"St. Jimmy"

-

St. Jimmy's comin' down across the alleyway
Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade
Light of a silhouette
He's insubordinate
Coming at you on the count of 1,2,1,2,3,4!
-

"I'll give you the money!" the man shook harshly, throwing the keys over the desk. "The drugs! Anything! Just please-"

"Where's the rest of the company?" the perpetrator asked, easily swiping the keys off the desk. Company was a joke. The company was an illegal drug dealership. The head of the trade was an idiot, thinking that he was from a government agency to take him down. He wasn't that important for the government to go after him. Yet.

"The stuff is in the antique shop on Farrow Street," the man did not move from his place, cowering behind the desk. "All employees on the second level are a part of the deal."

"Good."

"Wait!" the man backed into his office chair which then rolled away from him. "I thought you said if I gave you what you wanted you would let me go!"

He laughed as he put on the silencer. "So I lied."

"What devil are you?"

Dib had thought a about it for a long time before deciding to take a different name. One that had nothing to do with the one who had slaughtered innocents. The drugs now were in effect, but he would always know the difference between who should live, and who he should kill.

"St. Jimmy," he told the man as he blew his brains out.

-
My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out
Suicide commando that your momma talked about
King of the forty thieves
And I'm here to represent
That needle in the vein of the establishment
-

"Dib, I-" she stopped herself.

"Hey Gretchen," Dib turned towards her, cutting away from his project of renovating the room that he had decided he would pretend to stay in. Maybe he would even sleep there, it depended on his new schedule. The broken building used to be a hotel, not a very large one, but one with probably fifteen rooms. As most of the people Dib took in when he (and a few others) cleared out the hotel from the gang that used to house themselves there, were used to sleeping by others, only six of the rooms were taken up. Who knew that the dead part of town had so much activity in it's bowels. Illegal of course.

Dib took one room for himself, the one that used to be a suite. He figured that he needed a place to keep his supplies and weapons. And then there was the fact that Gretchen would pester him that he needed a place to stay. He also had forgotten to take the cigarette out of his mouth before facing her.

"What is it?"

"I remembered you wanted people to call you Jimmy," she frowned.

Dib looked her over. "Those who don't know me, Gretchen. I want to cut myself out from my old life, since it's not as if I can go back there."

"Right," she shrugged, looking down. "D- I'm not sure about this, what exactly is going on? Don't you think that all of this taking is bad?"

"Taking from people who are dead isn't bad," Dib turned and continued to board up the window. "They don't need it anymore."

"Killing, Dib," Gretchen took his arm. "You're killing people."

"People who are as badly off as we are, some even better," Dib explained, putting down the hammer. "People who the world would be better off without. I give those who deserve it a second chance. Those downstairs agree with me."

"I don't want my brother to think that this is okay."

"Then I'll tell him it isn't," Dib sighed. "People in general won't help when you ask it of them, won't even let you work unless they think they can get more out of you then they have to give. What else can we do? In short, I'm even doing the people higher up a favour."

"I guess." Her shoulders were slumped in defeat.

"As soon as we're stably in, as soon as I can find a way to let all of these people live, it won't be necessary anymore," he grinned.

"Fine," she smiled nervously, taking the cigarette from between his teeth.

"Hey!" he reached for it as she dropped it on the floor and ground it under her heel.

"Sure, Jimmy," her smile widened as she turned and went back down the stairs. "The Terri family has been settled in the room by the first floor lobby window. Next time you're going to bring people, give us warning to set up a place, 'kay?"

"Set them all up then," he told her, unhappily stepping on the cigarette's ashes. "Cause I don't know if I'm bringing someone back."

-
I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
-

"Hey, St. Jimmy!"

"Jose!" Dib waved as the taller man came over. "How's Sara doing?"

"She's not coughing anymore," the dark skinned man said happily, "but I told her to stay in bed and not strain herself. It's okay if she stays in bed for a bit longer, right?"

"Absolutely!" Dib waved off the worried look. "We want her in top condition before making her do anything? It wouldn't be good to start off a coughing fit again."

"Thanks Jimmy!" Jose aimed a playful punch at his shoulder, which Dib dodged and returned with his own to Jose's back, which hit.

"You don't overdo it yourself, okay?"

"Whatever you say," Jose waved at him as he walked off.

It had only been two weeks, but Dib found himself with an unshakable position.

"Kayden, what did Greg and Audri say 'bout the place on Scythe Curb?"

