before—

-he toppled like a domino. Gunshots exploded. A blood-curdling scream burst from Ace as he joined him, his neck almost snapping as he somersaulted over the desk, crashing into the floor hard enough to shatter every bone in his body. Paul whipped around. Gene joined him. Paul glanced before turning right back to look.

“T-The.. the fuck?” Peter stammered.

He could barely be heard over shots which fired like whole ass explosions. Their ears all rang like hell. Peter clenched the bag, freezing for a split second then hitting the ground. Paul’s rasping breaths quickened. His chest clutched his lungs as his whole body curled in on itself. He shut his eyes as tight as possible, screaming in horror. Gene’s breath fled.

He sobered like a drunk man as his eyes tried to dart from each row of fire. The curtains fell like feathers. Zipping ripped through the air along with a sharp stench as bullets smashed into and bounced off the walls, gates and even a couple people. A vacant look landed on Gene’s face as dizziness hit him.

“.. F-Faster!” He faltered, grabbing Peter’s shoulder and shaking him quickly. “Oh god, what the hell are we gonna’ do?!”

Peter yanked himself up. “Peter, Peter.. no..” Paul whispered through his clenching throat, Gene shaking him harder. Peter fell in on himself. Memories raced through his head. Paul just knew Peter was going to get up. “It’s a death run!” Each word flew through one ear and out the other. Peter grabbed his gun tight, standing up and racing straight into the fire.

Gene fell back against the counter. Paul did too. Shouting blared. Ace’s scratchy, guttural wails echoed like they were in a cathedral. Sirens made for a nice instrumental. Shock and horror melted off his voice. Paul exploded into terrified sobs. Gene’s head fell. He shut his eyes tight as possible. Peter shouted taunts and curses in a furious storm, racing from window to window and firing.

Gene’s lids were dyed red. His heart not only dropped into his stomach but hit every bump and ridge on the way. His legs grew weak. His gun slid from his hand.

Heat layered in the already burning room. Sparks hissed like a yard of angry cats. A firework flew in.

Maybe being in it to die wasn’t so worth it now.

[47burlm]

July 22nd 1934

Outside Chicago’s Biograph Theatre, notorious criminal John Dillinger–America’s “Public Enemy No. 1″–is killed in a hail of bullets fired by federal agents. In a fiery bank-robbing career that lasted just over a year, Dillinger and his associates robbed 11 banks for more than $300,000, broke jail and narrowly escaped capture multiple times, and killed seven police officers and three federal agents.

John Dillinger was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, in 1903. A juvenile delinquent, he was arrested in 1924 after a botched mugging. He pleaded guilty, hoping for clemency, but was sentenced to 10 to 20 years at Pendleton Reformatory. While in prison, he made several failed escapes and was adopted by a group of professional bank robbers led by Harry Pierpont, who taught him the ways of their trade. When his friends were transferred to Indiana’s tough Michigan City Prison, he requested to be transferred there too.

In May 1933, Dillinger was paroled, and he met up with accomplices of Pierpont. Dillinger’s plan was to raise enough funds to finance a prison break by Pierpont and the others, who then would take him on as a member of their elite robbery gang. In four months, Dillinger and his gang robbed four Indiana and Ohio banks, two grocery stores, and a drug store for a total of more than $40,000. He gained notoriety as a sharply dressed and athletic gunman who at one bank leapt over the high teller railing into the vault.

With the help of two of Pierpont’s women friends, Dillinger set up the jailbreak. Guns were bought and arranged to be smuggled into Michigan City Prison. Prison workers were bribed, and a safe house was set up. On September 22, however, just days before the jailbreak was scheduled to occur, Dillinger was arrested in Dayton, Ohio. Four days later, Pierpont and nine others broke out of Michigan City. Pierpont’s gang robbed a bank in Ohio for $11,000 and on October 12 came to Ohio to free Dillinger from the Lima city jail. The Lima sheriff was killed during the successful breakout. On October 30, the gang robbed a police arsenal, acquiring weapons, ammunition, and bulletproof vests.

The Pierpont/Dillinger gang robbed banks in Indiana, Wisconsin, and Chicago for more than $130,000, a great fortune in the Depression era, and eluded the police in several close encounters. In January 1934, the gang headed to Tucson, Arizona, to lay low. By this time, four police officers had been killed and two wounded, and the Chicago police had established an elite squad to track down the fugitives. They were recognized in Tucson and on January 25 captured without bloodshed.

Dillinger was extradited to Indiana, arraigned for his January 15 murder of Indiana police officer William Patrick O’Malley, and held at Crown Point prison. On March 3, while still awaiting trial, he executed his most celebrated escape. That morning, he brandished a gun and methodically began locking up the prison officials. The legend is that the weapon was a wooden gun carved by Dillinger and blackened with shoe polish, but it may also have been a real gun smuggled into the prison by an associate. Whatever the case, Dillinger raided the prison arsenal, where he found two sub-machine guns, and then enlisted the aid of another prisoner, an African American man named Herbert Youngblood. Dillinger and Youngblood then made their way to the prison garage, where they stole a sheriff’s car and calmly drove off–after pulling the ignition wires from the other vehicles parked there.

Parting ways with Youngblood, Dillinger traveled to Chicago and formed a new gang featuring “Baby Face” Nelson, a psychopathic killer who used to work for Al Capone. The new Dillinger gang robbed banks in South Dakota and Iowa, netting $101,500 and wounding two more police officers. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) joined the manhunt for Dillinger after he escaped from Crown Point, and on March 31 two FBI agents closed in on him at an apartment in St. Paul, Minnesota. Dillinger and an accomplice shot their way out.

In April, the Dillinger gang went to hide out at a resort in Wisconsin, but the FBI was tipped off. On April 22, the FBI stormed the resort. In a disastrous operation, three civilians were mistakenly shot by the FBI, one of whom died; Baby Face Nelson killed one agent, shot another, and critically wounded a police officer; the entire Dillinger gang escaped.

With two other gang members, Dillinger traveled to Chicago, surviving a shoot-out with Minnesota police along the way. In Chicago, he lived in a safe house and got a facelift to conceal his identity. At some point, he also used acid to burn off his fingerprints. On June 30, he participated in his last robbery, in South Bend, Indiana. The gang got away with about $30,000 at the cost of one officer killed, four civilians shot, and one gang member shot.

In July, Anna Sage, a Romanian-born brothel madam in Chicago and friend of Dillinger’s, agreed to cooperate with the FBI in exchange for leniency in an upcoming deportation hearing. She also hoped to cash in on the $10,000 bounty that had been put on his head. On July 22, Sage and Dillinger went to see the gangster movie Manhattan Melodrama at the Biograph Theatre around the corner from her house. Twenty FBI agents and police officers staked out the theater and waited for him to emerge with Sage, who would be wearing an orange dress to identify herself.

At 10:40 p.m., Dillinger came out. Sage’s orange dress looked red under the Biograph’s lights, which would earn her the nickname “the lady in red.” Dillinger was ordered to surrender, but he took off running. He made it as far as an alley at the end of the block before he was gunned down, allegedly because he pulled a gun. Two bystanders were wounded in the gunfire. Public Enemy No. 1, as FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover had deemed him, was dead.