by Lex H Jones
“You want me to look at the photographs?” Carl asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Ah no, ye see, I think it’s yerself and the good lady here that’s on these here pictures. Only thing is, I can’t be sure, ye know? Now, I could just kill yez anyway, but the Captain was very particular about our work tonight. Only to kill the two on these photos, we are. If that ain’t yerselves, then we’d be getting into some trouble. So, what I’d like ye to do is take out yer wallets and show your driving licences to me. Think me eyes can focus enough to read yer names, then I’ll be sure, ye see.”
“And if it’s not us in the photos?” Felicity asked, keeping behind Carl but finding the courage to speak to the obvious nut-case holding the shining cutlass.
“Then we be letting ye go, Miss,” said Willy, taking a slight bow as he spoke to his first lady of the evening.
“Why don’t I believe that?” Carl asked with a scowl.
“’Cause ye think I’m a liar and not to be trusted,” Willy shrugged. “And usually ye’d be right, but not tonight, matey. Like I said, we got ourselves some marching orders and they’re to be followed to the letter. So, if ye’d be kind enough to take yer wallets out fer me?”
“Not gonna happen,” Carl said firmly.
“Carl, we should just...” Felicity suggested, reaching for her purse.
“Put it away, Felicity. These fuckwits aren’t going to let us go no matter what, so don’t give ‘em the satisfaction of playing along.”
“Come on now, don’t make me be hurting ye...” Said Willy, placing the point of his Cutlass just beneath Carl’s chin.
Carl batted the blade away with the back of his left hand, then smashed his right fist straight into the pirate’s face. The blow sent Willy onto the pavement, where he lay flat on his back and clutched at his shattered nose. Scrambling up to his feet in some desperate attempt to regain his dignity, the pirate held his nose with his left hand, blood pouring through the gaps in his fingers and mixing with the green paint on his face. The other eleven pirates raised their weapons, guns rather than swords in this case, and pointed each one of them in Carl’s direction. There was a series of clicks as hammers were drawn back, but Willy raised his free hand, his cutlass having been dropped, and signalled them to hold fire.
“Jeezus, that was uncalled for,” he groaned, his voice now sounding as though he were suffering from a heavy cold.
“Let the girl go,” Carl said. “And I’ll show you my driver’s license.”
“Not much for bargaining, matey. I got me two targets tonight so it has to be the both of ye. Now, we’ve been playing for long enough, so if ye’ll be so kind…”
“Alright,” Carl nodded, taking his right hand and reaching inside his coat pocket.
“Now I hope yer not daft enough to be reaching for a gun there, big feller,” Willy warned with a forced smile.
“I see at least eleven guns on me right now. I’m not an idiot,” Carl informed him, taking his wallet and bringing it out into view of the pirates.
“There’s a good lad,” Willy smiled.
Carl cursed himself for not seeing a viable way out of the situation, then slowly opened the clasp on his leather wallet. He sifted through the various cards and dollar bills that were found inside, and then finally came to his driving licence. It was dirty and the photo no longer looked like him, but then he hadn’t used it in years. No reason to buy a car on the East side. If Carl parked it anywhere near his building then it would inevitably get stolen. If he parked it in a ‘secure’ garage, it would get stolen. If he parked it far enough away that it wouldn’t get stolen, then he might as well walk. Carl often wondered why he carried the licence around, and given the current situation he wished that he didn’t. He lifted the laminated card from the wallet, then stopped as he looked once more at Willy.
“Well isn’t that something,” Carl remarked.
“What’s that, now?”
“My driver’s licence just became much less interesting, what with the tiny red death-warrant on your forehead,” Carl commented, noticing the small glowing red circle that had suddenly appeared between the Pirate’s eyes.
