by Drew Blank
With their backs turned to me, heading back to the entryway, I slipped on my sunglasses and began my approach. Lola stopped one more time, again surveying the room. That gave me an opportunity to make my presence known. I stepped up and blocked their path.
“Are you Lola?” I asked, in the same hushed voice I had used the night before with Randy and Mouse.
“Who the fuck are you?” Lola’s trained attack dog on the left barked at me.
“I don’t think that’s important right now, unless this young lady is Lola.” I looked up at the mountain of a man, not bowing down to his intimidation. It was obvious in his face he was not used to resistance. “So are you?” I again directed my attention at the woman in the middle.
“Yeah. What the fuck do you want?” Lola hissed back at me while holding a hand up to keep her guard at bay.
“My oh my. Quite a mouth on you. It’s a wonder you need these big fellas around to protect you at all. I imagine you would do alright all on your own,” I replied calmly.
“Look, asshole. You have three seconds to tell me who the fuck you are or these big fellas are going to tear off your fucking balls.” Admittedly, even when threatening me with castration, Lola kinda turned me on.
“Who I am should be of no importance to you. What I have should be what concerns you. I have been sent in Mouse’s place.”
“Where the fuck is that albino shithead?” Lola’s venom was thick, but I knew I needed to keep the upper hand.
“Mouse had an unfortunate accident.” I kept my tone steady and confident. “I was sent by somebody who believes it is in everyone’s best interest that Mouse’s product be moved, with or without him.” Setting the trap, I waited to see if Lola would take the bait.
“But Benji Carver is Mouse’s supplier, and from what I know Benji doesn’t have anybody working for him.” Hook, line and sinker.
“He doesn’t. And as far as you are concerned, I don’t exist.” I was really getting into the part of the enigmatic criminal. “Now, can we please handle business so I can go somewhere that does not smell of urine?”
“How do I know this isn’t a set-up?” Lola still didn’t trust me.
“In this city? Please!” I laughed. “As long as the cops are getting their share, they don’t give a shit.” From Dom’s mouth to mine.
“True.” She seemed to relax a little with that. “So where is the stuff?”
“It’s in my car,” I told her.
“Your car? Are you shitting me?”
“You’ll find I do not typically ‘shit’ people. I assure you it is safe there. This is not amateur hour, ma’am. I do not keep it on my person. Shall we?” I extended my arm towards the exit, hoping they would take my lead.
Holy shit, you are doing great! Twisty broke my concentration for a moment as she squealed into the earpiece. I was definitely having fun, but still had no idea what to do once I got Lola and her men outside.
“Wait a sec.” Lola held her hands out, keeping her men at bay. “I don’t know about this.”
“That’s fine,” I said nonchalantly. “Have a good evening miss. Gentlemen, it was a pleasure.” I tipped my hat and turned to leave. Persistence may have scared her off and I knew that.
“Hold on,” she called after me over the booming music of the club. As I peered over my shoulder I saw Lola approach me, leaving the shelter of the two men for the first time. “Where’s your car?”
“It’s outside,” I smirked as one eyebrow raised over the Jackie O sunglasses. Pushing open the door I took a long pull of fresh air. My mind raced as I contemplated what to do next.
“So what’s with the get up, anyway?” Lola followed me out, her men two steps behind. “The old man hat and the bug eye sunglasses at night. No offense, but you look like a freak.” This was the first time I heard Lola speak without her defenses flared up. It made her a seem a little more like a real girl and not so much like a really hot pit bull. I preferred the pit bull.
Quickly assessing the situation, I tried to find a car in the parking lot that may be driven by the henchman of a big time drug dealer.
Lexus GX to your left. Second in from the road. The driver just went in a few minutes ago, so you should have some time. Phil chimed in my ear, building my confidence that we were thinking on the same level.
“Not so chatty now, are you?” Lola continued. I allowed her to catch up with me as I strolled to the car.
“Sorry. This shit just irritates me. I thought I was past street hustling. The things we do to get in good favor with the boss.” I explained away my momentary lapse in character.
