by Danny Hogan
Before I had a chance to tell her to fuck off, she shoved past me, keeping her back to the door. She stood in the middle of the room just looking at me kind of nervous as if she was expecting something. It riled me so to realise that, in certain light, she looked very similar to me if my hair was of a normal cut and its natural colour.
‘Well, what you got? And make it snappy, I want to rejoin my friends,’ I said.
Next thing I knew, she had the balls to come right up in my grill and plant one on my kisser, and I wish I was talking about a punch. I was stunned. The bitch tried half-assedly to push her thin little tongue into my mouth and then, in vain, raise up my robe so that she get her nasty paws on my personage.
I say in vain as I had retrieved my senses by that point and pushed her the hell off.
‘Do that again and I will kill you,’ I said, shoving her backwards hard and rubbing her slime from my lips. She stumbled and then caught her balance, landing on one knee.
‘Oh yeah,’ she sneered, retrieving a snub nose from out the back of her shorts. Pointing it at me all meaningful and with an awful smile on her chops she cocked it and said, ‘I’ve been waiting for the chance to do this since I saw you.’
Truth was, I was stunned again. I’d walked into traps many times before but none as ugly as this. I had to think on my feet, but fast.
‘It ain’t manners to shoot a woman when she’s near nekkid.’
‘I don’t give a fuck. Now, make your peace, and that’s me being nice right there.’
‘What? I ain’t wronged you any.’
‘Mr Stoneman wants you dead and, for me, this is pleasure and business ’cos I just don’t like you,’ she replied, and peeled off a shot at me. It went wide by a furlong, though it was clear from her face that she had meant it too hit and, if she had been an outlaw, like her attire implied, then she had been out of the game a long while.
‘You suck,’ was all I managed to scream, before snatching the lamp from the desk and dashing it on the marble surface to give me a sharp weapon.
She jerked at the trigger again, sending a bullet skimming by my right shoulder and tearing off an itty-bitty morsel of flesh. It didn’t stop me, oh no, the sting just sent me apeshit mad.
I was on her in no time, using my weight to press her gun arm to her chest and, with the pistol pointing away from me, I forced her to the ground. She tried to fight me off and, I do have to admit, she had some strength in her as she writhed and spat like a wild cat.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ was the last thing she ever said.
I knocked the wind clean out of her sails with a knee to the gut and then I forced the broken end of the lamp deep into her throat, with as much strength as I could muster. Her angry, mean face switched instantly to one of total horror as she let out a pained scream. This turned into a gurgle, then a horrible long wheeze as I pushed the lamp in and twisted it with all my might.
Those baby blues, that had tormented me so that afternoon, rolled up into her skull. Her gaping mouth searched desperately for air that was never gonna come and then she started to spew blood and gore. Big old sprays of blood were going everyway from out her neck and I was making quite a mess of myself, and everything else.
I did not stop until I was sure I was hitting carpet. Then I looked down at her. Her cute little face was a mask of horror and the lamp base protruded from a red mulch between her chin and her body. The eyes, that showed only white now, looked otherworldly. But, it was her or me.
‘I’m a pro at this game, bitch, and you ain’t even an amateur,’ I muttered at her corpse, spitting chew.
It was then that I heard two bangs come from up the hall. I picked up Betty’s snub nosed .38 and ran.
39
I don’t recall getting up the hall and I guess the door to room 609 was already open by the time I had got there. Yeah, thinking about it, the door was wide open. I could see the long legs of Tyrone lying along the floor. The wall of the room’s hallway obscured my vision of the rest of him. There was no sign of Alice. Instead, standing there in the room, just near the foot of the bed, wearing my fucking dress and my belt and bandolier, was Skinny Pete. In his hand I could see full well he was holding Comeuppance. She emitted a thin curl of smoke from her barrel.
‘Where’s Alice, you son of a bitch?’ I asked, trying to keep a grip on myself.
