Pandemonia City

I cleared the bastard but the bike's tires skidded in the algae scum on contact with the concrete and I lost control. I tumbled from the bike, smacking the scummed walk with my shoulder and hip. The machine went off the concrete and was submerged in a good three feet of water. The engine coughed then gave up the ghost, the cycle's headlight illuminating the oil and gasoline bubbling to the surface of the glowing algae water.

I struggled up to my feet. I seemed to be all right aside from being a little bruised, the leather coat, helmet, and riding gloves saving me from serious abrasions. I walked the rest of the way to a rusty access ladder and ascended up into the night, shoving open a manhole cover.

:.

The full Moon's pearly light burnished the drifting clouds which alternately revealed and obscured her face. The breakup of the persistent overcast was a sure sign of the end of the storm season.

The gun from my shoulder holster, fitted with a silencer, coughed in the night and the sentry went down with a dull thump to the gravel. I moved as fast and as quietly as I could to the machine shop's cement-block wall. I didn't waste time trying to peek through the grimy windows but caught hold of an iron downspout and climbed up on the shop's roof. There, I looked down through the open panels of the skylight.

I could see Claudia sprawled on the floor of the shed's office. She didn't look so hot. There were three men in there with her. Vinnie, Big Mouth and a guy I hadn't seen before. The rest of Vinnie's gang were hanging around on the machine shop's warehouse floor.

The reconnaissance done, I jumped down form the roof and directly in front of another lookout. I fired twice into his chest, the silenced gun coughing, and he went down quietly enough. I wasted no time in smacking explosive to the front door and setting the detonator. Then I ran around to the huge sliding doors of the shop and planted more of the putty and set the timer. That done, I once more climbed to the roof and the skylight.

A couple of minutes later there was an almighty explosion. The boom and smoke distracted everyone as it was supposed to. While they were all looking toward the front door, I climbed through the skylight. My shoes hit the concrete floor and I grabbed a grenade from my pocket, then pulled its pin with me teeth and hauled one of my guns from its holster.

"Hello, Vinnie. You wanted to see me?"

The mobster turned from the ruins of the warehouse front door and his eyes widened when he saw me in his midst with a gun in one hand and the unpinned grenade in the other. After a few moments he regained his composure.

"Yeah, I did, gumshoe." He sniffed the air. "You stink."

"Nice of you to notice."

"Smart, you used the sewers. No wonder my lookouts didn't see you."

"Does that matter right now?"

"No, I guess it don't. I need to know a couple of things from you, tho' that do."

"Sure, only first the doll goes free. That's non-negotiable."

Vinnie looked me in the eye as he thought about. I suppose he must've saw my serious intent. "Big, go get the skirt."

"Vinnie, this dinge asshole--"

"I said get her," Vinnie rasped, not taking his gaze from me.

Big Mouth fetched Claudia from the office, he held had her by the upper arms, supporting her. She was as limp as a rag doll in his grip. Her dress was torn in several places, her gorgeous red hair dishelved. Her left eye blackened and swollen over. There were streaks of blood down her legs. Her flesh was vampire pale. I made myself not react. The man I hadn't recognized, who looked vaguely familiar, came out of the office behind her.

Her right eye widened when she saw me. "I knew you'd come," she said in a watery voice. I did not like the lack of strength behind it.

"You run along now, angel. I'll catch up with you."

"Theo, come with me."

"I'll be right behind you, doll. Go." I made my voice rough. It was better that way.

Vinnie jerked his head and Big Mouth half dragged her to the back door and opened it for her. When he let go Claudia leaned on the doorway for a moment then she staggered into the night, out of direct firing range. At least that much had gone to plan.

I looked around. "All of you mugs've got a bill due for what you did to her."

"Yeah. You got us shaking, Titan," said the stranger to me. "Now, what the fuck did you tell Scaliari about me?"

"I don't know what're talking about."

"Stop trying to stall. The broad couldn't've gotten too far. Why don't I send one of the boys to bring her back in here and we can start all over."

"Alright. He wanted to know about the Wright dame. He wanted to make sure she wasn't mixing Johnnie Romano up in any crooked shit. I did some snooping and told him he wasn't involved with her."

He looked skeptical. "Uh huh. If that's true why'd he put out a hit contract on me right after you was with him this afternoon?"

That made him Dominenci. "He did?"

"Don't go all innocent on me now, Titan. We was just starting to get along."

"I'm as in the dark as you are, Dominenci. I didn't know shit about a contract until you told me."