“What the fuck are ye—”
The shot rang out through the street and caused Willy’s head to snap back suddenly. His skull split open at the front and his corpse hit the ground like a limp rag doll, the life that held the body upright having instantly departed. The other pirates looked around anxiously, gripping their guns and turning them this way and that. Carl saw the red light on the temple of one of the younger pirates, then a second gunshot ended his life as quickly as the first had ended Willy’s. A third tore through the throat of the guy next to him, and it was at that point that Carl grabbed Felicity by the arm and dragged her away from the scene.
“What’s going on? Did you call for backup?” She asked as Carl took her into the first alleyway they came across.
“Did you see me call for any backup?” Carl asked, catching his breath.
“Well no, but—”
“Then whoever’s shooting ain’t got nothing to do with me,” said Carl, turning to see the metal door locked by a rusty old padlock at his back. “We need to get inside somewhere before those pricks come after us.”
“Can you pick locks?” Felicity asked.
“Not exactly,” Carl remarked, as three swift kicks broke the rusty padlock from where it hung and left the door ready for access.
“Subtle as always, Duggan,” came a voice from behind.
Carl grabbed Felicity and pulled her behind him, drawing his gun in the same fluid motion so that it was pointing to the new entrant to the alleyway. Seeing that the barrel of his gun was pointing at the forehead of a familiar bald man in a floor-length black coat, Carl withdrew the weapon and replaced it in his shoulder holster.
“What’re you doing here, Pope?” asked Carl.
“Saving your life, it would seem. And Felicity’s.”
“You know each other?” asked Carl.
“You might say that. Are you alright?” Pope asked.
“Fine, Charles. Thank you,” Felicity smiled, kissing the hit-man on the cheek.
“We’ll discuss the insanity of this situation later. Get inside, both of you,” Carl instructed, opening the door.
The old metal door opened into a hardware store, locked down for the night. The large front window at the other side of the shop was covered by a large steel grate, the kind that could be lowered of raised with an electrical mechanism. A metal-barred door was secured behind the front door to the shop, barring any entrance from someone attempting to get inside through breaking the glass. Racks and shelving units filled the shop floor, displaying tools, gardening equipment, home barbecue supplies and camping paraphernalia. The shop was dark, but Carl refused to switch on the lights as it would invariably alert the surviving pirates to their location.
“How many did you leave alive out there?” Carl enquired.
“I only killed three, there were nine left by my count. I saw you two come down the alleyway, used the fire escape to join you. I needed to make sure Felicity was alright.”
“Thanks,” Carl said sarcastically.
“I knew you were fine, it’s hardly the first time you’ve been in a situation like this.”
“So getting back to the point, what were you doing on the roof?” Carl enquired.
“I followed the Jolly Rogers from the Casino district. Thirty of them had gathered in the plaza square, around the fountain. They were being given paperwork and instructions by Taylor, their leader.”
“I know Taylor,” Carl nodded.
“The Rogers split into three groups and drove away in three vans, each taking a different direction,” Pope continued. “I was heading home for the night, but this captured my attention. It’s not like the Rogers to have any specific goal in mind; Anarchy is their business, which by its very definition is random.”
“So how did you know what they were up to? You get painted up and join in the fun?”
“No,” Pope smiled, despite himself. “I commandeered one of the vans and asked its surviving occupant to tell me what he knew. He provided me with his photographs and the names attached to them.”
“Who was in the pictures?” asked Felicity.
“Detective Duggan and yourself,” Pope replied. “I took to the rooftops and managed to catch up to one of the vans, which I then followed here. Luckily it was the right one, had I followed the other you’d have both been dead by now.”
“I had it in hand,” Carl replied defensively. “How’d you keep up with a van? Even travelling over the rooftops, that’s still impressive.”566666
“They crashed the van into three separate vehicles and a streetlight. I think the driver was in some way inebriated.”
“Why would these freaks wants us dead? I mean a cop like you, a good guy, they probably hate. But why me?” asked Felicity, rubbing her delicate hands one over the other anxiously.
“Only Taylor knows that,” Carl sighed. “I didn’t see him outside.”