“The boss?” She questioned. “So you do work for Carver?”
I stopped my stride and turned to her, using conversation as an excuse to stall. The hired hands caught up with us and stood behind Lola, looking bored.
“I will run errands for him from time to time, yes. We have a mutual respect for one another’s businesses.” The bullshit just came naturally at that point.
“So is he as fucked up as people say?” Lola’s questions were leading me to believe that Benji Carver was a true enigma, even to the city’s criminals.
“Honestly?” The topic of Carver easily had Lola captivated. “Yeah,” I half chuckled.
“Damn. But he’s actually a real guy, though?” She spoke of him as if he may be a phantom.
“Yeah. Pretty damned real.” It was obvious Lola knew nothing more about Carver and I was ready to get this over with. “So, before we go any further, do you have the money?”
“I’d like to see the product first,” Lola went back to the part of tough businesswoman.
“With all due respect, ma’am. There are three of you,” I looked over at her goons, “technically, by sheer mass, there are about four of you and there is only one of me. I think there is a bigger risk of me revealing the location of your product than of you simply assuring me you have the cash necessary for this transaction.” I loved how this character spoke through me.
“Fine. Raff. Show him.” One of the thugs opened his jacket and pulled out a medium-sized manila envelope. As he passed it to Lola, he and his partner both placed their hands in their coats, obviously fingering guns concealed within.
“Here.” Lola opened the envelope, irritated by this extra step she probably never had to take with Mouse.
“May I?” I reached out my hand.
Lola hesitated, looked back at her men and then slapped the envelope into my palm. It was imperative that I keep my cool as I peered in to see what had to be at least twenty grand. Flipping through the bills for a moment, pretending to count, I looked up at Lola and nodded. Clasping the envelope shut again, I began to tuck the cash into my inner coat pocket.
“Whoa!” Lola stopped me, grabbing my arm. “Not so fast, shithead!” Apparently, I was not down with drug sale protocol, but taking the money before product had even been displayed is a big industry no-no. Going in with no plan, I figured this time was as good as any. Instead of relenting and allowing Lola to pull my hand with the cash out of my pocket, I wrapped my hand around her wrist. I also got a grip on her opposite arm and proceeded to lift her off her feet, throwing her into the two gun wielding tough guys. Knowing this would allow me only a two second head start, I took advantage of every moment and ran.
Bullets whizzed by my head as I frantically ducked in
between parked cars. I had never been shot at before. Had I known what a thrill it was, I probably would have found excuses to be shot at earlier. After stuffing the cash into my pants, somewhere between a red Mustang and a silver pick up, I dumped the over-sized trench coat and riding cap. I peered over the hood of the truck to locate the two large men that were angrily stalking me to the commands of a screaming Lola, who lay on the ground with what seemed to be an ankle injury of some sort. I had never hurt a woman before. There were plenty of instances where I wanted to punch Reggie in the face, but I never did it. For some reason, I had no regrets. It could have been the fact that just like Mouse and
Randy, Lola was a piece of shit drug dealer and I couldn’t care less about her. It could have also been the envelope full of money nestled in my briefs that blurred my judgment. Regardless, she was crippled on the pavement and I was running from two men hell-bent on putting a bullet in me to get their boss’ cash back.
Unfortunately, at the late hour, none of the businesses surrounding Head Knockers were open. This meant parking lots in every direction were empty, leaving me completely open to gunfire. As exhilarating as it was to be shot at, I imagined being shot would be somewhat less exciting. I also could not risk being followed to the car where my friends were loyally waiting for me. My only chance was to either incapacitate all three of my hunters or get back into the club and sneak my way out an alternate exit. With three sets of eyes looking for me, my second option seemed implausible, at best. The only thing I had going for me was that I knew where they all were, while they were frantically trying to locate me.