"Maybe not, but I'll lay twelve to one you know why the old man wants me killed."

Before I could make up my mind whether to lie or tell the truth, the second explosive went off, blasting the big steel sliding doors off their tracks. While everyone reacted in surprise and most of the overhead lamps went out, I threw the grenade into the midst of Vinnie's thugs, then jumped behind a steel tool rack. The grenade exploded and suddenly the odds had vastly improved in my favor.

I circled around the rack and saw the dust-covered and blinking Vinnie wiping at his eyes with one hand and waving his gun in the other. I grabbed his hand, a finger covering his trigger-finger and forced him to shoot, again and again until the revolver was empty. I pistol-whipped him about the face as hard as I could, giving into the anger which had been simmering since his phone call. His face was a pulpy mess when he fell to the floor.

"Nine punks against one frail. Not good, Vinnie, not even close to being good." And I shot him in the crotch. He screamed loud, a strangulated falsetto which under other circumstances might've been pitiful. I found it gratifying.

"My dick!" He screamed, both hands to his bloody pants. "You shot my dick off. My balls," he wailed.

"Don't worry," I said, looking down at him. "You won't be needing them." And I put him out of his misery with two shots to the head.

"Hands up, fuckface." Came Big Mouth's voice from behind me. "Try anything funny and I'll blow your burr-head clean off."

I raised my hands, letting the gun dangle by the trigger guard then I turned and saw the gun in Big Mouth's hand. The machine pistol looked small wrapped in the meaty paw of the obese wise guy, but I knew that the gun was plenty big enough. And so, I paid for my moment of anger, for allowing it to distract me in the midst of the danger.

"Now, drop the heater, wise-guy, and kick it over to me. Raise your hands."

I did as I was told. All I had left was to play for time.

Big Mouth scowled. "Ya just had to queer the deal, didn't you, dinge? I won't miss you being around," he sneered.

"Wait," bellowed Domenici, emerging into the light of a swinging ceiling fixture. "I wanna know what this bastard told the old man."

Then I recognized the face. Domenici.

"Alright, gumshoe, talk."

"Sure, I said, but tell me something first. Where's Wright? Dead?"

Dominenci blinked. He glanced away for a moment, as if embarrassed.

"Yeah. Dead," he said, then turned to face me again. His lips compressed together and his brow furrowed. "She was getting too mouthy. The stupid broad. What a waste. I really liked her, too." He said the last with true regret in his voice. Enough regret that said he had more than liked her.

"She's not shutting up," he said, suddenly. "About the watch. She's on a binder over the goddamn dingus, still, after I tell her to cheese it with blabbing about it being stolen. She says she's not some bimbo guinea bitch from Guernsey to hang some hot jewelry on. She says it just shows what a first-class wop asshole I am. A first class asshole, a third-class lover, and tighter than a Jew. How I damn well better buy her a new watch, from Tiffany's, and that she is by my side when its bought and paid for. And I'm shouting at her to shut the fuck up, to just shut the fuck up before I get mad.

"But she's into one of her work-ups, pushing her fingers into her hair, making it spike, her eyes big and angry. Its making her look ugly. I hate ugly broads. When she is like this it goes on for hours. A crazy broad. Ranting. And I am not in the mood for this. Too much pressure, way too much right now to put up with a crazy doll on the rampaging rag and I am telling her so. Shut up before I make you, I says.

"She laughs at me. That crazy fucking laugh of hers when she's boiling over. And she's saying, she says I couldn't make her shut her trap on my best day and besides, if I tried she'd get me but good. And I says to shut up and get out and that its over. But she just keeps laughing and says nothing's over until she says so. Then she tells me she cops the ledgers from my safe the night I tell her precious watch was stolen so its hot. Tit for tat, she screams and tells me if I want the ledgers back I'd better do a quick-step down to the jewelry store right smart and get her a new dingus.

"I snaps at that. I walk across the room and I am catching her around the throat, angry." And he fell silent, his confession done. For a moment he stared at me, an expression of anguish on his face. "If she had shut the fuck up she'd be alive today."

"Love stinks."

My words were like ice water throw in his face. The hard mobster returned. "Maybe so. Now, what did you give the Don on me?"

"Your phone records," I told him, honestly. There was nothing to lose.

Dominenci nodded. "Shit. That easy, huh?"

I shrugged. "Nobody can think of everything. We all fuck up."

"I guess, you would know," he said, leveling his gun.