He just looked at me with those stone crazy eyes and he kind of chuckled. It was a nervous chuckle and, I guess, I must have looked one hell of a sight covered in Betty’s blood.
Things began to feel like they were moving very slow and I could hear my heart beating all around me and I could see the signs as clear as day.
The right corner of his grinning lips twitched and I was sure I detected a slight movement in his right shoulder. I emptied the remaining four bullets from the .38 into him, before he had a chance to raise his arm.
I never miss twice.
With three holes in his chest and one plumb in his forehead, Skinny Pete fell slowly backwards and landed on the floor with a thud.
My .44 was released from his cold, dead hand and she clattered along the floor.
I ran into the room to see poor Tyrone lying there; a bullet from my gun had made a mess of his left eye. He was dead. I collapsed at his feet. He was a good man and he was my friend.
I didn’t know where Alice was or if she knew; if she’d been taken, or how I was going to break the news to her if she didn’t know. I just sat there paralysed for a few moments.
I realised though that I had better get moving if I was going to have a chance of locating Alice and, weak with sorrow, I pulled myself up. I had to lean against the wall a spell, as I tried to swallow this terrible scene down.
I walked around Skinny Pete to get my beloved gun and it was then that I beheld something I would never be able to rid my mind of.
Lying on the floor next to the bed was a body I had not been able to see until then. The face was slightly turned away showing me a nasty gaping, gory hole where the back of the skull was blown out. The legs of the body were at weird angles, like they sometimes go when there is no life to govern them and control the muscles and tendons.
For a long time I looked at it and that’s all I saw: a body, a piece of meat with no life in it any more. Then, the realisation came upon me like a slow, lurching miserable spirit indeed, bringing all the world’s stink and foulness with it; without care for feelings or consequence. That deeply sorrowful realisation that there, before me, was what once was Alice.
I felt faint and my legs nearly collapsed from under me. Then I became aware that I could not draw breath properly. I started to sound like one of them asthmatics me and my friends used to mock when we were kids; them all hunched over as they made their way feverishly down the street with that look of panic on their faces.
The next thing I remember was being on my knees, trying desperately to breath. And, oh hell, didn’t I start sobbing too. The noise I made was awful and I surely never do want to make it again.
Alice was the best person I had ever met. She had saved treats for me when we were on the road. All the nasty things I said about her: that was just because I was jealous, I knew that. Jealous of her looks, of her intelligence and of the fact that this bad old world had not turned her mean like it had me. She had cared for me when I was hurt, she had trusted me to care for her and she had saved my life in return. She had worried about getting together with Tyrone because she didn’t want me to be lonely.
Good, kind, righteous: she was my friend and I had been charged to protect her and I had failed.
You ever hear of anyone who died crying? There came a point where I was not in control, and I couldn’t breath and I couldn’t think. I had to get a grip, otherwise I would suffocate myself.
I found myself feeling around on the floor like I was blind. I don’t know why because I could see, albeit through the waterfall my eyes were producing, but I touched her body a couple of times and it just wasn’t her. I was half expect
ing Alice to appear from behind the blood spattered curtain on the other side of the body and, laughing at me, throw a piece of cornbread from her pocket by way of an apology for playing such an upsetting trick.
I had to get a grip. I sat with my back to the wall and made myself not look at either of my dead pals. I shook my head and brought my legs to my chest and then laid my brow on my knees. I closed my eyes gentle and began to regulate my breathing until, finally, I was breathing normal again.
I had but only one friend left in the world. I got up, walked over to Skinny Pete’s corpse and picked her up.
39
I thought about turning the gun on myself, I really did. But not before I brought justice to every sorry bastard that had caused this: from Stoneman, who had obviously set us up, through to each and every one of Elliot’s posse, culminating finally, with the man himself. And, by god, I was going to take my time with that’n.