The big guy Lola called Raff was lurking around the exterior of the lot. In an attempt to be stealthy, he took very deliberate but soft steps. This looked ridiculous to me as I watched every move he made. Crouched next to a black Jetta, I reached to my belt and carefully unlatched the length of chain. Raff was about four cars away as I wrapped one end of the chain in my left hand tightly. The plan that had rapidly been forming in my head did not have me overwhelmed with confidence. This would become an all too familiar feeling in the coming years. Raff stepped closer and I took a deep breath.
As he crept up to the tail end of the Jetta I grabbed hold of the chain in both hands and waited for him to take one final step. The second I saw his foot come down I instinctively threw the chain around his legs and pulled with every ounce of strength I had. Not having what most would consider a formal education, my grasp on physics may have been limited. However, I did know that by pulling the legs out from under a lumbering giant of a man, the ramifications would not generally lie in his favor. I also proved a famous physics theory; the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Raff’s body fell to the ground in the same manner I imagine a slab of beef would, making an equally squishy thud.
I immediately jumped on his back with two goals. To keep him from notifying the other two of our location, and to get the gun out of his hand, which despite the fall he still had a strong grip on. While straddling the huge mass that was a momentarily stunned Raff, I kicked my right leg over to his hand and held it down, hoping to keep the gun at bay. The goon was obviously hurt, but it only took two seconds for his fight to come back. As he began struggling beneath me I focused on his head. I cupped my left hand around his mouth to keep him from yelling. With my right hand I began pummeling the back of his head and neck. It was a desperate attempt to immobilize him and, thanks to the brass knuckles, it seemed to work. Given his size, I may not have fared so well in a hand-to-hand battle with him, but with the situation as it was, I was becoming confident he would not be getting up any time soon. Almost as if by instinct, he tried to raise the hand holding the gun. A quick kick to his knuckles from the huge combat boots left his fingers distorted around the grip of the pistol. Beneath my left glove I heard a muffled yelp. As I kept his mouth covered I grabbed the other side of his head and slammed it into the ground repeatedly. After five or six throws to the pavement, his body went limp and all that could be heard was the clink of metal as the gun fell to the pavement. Raff was no longer a threat.
Pulling the gun from Raff’s mangled, meaty hand proved to be more difficult than I had imagined. His swollen finger had lodged itself behind the trigger and by the time the gun was freed, I had cut up his hand pretty badly. Blood shone off the metal, reflecting crimson under the bright lights of the parking lot. After wiping the gun off on Raff’s black coat, I tucked it down the back of my pants. Wrapping the chain back into its clip, I released a simple but telling moan, loud enough to be heard by Lola and the other gunman. Footsteps fast approached the Jetta. I was faster.
“What the fuck?!” Raff’s partner yelled this into the quiet night air.
“What?” Lola screamed after him. “What is it, Eddie? Where the fuck is Raff?”
Their yelling was still audible as I made my way around the backs of the cars and up the steps to get back into the club.
“I think he’s fucking dead!” Eddie roared. “He fucking killed Raff!” Eddie’s rage was evident as he pounded the butt of his gun down on the trunk of the Jetta repeatedly.
“He’s going in the club!” Looking over my shoulder as I threw the entrance doors wide open, I saw Lola supporting herself on the hood of a red SUV, pointing a finger at me. “Get that little shit!” I blew Lola a kiss and ran inside.
Barreling through the crowd of gawking cretins, I shoved my way to the kitchen. As I swung open the double doors, it was evident to everyone inside that I did not belong. All work ceased for a moment as I stood among the Head Knockers employees, frantically trying to get my bearings.
“Where’s the exit?” I yelled to anyone that would listen.
A small, weasely looking guy pointed out the doors I had just come through.
“No! God dammit! The kitchen exit!” I obviously had no patience for some idiot fry cook.
“There’s no exit in here, man,” the weasel replied.
“Fuck!” Now I was trapped. Desperation forced me to do something that in hindsight, I regret. I reached into the back of my pants, pulled out Raff’s gun and pointed it to the ceiling. “Everybody get the fuck out!” All the employees stood, stunned. “Now, god dammit!” I pulled the trigger on the gun, releasing a very unimpressive click. The clip was empty. Through the commotion and my own yelling, no one in the kitchen noticed I was threatening them with an unloaded gun. The sight of the firearm was enough to bring them all back to reality as they bolted out the swinging doors. It was my first introduction to the public and they would all report me as a gun wielding psychopath. Great. The newspapers were going to love me.
