The Most Dangerous Dame

I set the Mean Ol’ Broad on the telephone stand and strode toward the door, my shoulders clenched as though expecting a slug in the back. My trigger finger felt extra twitchy with nothing to pull. There was no guarantee the phantom voice would keep his word. For all I knew he would squirt metal anyway as soon as I was down the hall. After all, I was putting my trust in the same skel that slit Sophia’s throat and tossed her body in the river. But at the same time, I had no choice but to do as requested. My heart pumped diesel fuel as I practically ran for the elevator. On the way I tapped a text to Ben the Bear on my holoband.

GET TO ROOM 2047. GUARD GIRL WITH YOUR LIFE. I’ll EXPLAIN LATER.

Sheets of rain fell when I stepped from the protective awning and into the alleyway. It was instantly familiar — the same alley where I caught some trouble boys beating Mr. Luzzatti within an inch of his life. It was then I learned about his debt problems and the raw deal he made that wound up getting him and his old lady killed.

I walked in further, trying to make out anything in the downpour. In my haste I’d forgotten to put on my flogger, so I was instantly soaked to the skin. Only the brim of my Bogart kept the rain from completely blinding me. The buildings were dark towering shadows, concrete giants that long ago ceased to care about the violent and desperate acts that took place at their feet. The other end of the alley was a hundred yards away. The only thing in between was a hunched shape I recognized as a large trash compacter.

My breath exhaled in a vaporous cloud as I squinted and looked around. “Where the hell are you?”

“Behind you.”

I whirled around. The silhouetted figure was lean in build, draped in a long flogger with his face shaded by a wide-brimmed Bogart. Vision was pretty poor, but I found it easy to focus on the Mark.38 suppressed semi-automatic pistol because it was aimed directly at me.

The soft spitting sound of the shots was a direct contrast to the pain that exploded in my chest and midsection as the slugs penetrated at close range. I tumbled backward and hit the wet asphalt, my vision hazy and my limbs refusing to respond. Trying to breathe was agony, my lungs felt flattened by a stack of bricks. I settled for helplessly gasping as rain pelted my face, the droplets glittering from the lights high above where air traffic flowed uncaringly with computer-guided precision.

I heard the triggerman’s approach before his silhouetted figure blotted out the view. He stood there for an eternity with the handgun pointed directly at my shuddering face. Water slid down the cold metal, streaming from the end of the barrel onto my forehead. His features were still obscured by his Bogart, transforming him into a faceless angel of Death with my life in his hands.

After a seeming eternity he lowered the pistol and strode away. The wind whipped through, flailing his flogger and allowing me a view of his slender legs and willowy stride. I almost choked with bitter laughter.

He wasn’t a man at all. The hips and legs under the flogger were definitely feminine.

The dame strode past quickly, out of my line of sight and into the thundering downpour. The sound of her footsteps quickly faded away along with my consciousness, morphing the rain into a myriad of shimmering jewels flitting across murky shadows.

Everything turned crimson as my blood clouded the puddle I lay in. My heartbeat pulsed softer as the pain fled my body and a chill settled in. The last thing I heard was smooth jazz music from the dingy nightclub just around the corner. The harmony of the sax, trumpet, bass and drums blended into a heartbreaking refrain. The sound warbled in my ears, accompanying the staccato of the rain to create the most depressing harmony ever.

It was the perfect soundtrack to die to.

Chapter 11: Dying Is Easy

Recovering consciousness was a grim combination of underwater sounds, a sudden rush of blinding light, and a rock concert of pain gremlins exploding my head. I grimaced, trying to make it all go away. Reality wouldn’t cooperate. A mixed bag of scents tickled my nostrils: sterile hospital air, stale medicine, soap and leather, and the faintest aroma of herbal shampoo and lavender.

My voice croaked like a dying toad. “Natasha?”

“I’m here, Mick.”

My hands scrabbled blindly until they found hers. I heaved a sigh of relief and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the glare of white light. Blurred figures slowly focused, morphing from creepily obscure shadows into the recognizable faces of people that apparently cared if I lived or died.

Ben the Bear hulked in the corner with a dejected expression on his mug for some reason. Poddar sat in a chair nearby. He shrugged in a bemused manner when he caught my gaze. Ms. Kilby sat beside him, eyeing me in her deliberate manner. Detective Flask leaned against the wall with his arms folded, looking bleary-eyed as though he’d been roused from his sleep.