With resolve anew I got up out of that mortuary and headed to my own room. I walked past Betty’s beautiful corpse and into the bathroom, where I threw off the bloody robe, stepped out of the slippers, stepped into my drawers and began to dress. I hate killing people when I ain’t wearing no drawers, it just ain’t right.
I checked myself in the mirror and, although I had stopped crying I was in a hell of a state. The make-up Alice had gotten me to wear was all streaming down my cheeks. That reminded me of her and caused a painful twinge and I choked as I tried to keep myself straight.
I eventually noticed the wound on my shoulder. It was only a graze really but it stung like fuck when I cleaned it. That gave me a moment’s respite from the other pain.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and put my belt and bandolier on. It brought a tiny amount of comfort, but I was still far from right.
That bastard Skinny Pete had done nothing to maintain my weapon. It was still scuffed up real bad from when I kept dropping it and I noticed it had a few new dings, too. I took the cylinder out and began to clean her using the materials I kept in a little pouch on my belt.
I was getting so sick of good people, people like Alice and Tyrone, always getting done by the unrighteous. It was like a disease, out to infect and destroy everything until all the good, peaceful people were gone and only the bad and the greedy remained. Would they then start turning on themselves? I didn’t have the time or the patience to wait for that day.
I looked at myself hard in the mirror. I had been lazy back in Austin. I really had just been hanging around and drinking before I met Alice. Maybe, if I had been doing my job, I might have gone out and hit Elliot. Maybe, way before he had the chance to fuck with so many people. After all, I knew who he was before I heard her story.
I caught myself. I had been cleaning my gun like a crazy thing; maybe trying to clean away my hurt and self-loathing. As anger and rage began to come upon me, like two old friends coming to lend a hand in my hour of need, I put Comeuppance back together with a series of snaps and clicks. Without looking, I pulled two shells from my bandolier to fully load her again.
Just before I slid them in, I looked at the shells and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had never seen the like in real life before; only heard of them in legend. They were a pair of .44 Magnum Black Talons. In a fever I checked all the other shells on my bandolier, and they were all Black Talons. Skinny Pete, for his own evil deeds, had replaced all my ammo with them. This would explain why the whole of the back of poor Alice’s head was practically gone.
Black Talons were super rare. They were hollow points with grooves cut into the rim around the hollow. When the bullets expanded through the air, the grooves would open out into sharp points like a flying star - totally deadly.
I took the two spent cartridges out of my revolver’s cylinder and replaced them with the two new ones.
I reckoned I had the cure for that disease right there in my hand.
***
In the elevator I was aware that the dummy conductor was looking at me.
‘You see an old guy, with specs and a moustache come through here?’
‘No ma’am,’ said he.
‘You lie to me and I’ll come back for you, you hear? Now, I’ll ask you again, did you see an old’un come through here?’
He just puffed his lips out and glared straight ahead; beads of sweat were travelling down his cheeks. Lucky for him the bell rang and the doors opened.
I was in the auditorium of Cavanaugh’s eatery. The dark glass panels of the dome told me it was still night.
Making my way through the tables and the chewing assholes, I grabbed the first waitress I could see.
‘Get your hands off me, you freak,’ She shrieked.
‘Where’s Cavanaugh?’
‘He’s at his table entertaining, but don’t dist…’ She squawked as I threw her aside.
I walked around until, over yonder, I saw that ridiculous cage bird at a big round table with five, long-haired, skinny women. He caught site of me and rolled his eyes.
‘Oh lord, the little dumpling’s still alive,’ he shrieked, and then got a grip on himself before continuing: ‘here’s a free tip for you ladies: never send an amateur to do the job of a professional, my goodness.’
As I walked towards him he produced a little, teeny-tiny, bejewelled derringer and handed it to the skank next to him butt first.
‘Tiffany, darling, shoot this runt. I don’t want to get gunpowder on my kimono.’
Don’t do it Tiffany you dumb bitch, I thought, I’m a pro and I ain’t in no mood for playing.