It wasn't really named "Scythe Curb" but everything in the Dead city had a name that everyone else called it.

"Was that bastard there?" Kayden, the one who had been the one that Dib had first spoken too before the Casket burned down, had become a completely loyal follower of "St. Jimmy," which was helpful when it came to brute strength. "They thought they saw him. Go at it, Jimmy."

Dib nodded, recalling what Sara had said when he had gone to speak with her earlier.

"Dib? You saved me... that's a laugh. Why didn't you leave me there? You've got to be joking, most likely you just didn't know it was me. What's going on now? Everyone is calling you Jimmy... St. Jimmy? I almost would have believed it before actually seeing that it was you. Oh. I see. What are your plans? Kill him? I don't think you are- ...You... have? You really aren't the kid I picked on in school for being such a freak. You really shouldn't kill him. Sure, he knew we were there, and sure, he never seemed to care. He didn't care. I don't think he literally set it on fire to get rid of us. Fine. Do whatever you want. Oh, and... Jimmy. Do you still believe in aliens?"

Dib zipped up his coat and headed outside.

-
Cigarettes and ramen and a little bag of dope
I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe
Raised in the city under a halo of lights
The product of war and fear that we've been victimized
-

He swirled the noodles around his fork, lifting it to his mouth without much thought. Dib just stood there, waiting near the corner for the man that they wanted revenge on. He could even tell that Gretchen felt pained by the mention of the former owner of the Casket, who didn't even notice that it was on fire. In fact, they all were mad at the majority of society, who did not even bat an eyelid at a burning building in the Dead city. Barely knowing what he himself was doing, Dib did what he had promised them. He carved a place out of the city for them. It was not engraved in stone yet, but it would get there. Dib noticed that his memory kept with him if he had something constant on his mind. He didn't remember anything that happened in the warehouse, except what he recalled from years past now. He remembered his father, Gaz, and Zim. Dad... Gaz... I killed them.

Proving aliens didn't seem to be as big of a thing, now that he didn't have time for anything other than surviving the city. Zim hadn't been that big of a threat, now that he thought about it. His leaders banished him to earth. Zim had somewhat shut down then. About a month afterwards, he snapped back to himself, telling Dib that he didn't need his Tallest to tell him what to do, that he was going to take earth for himself.

Not that he ever had the chance. Dib took him as seriously as he always did, but Zim hadn't used any of his tricks, Zim never seemed to be trying.

This is what he's turned me into, Dib realized, staring at the bottom of his empty bowl. A victim that something was going to take over earth- no, that something would try to shove me down. I'm not going to take anymore.

He pulled out a cigarette, now that Gretchen wasn't around to stamp it out.

-
I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
-

The car pulled up, and his target stepped out. Dib set his bowl aside as he started walking over towards the building.

"-I don't want to hear it! No, no. I'm sorry. I have some business to finish up here. Yeah. What? I haven't looked at that warehouse for months. Probably not. Okay, tell the kids I love them. Bye. Love you." Mr. Penterun closed his cell phone and went into perhaps the cleanest building on that street.

Dib paused, now not sure. Children?

And flowers for the widow.

Dib threw up the rope and waited for the end to hook onto the opened window. He walked right through the broken glass, ignoring the one piece that cut through the bottom of his boot as he immediately started up the wall. He pressed himself against the wall as a light went by. Two cars in one night, suddenly they were popular.

"Sir?" a small voice came up to his ears.

Dib paused again and looked down at the ground eight feet beneath him. There were four people there, two of them children. Dib dropped down to them.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?" one of the young adults asked him. They were just as badly off as Casket's members, Dib realized.

"Do you happen to stick with a larger group of people?" Dib asked curiously. "Whom couldn't get a job in the city, just because of the prejudice that people with their necessities can't understand?"

"Not especially," said the oldest male, who wrapped his coat around the other man, who looked as if he were his brother. "Where we stay... there are others there... but we don't really associate with them."

"The Hotel on Caretaker's Way is open for people to drop by," Dib informed them.

"Hotel?" asked the youngest, probably about nine years old.

Dib nodded. "Welcome for people to stay, despite condition. You, and the people you're with can come at any time."

"But what are you doin'?" asked the young teenager, the one who spoke in the first place.

"Revenge for the little people," Dib started up the wall again. "Who, if I have my way, won't be little for much longer."