“He didn’t leave with any of the groups,” Pope commented.
“He’s working for someone, but I don’t know who yet,” said Carl.
“Taylor runs the Jolly Rogers himself. Why would he work for somebody else?”
“God only knows, but I got it on good word that he’s been running errands for someone. He called them ‘boss’ and was promising to clean up some mess.”
“Are we the mess?” asked Felicity, her voice raised. “Jesus, what did we do? What the hell did we do?”
Pope quietly shushed Felicity and wrapped his arms around her. Carl admitted to himself that he felt slightly envious of the comfort she took from Pope. The connection he’d made with the blonde earlier had been the closest he’d been to an adult woman for a long time. He’d forgotten what it was like to connect with someone, but his friendship with Skye had sparked something in him. A desire to be close to someone for more than just a night. You don’t know you’re missing something until you’re given a taste of it. It wasn’t that he wanted Felicity, so much as the kind of closeness he saw in her and Pope right now. There was a connection between them, anyone could see it. But it would have to wait.
“We need to get out of here,” Carl said suddenly. “Without Willy they’re not gonna be too organised, but that might not be a good thing. Either they get smart and come in here after us, or they go off and resume the random anarchy they’re more familiar with. Lot of civilian deaths, and it’d be on my head. It’s me they’re after.”
“And me,” Felicity reminded him.
“This ain’t nothing to do with you. It’s gotta be me they want, you’ll just be by proxy. They saw you with me sometime and that’s enough for them. I pissed off enough people, the list could be endless.”
“We need to keep their attention focused on us without getting ourselves killed,” Pope remarked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he walked around the store, taking in the contents of the shelving units and display racks.
“How many bullets you got?” Carl asked.
“Just what’s left in this clip,” Pope remarked, holding up the laser-sighted modified pistol he was holding.
“That’s it?”
“You expect me to carry around an arsenal?” asked Pope. “I carry what I need, nothing more. What do you have?”
“Just the Colt.”
“You didn’t bring your revolver?”
“I never said I’d sell it to you,” Carl reminded him. “By the way, I didn’t call you about the poison thing because—”
“It wasn’t poison, I know,” Pope nodded.
“Christ, is there anyone who doesn’t have moles in the police department?” Carl sighed.
“So what are you boys going to do? Charge out there, guns blazing?” asked Felicity, nervously biting her nail.
“We’re way too outgunned for that to be anything close to a smart idea,” Carl replied. “If we both die, there’s no one to guarantee you get out of here safely.”
“They’re still outside,” said Pope, standing beside the steel-grate covered window and peering through the gap. “They don’t know we’re in here, but they look a little confused. Like they don’t know what to do next.”
“They’re all high as a fucking kite, coherent thought is pretty much beyond them, I’d wager,” Carl remarked. “Still, only takes one of them to take a look around where we could have run off to, and they’ll storm in through that back door. They do that, we’re sitting ducks.”
“So we go to them,” said Pope.
“Didn’t we just cover the stupidity of that plan?”
“I’ll distract them, you get Felicity out of here.”
“You’re not going out there alone, Pope. I know you’re more dangerous than any one of those fucks, but you’re not invincible. Against that many guns, you’re not walking away clean like you usually do.”
“I’m not going to get into a gunfight with them. I’m going to improvise,” Pope smiled, taking a large gas canister, the kind used for drive-on lawn mowers and home barbecues, and lifting it into view.
“You’re insane,” Carl stated bluntly.
“What are you going to do?” asked Felicity.
“Give you your distraction,” Pope nodded. “Get ready,”
Pope walked over to the side of the large storefront window and placed the gas canister gently on the floor. He then raised a leather-gloved hand and wrapped it around the black metal lever that activated the steel shutter over the window. Carl took Felicity to the back of the store by the rear exit through which they’d entered, and then gave Pope a nod to indicate that he was ready. Pope pulled the lever and the steel shutter creaked and groaned into action, moving upwards and leaving the glass window unblocked. The Jolly Rogers heard the noise from the street outside and turned to face the window. They were only staring into the dark storefront for a moment before the glass was broken towards them by a large metallic cylinder that rolled to a stop just before their feet.