Tiffany took the gun from him like it was some kind of dainty kerchief and purred: ‘With pleasure Mr. Sto…’
I split her head open with a bullet before she had time to finish smirking.
I had to give it to Cavanaugh: the acoustics in that place were amazing. The roar of my .44, followed by everybody throwing their utensils down and screaming, had a real dramatic musical quality in that auditorium.
The scene before me added some theatre to the orchestra. Tiffany slumped off her seat to the ground with her brains blew out. Her skanky friends were screaming and crying in horror and filling their seats with rivers of pee. That fruity rascal Cavanaugh was doing a real number clambering up his own chair as if it were a ladder to safety. As he did so he was glaring back at Tiffany’s carcass with nothing short of sheer terror and he was letting out a hell of a squeal.
‘You beast,’ he cried, makeup running down his cheeks and his lips all wet and quivering.
‘Get up sweetheart, you’re coming with me,’ I said, pointing Comeuppance at him.
40
I grabbed him by the scruff and, I must say, the fur and feathers felt quite luxuriously soft. Dragging him to his feet, I stood him before me and stuck the barrel of my gun into the back of his neck.
‘Please don’t shoot, I beg you,’ he howled.
‘Where d’ya keep your money,’ I said, jabbing my gun into the back of his neck even harder.
‘The vault, in the basement – please don’t shoot me,’ he moaned and whimpered.
‘Start heading to your vault,’ I ordered and, slowly, he began to shuffle around towards the lifts where I had come from. It was awful hard not to feel exposed.
‘Anybody moves and your queen here gets it,’ I shouted, the auditorium carrying my voice superbly, way above the frightened muttering and soft sobbing.
The thug that took my gun before came waddling in from the lobby looking stupid.
‘Don’t move or I shoot, fat boy.’
‘Do as she says you blithering oaf,’ cried Cavanaugh. ‘Oh god.’
There was an unmanned service elevator that took us down. It was much plainer than the one that went to the rooms, and smaller too. I could clearly smell the perfume Cavanaugh was drenched in and it was giving me a headache in that cramped space.
‘Where’s Old Man Elliot? Is he here in one of your rooms?’
‘Oh god no, he and his friends make the other guests nervous.’
‘Yeah
, well how did Skinny Pete get to my friends’ room and kill them both then, huh?’ I had to swallow down the pain as I spoke.
‘This service elevator goes all the way up. He came in through the basement, where I’m taking you now. It was just him: Mr. Elliot said something about Skinny Pete still needing to earn his stripes and I owed Elliot a favour.’
‘Guess what? Skinny Pete ain’t gonna be earning nothing no more, other than a pitchfork up his ass from the devil, ya hear me?’
I sure could hear him gulp and I could feel him quiver.
‘So, where’s Elliot?’ I pressed.
‘He runs a small headquarters out of the back of the Venus’s Curse Casino on the other side of town, when he’s in Jersey Village.’
When we arrived in the basement I jammed the lift and found a hickory club, which I used to blockade the door to the fire stairs going up.
‘Oh great, how am I supposed to get upstairs now?’ said Cavanaugh. ‘I’ll have to go outside and back in through the front door. So uncouth for a man of my standing.’
I smiled meanly at him.
‘Shut up and take me to your vault.’
He was clearly weeping as he unlocked the huge metal door that we had come to.
As the door slowly swung open I was expecting a gleam of gold. But it was not to be.
Inside were rows of safes that had already been opened and now lay empty. In the middle of the room was a small table, and on that table was a pile of gold pieces.
‘Listen, Deidre,’ he said all sincere, ‘you know the secret now. I don’t have a pot to piss in. I am indebted to the Diamond administration up to my confounded eyeballs. I–I set you and Doug’s daughter up because, well, I have spent most of the gold on needful things, you see. I don’t have any of Doug’s money left. I am truly sorry,’ says he, bowing his head and shaking. He started whimpering and snivelling and, in a moaning tone, added: ‘It’s a wretched act I will take to the grave.’