-
ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?
-

He vaulted over the window sill and headed through the hallway down to the single room that was lit. He walked up straight behind him, not secretly, but Penterun didn't turn.

"Not now, Mike."

"I came to kill you." That got his attention. Penterun turned around and froze at the sight of the gun.

"Why?" he whispered putting up his hands as Dib rested the barrel on his forehead.

"For the people you should have cared about," Dib said simply. Tears ran down the other's face.

-
"I'll give you something to cry about."
-
ST. JIMMY!
-

"Jimmy!" he was rushed by eight people, which three of them he didn't remember their names.

"Finished the job," Dib showed the wallet. "With as many people who don't really need their money around here, we could actually move into the city, at this rate."

"I don't know," said one. "I'm kind of getting fond of the Hotel."

"But with the money, we could go to the city and get supplies to fix it up!" another one exclaimed, flush in his cheeks.

"Will take a poll on it," Dib pondered. "What we need and what we think we want. I'll have some people go and do shopping." Shopping. That's been a while.

"Jimmy," another pushed through the three in front of him. "We've got a large group that says you've sent them."

Didn't think that they'd respond that fast. Dib nodded.

"You gonna sign them in like you did us?"

"Have to meet the renters," Dib grinned, patting him on the shoulder and passing them by, heading into the lobby, which was really a lobby, with as many people that had come in. Dib estimated that there was at least fourty people. New people. And they all had hope in their eyes.

-
My name is St. Jimmy I'm a son of a gun
I'm the one that's from the way outside
I'm a teenage assassin executing some fun
In the cult of the life of crime

-

"Excuse me," Dib said in a normal voice, but he got instant response from the entire group as they all quieted themselves. Dib stood up on the reception counter so he could be seen.

"My name is St. Jimmy, and I guess I'm what you would call the head of this outfit. I'm not going to lay any false pretenses, I have killed people, and I'm still in the business of murder. Reminder that all funds are going to go to the Hotel. It may be called the Hotel, but I'm not making you pay. Everyone here is going to work together, 'cause I've learned that it is easier to reach your goal if you have many people striving for the same thing.

"So, in hearing this, I'll let you decide whether you actually want to stick around here. If you're not, leave, no one is going to stop you and I can't say I would hate you for it. But, if you're going to stay here, I'll need you to line up so I can get your names and what you absolutely will not do. Everything else isn't necessary."

Dib noticed about three people leave as soon as he mentioned his occupation, but most stayed through the entire thing. He didn't notice any leave after that, but looking in their eyes, most of them were desperate. Desperate for someone who would help them get to their feet so they could tackle life on their own.

A line formed after a bit of talking amongst the crowd. One of the older women (whom Dib had forgotten the name, he figured he should look over his present list again) held out a chair behind the counter. Dib fell back into it, opening up the tattered notebook that had been donated for this purpose. Dib pulled out his water bottle (which no longer held water) and took a swig from it as he looked up to the first person in line.

-
I really hate to say it but I told you so
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down old boy
Welcome to the club and give me some blood
And the resident leader at the lost and found
-

"What's your name?"

"Zeph," was the reply he got. The teenage boy had black hair that looked how Dib's would if he cut it back to it's original height. He wore glasses as well, but his hair hid his eyes colour.

Dib rose an eyebrow, but Zeph didn't seem to want to give a last name. Dib shrugged and wrote it down.

"I won't be sent on a suicidal mission, that's all."

Dib grinned, getting ready for the long time that the line would take.

"That's what I do, Zeph. That's my job."

Zeph gave a nervous grin back, strengthened by Dib's outstretched hand as he took it.

"Welcome to the club, Zeph."

-
It's comedy and tragedy
It's St. Jimmy
And that's my nameeeeeee...and don't wear it out!

-

He left when the line appeared to be too long. Not that he knew what it was for, missing the entire speech. Keeping his hood up, he slid by the crowd, biting back a retort when someone accidentally brushed up against him. He couldn't let this... Jimmy that everyone spoke of notice him.

Dib was in here. He saw him enter this building and he would find him. Destroy him for what he had done to ZIM! Stranding Zim here, on this filthy planet! He would pay! Oh, how he would pay!

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

Apparently Sara isn't in denial. Zim sure is, but St. Jimmy is not his patron saint. More of him in the next chapter. Anyways, r&r, again. Like normal. Makes me happy to know that someone likes the chapter well enough to respond to it.