I dropped and rolled, feeling my face peppered by chips of the concrete from his impacted slug. I reached for my ankle gun and without pulling it from the holster I shot, Dominenci. Getting him in the chest. Then, a heavy foot kicked my gun hand and my fingers went numb. Big Mouth reached down and pulled the gun from its holster. I rolled to my feet, not wanting to die on my back.

I looked at him. He smiled at me. "Okay, shine. Ya ticket gets punched tonight. Right now."

There was a bang, the loudest I'd ever heard. I flinched, grimacing and felt hot blood splatter against my coat. For a moment, for the longest moment in my life, I thought I'd been gut shot. Then I saw the big man before me drop to the floor. From beneath the unmoving mobster spread a dark puddle of blood. From behind him, lie Claudia, her right arm extended out, upward, and holding a smoking revolver.

I went to her, going down on one knee, taking her hand in mine and relieving her of the heater. "You're a mess."

"Sorry," she sighed. "Are they dead?"

"Yeah. All of em, you got the last bastard, baby."

"Good." Then she died, just like that, relaxing on the dirty concrete floor.

Life is indifferent to fairness, fairness being only a concept after all. Still, Claudia Storm deserved better than what she got. The big sleep was a pretty stiff sentence for stealing a lousy watch she didn't even keep.

The front of my coat was a dripping pizza splat of offal where Bigmouth's former innards had exploded against me. I wiped most of it off before catching the doll up in my arms, then I walked slowly from the warehouse with her lifeless in my arms, leaving the Moustache Pete outfit all dead in my wake.

:.

Three days after she died Claudia Storm was buried in the rain.

Being a popular doll, Claudia had dozens of friends, she got a great send-off. During the service it was standing room only. During the review of the body I didn't go up to the casket. I didn't trust myself not to break down like some weepy chorus boy.

At the cemetary security was needed to keep curious fans away from the grave during the burial. I stood apart, listening to the minister ritual words, finding no comfort in them whatsoever.

The casket was finally lowered into the ground and the mourners began to disperse. And a sweet-natured judy who hadn't seen twenty-nine summers was buried proper. I turned and began to walk out of the graveyard for a cabstand a couple of blocks over. However, outside the cemetary gates was a long limo at the curb, inconspicuous among the other big black cars. A back window rolled down and I saw the lined face of Don Scarliari. He was not someone I wanted to see. I'd had enough of mobsters to last a lifetime.

"Allow me to give you a lift, Mr. Titan," the old man said and opened the door. He scooted over on the bench seat.

What the hell, a ride was a ride and it was raining. I got in.

"Where to?"

"My place. Twelve-hundred block Halston Street."

"Take us there, Jack," Scaliari told the driver.

"Yes sir."

"My condolences."

I only nodded.

"I don't mean to intrude on your grief but I feel haven't compensated you for your effort on my behalf. Given the events at the warehouse."

"Forget it."

"I always pay my debts, Mr. Titan." He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket inside pocket and placed it in my lap.

I picked it up, hardly aware of doing so, and pocketed it. "Thanks," I said in reflex.

"Actually, its me thanking you. Your efforts saved me a great deal of trouble, possibly my life."

"If that's true then your thanks should go to the girl they just buried. She snatched the watch that lead to the lid coming off the whole nasty business."

The old man nodded. "God indeed works in mysterious ways. If not for her there might be blood running in the streets right now."

"Gangster blood. I'll trade the whole bad lot to get her back."

The don didn't respond to that. The limo drove on through the rain as we sat in silence while I contemplated the fact that I was alive due to the last act of a dying frail. A woman I had set out to save. Scaliari was wrong,God, the Universe, or whatever wasn't mysterious, it was just perverse as all get out. Suddenly, the car was too stuffy, too confining.

"Pull over anywhere along here," I said. "I need to walk."

The don nodded and instructed his driver to stop. I opened the door, but before I could get out, Scaliari's liver-spotted hand closed around my wrist. "Your being in pain proves you a decent man, Mr. Titan. You must grieve, but there will come a time when it ends. Take care. Contact me if ever you have need of my help."

It was a stand-up thing to say. I nodded and left the limo. The tires of the long black machine hissed over the wet asphalt as it pulled away. I cinched the belt of my trenchcoat tighter, hunched my shoulder against the wind and pulled my hat lower over my face.

The thing about a hard rain is that a man can cry in it with no one the wiser.

Heading home, I passed a newsstand on a corner. The cover of one of the magazines fluttering in a rack read, Johnnie Goes To Hollywood.

Good for Johnnie.

-end-