“Fuck!” I roared again as I threw the gun behind me and kicked a mop bucket full of thick, nasty sludge at the swinging doors. Eddie’s arrival was imminent, as I was sure he would have no problem guessing where I was after the whole crew came running out of the kitchen. I tucked the gun back into my pants and pulled out the baton. No guns. There was only one way out and it was becoming apparent I would have to do it fighting.
Hearing shrieks from outside, I could tell Eddie was coming. A rabid, bald giant with a gun drawn can elicit that sort of response from a crowd.
“Where are you, mother fucker?” Eddie started yelling for me before he even kicked the doors in. When he saw me standing front-and-center in the entryway, he charged. My clunky, rubber-soled combat boots had no problem keeping me upright on the slippery sludge covered tile. Eddie’s slick leather loafers were obviously not so accommodating. As he rushed me, his shoes sent him sailing in my direction. The gun in his hand went off and sent a bullet screaming towards my left arm. An intense heat immediately overcame me, spreading from my bicep. Without time to think, I pushed the button on my retractable baton forcing a metal club to shoot from the base and swung it towards Eddie’s out of control body. A blow to the chest sent him stumbling backwards. Unable to reestablish footing on the wet ground, his giant frame fell backwards. Crashing to the floor, I watched Eddies’s head bounce on the tile and blood shoot out his nose like a geyser. No longer in his grasp, the gun slid across the floor, underneath a metal prep table.
“Mother…fucker…” Eddie moaned from the floor. It was obvious he was not going to be easily deterred as he propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his head. Thinking fast, I grabbed a heavy iron skillet hanging against the wall behind me. I swung the pan at his face with all my might. The resulting gong sound resonated throughout the kitchen.
“Weird,” I said, looking down at the skillet, “it’s not like in the cartoons. Isn’t there supposed to be an imprint of your face in here?” Eddie’s face flushed with red, equal parts blood and rage. I still had not checked my arm,
but I was pretty sure the gunshot was bleeding pretty badly. I needed to finish Eddie off before I lost whatever fight was left in me. One more strike to the head with the iron skillet and Eddie slumped to the floor, defeated.
Drew, I don’t know what’s going on in there but you need to get out. You alright? Phil’s concern buzzed in my ear.
“I’m fine,” I reported as I took a moment to investigate my numbing left arm. “Almost got shot. Thing just grazed me. Bleeding like hell, though. Is it clear out there? I gotta get the hell out of here.” I would have been surprised if the police had not been called at that point. Luck was on my side that a seedy strip club was not high on the authorities’ list of priorities.
You have a clear shot out of the club. But I don’t see Lola anywhere. Did you already take care of her? Phil frantically asked.
“Hey sexy,” Lola purred, catching me off guard as she limped her way into the kitchen, bracing herself against the doorjamb.
“Fucking balls. What the hell do you want?” Lola was now just an inconvenience I had no energy for.
“Oh, I dunno…” Lola’s easy tone quickly changed “For starters, I want my goddamn money!” Her rage escalated to a level that almost gave me chills.
Oh shit. Say hi to Lola for us, Phil whispered.
“Look. It’s over. Tweedle Dumbshit and Tweedle Dumbfuck are both out of action.” I motioned with my good hand to the goon lying motionless at her feet. “What the hell are you going to do on a gimp leg that they couldn’t do?” I tried to reason with her. We were well beyond reasoning. Her gorgeous lips spread wide open into a maniacal smile as she pulled a pearl handled revolver up from her side and pointed it directly at my head.
“You probably broke my ankle. It was a bitch getting in here, but my plan involves very little running.” She very dramatically cocked the gun as I stood defenseless. “It’s a shame, too. You’re kinda hot. Say good night, mystery man.”