“What the fuck?” one of the pirates asked.
An answer to his question never came before a tiny red dot could be seen hovering over the ‘caution; flammable’ label on the gas canister.
Chapter Twenty-Five;
Cherry Red and
Smoke Grey
T he explosion was still ringing in Carl’s ears as he escorted Felicity to her top-floor apartment in the Kootz complex. The Kootz was the best of everything the West side had to offer, all wrapped inside a secure location. Apartments of the highest quality, casinos, night-clubs and restaurants, all in the same overly-illuminated complex surrounding a large decorative fountain. A high wall surrounded the whole thing in a large circle, and the only way in and out was a huge set of steel gates painted gold. If you weren’t rich or didn’t know somebody rich, you weren’t getting inside those gates; it was that simple. Carl felt his skin crawl the moment he entered, backed up by that undeniable feeling that not a single person inside the walls came by their money honestly. It actually made him think a little less of Felicity that she would be here, but he admitted to himself that he barely knew half of the facts in her case.
“So now you’re thinking maybe I really am a cold-hearted bitch if I live in this place, right?” Felicity smiled as she brought Carl into her apartment.
“You could make a killing on the casino circuit with those psychic skills, Miss DuBois,” Carl smiled, entering the luxurious living space after the blonde. His hands were kept firmly in his pockets, as though the very air of the room would be offensive to touch. He didn’t belong here and he could feel it. Every light was mocking him, telling him to go home. To the darkness, to the damp. He felt tense and it was probably written all over his face, no surprise that Felicity had noticed it.
“Dice likes his girls to live somewhere fancy, makes it looks like he treats us good,” Felicity explained.
“What’s a few bruises when you’re lounge furniture is worth more than some people’s h
ouse, right?” Carl smirked.
“I didn’t say I liked it, but you don’t argue with Dice. It’s just easier that way.”
“I’d argue with him. I’d argue with him plenty.”
“You’d probably rip him a new hole, and I’d enjoy watching it. But that wouldn’t help anything. Lots of girls depend on him for a roof over their heads, and to eat.”
“Someone else would fill his shoes, always lots of maggots lining up to take the place of their king,” Carl scoffed. “Besides, you wanted me to kill the guy when we first met.”
“I thought he’d killed Amber, but when it turned out he didn’t, I softened on him. He’s a lot of things that are worth hating, but he’s not my sister’s murderer.”
“Give him a cookie,” Carl sighed, then closed his eyes for a moment as the references to Amber DuBois had caused the memory of her face in the waters of the Styx to resurface in his mind.
“Do you think Charles is alright?” asked Felicity, sliding a cigarette from a polished silver case and placing it between her deep red lips.
“Pope? Yeah, he’ll be fine, he’s dealt with worse,” Carl replied. “How do you know him, anyway? Can’t imagine you met at school, what with him having a few years on you. He hides it well but he’s gotta be pushing forty, and you’re like what? Twenty-six?”
“Twenty-seven, and how I met him is a long story.”
“So give me the abridgement.”
“I once hired him to kill my pimp.”
“Okay, little more than that,” Carl insisted.
“I was young, working in a ‘massage parlour’ where the owner had the tendency to strangle his girls to death every now and then. I got scared when I learned about it, but he wouldn’t let me leave. I got as far as a phone booth once and someone had left Charles's calling card in there. Crazy, right? It says “cleaner”, but I somehow got this feeling that it wasn’t what it sounded like. Anyway, I called him and spoke with him, met him for coffee. I’d saved up all that I could spare and still eat and I gave it to him to get me out of that place. He wouldn’t take the money, said I needed it. He only kept a single dollar, said he had to accept something for it to be genuine, but gave me the rest back.”