The Lost Angel

by Adam C Mitchell

  Sam greeted Eddy and Kim briefly but warmly. Moses did little more than nod. They all lit up for a smoke.

  “Hey, Sam, why’s the tribe still here. Don’t you know the livestock carriage doesn’t board here.”

  Sam laughed. “Ha-ha, Eddy. We would have been in Frisco if the now sober Moses hadn’t decided to use two patrolling coppers as a game of whack-a-mole, buying himself a night in the clink.”

  Eddy looked up at the mountainous Moses. “Hey, Moses, why?” Eddy was by no means small in stature, but looking up at this giant made him feel like an ant, more so when Moses’ booming voice replied.

  “Those two gumshoes looked at me funny, saying my sort didn’t belong in their town. So I decided to show them what my sort felt about them and their city.”

  Eddy and Sam were in hysterics when Kim put her hand on Eddy’s shoulder.

  Kim went and bought tickets for her and Eddy. When their train stopped at the platform, the random assortment of warriors piled in.

  “Hey, Eddy. Where’s Paddy at?”

  Eddy thought quickly. “Oh, he’s gone ahead to set things up. Told us to hook up with you guys.”

  A boxer with a heavily broken nose looked at Eddy with caution. Being Paddy’s charity case hadn’t helped Eddy get along with some of the band.

  “Cool, my friend, the next place had best be better than that dive in Chicago. By the way, the name’s Brian Banner. We didn’t get a chance to be introduced before I floored you. Sorry about that by the way.” Eddy shook his hand.

  Brian pointed to the boxer giving a conductor a dirty look and then introduced him to three other men. Mac had a black eye and two missing teeth, next to him was a whisper of a man called Thompson. And sat on a duffle bag, drinking beer, was a Canadian by the name of Logan.

  The reliable Lionel train gave a jolt, pulling out of the station, and filled the air with smoke. Thick black ash dusted the platform, sending ladies running for cover. It was actually quite funny. The great train lurched like a beast as he travelled along the track. A piercing whistle blew as they entered a tunnel that cut through a hill, then disappeared in a cloud of thick smoke.

  ***

  A hundred miles and a change of clothes later, Jack stepped onto the sidewalk outside the telegraph office. Renetti had wired Jack the extra money he had asked for and he was now able to catch a plane to Frisco. With luck, he would arrive hours before Kovakx and the rest of the travelling boxers. Jack could almost taste the money. It would not be long before he and Eddy stood face-to-face. Jack reached into his coat pocket and felt the cold steel of his Magnum. It would not long before it saw daylight.

  * * *

  The private airfield was a mess of metal and steel frames. The war overseas had stopped its completion some years before. But it had gathered momentum again.

  The DC-6 was waiting on the runway. Its sleek metal skin shone in the sun, a beacon of the times. The steady line of passengers walked out from the main building and across the tarmac to the steps. The two hulking engines whined as they fired up. Jack had only been on a plane a couple of times before and he wasn’t a great fan. Men shouldn’t fly. It wasn’t right, and besides, it was a luxury a hard up P.I could not afford. It was not a enjoyable experience anyway. A train would have been better for Jack. He could have stretched his legs, maybe had a drink or a meal. But here there was little in the way of drinks or food due to the lack of space and weight on board. But it was quicker, and right now, that was all that mattered.

  ***

  Kim, Eddy and the motley crew of boxers arrived in sunny San Francisco and wasted no time in finding the hotel. Eddy figured he and Kim would spend a short while with the troop before giving them the slip and striking out on their own. It was a plan, the only one he could think of. Before questions about Paddy’s absence started and fingers started pointing. A spell behind bars wouldn’t help his fresh start.

  * * *

  Jack watched them from across the drinking house across the street. He had been in Frisco for half a day, waiting for the train full of boxers to arrive. Kovakx was caught, he just didn’t know it yet. Jack had only one decision to make now. Take him back to Victor and who knows what would happen, or hand him over to the cops? The money was a big factor. Jack was good at his job but times were hard. The P.I business was slow and he needed a break. All he had to do was make Eddy vanish. Maybe he could send him a warning and a one-way trip to Europe. No, that wouldn’t work. He had to disappear and never show up again. That meant one thing, and then the ten grand would be his if Victor could be trusted. There was a lot to think about and not much time to do it!

  Jack checked his gun and snapped it shut, stowing it back in his trench pocket.

  ***

  Kim and Eddy left the gang of boxers in the hotel bar, where the volume and profanity grew louder. He lead Kim up to their room, clutching her in one arm, the leather bag full of cash in the other. He felt like the luckiest man in the world. His time had come. No more small-time con’s or scams for him. No, from now on, it was the legit lifestyle. He had made it big and gotten away clean. No one knew where he was. He was free as a bird. A very rich bird. And with the most amazing broad he’d ever clapped eyes on.

  They flopped on the bed and fell into each other’s arms, enjoying each other’s naked bodies passionately. There would be no more running for either of them. They kissed, gently at first, and then with passion and intensity. After a while, they poured themselves a drink and covered themselves with blankets.

  ***

  Jack finished his drink and glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine pm. Not too late, but late enough that darkness would get him across the street and into the hotel unseen. There was only one desk clerk at the front and he was busy reading a cheap skin mag. There was a broad on the centre fold with gams so long she had them wrapped around her head.

  It would be no problem getting the hotel register once he’d knocked the clerk out. He straightened his coat and stepped forward when Moses entered the lobby from the bar. He staggered to the main desk. The young clerk put down Miss July and smiled uneasily at the toothless giant. “Yes Sir, can I help you?”

  “A bottle of your best house wine for my good friend Eddy Kovakx. He’s in room fif… No. No, that’s mine.” He slapped his hand on the desk. “Room… seventeen.” Mac winked. “He’s got a female caller if you get my drift.”

  Jack smiled from the shadows as Mac leaned closer to the clerk. “Charge it to Mr. O’Neal’s account.”

  “Mr. Paddy O’Neal?”

  “That’s him!”

  The boy nodded. “Certainly, sir.”

  Mac glanced at the skin mag and roared with laughter. “Better wash your hands after you’ve finished with that.”

  * * *

  Jack slipped away from the lobby and headed for the backstairs. “Room nine, eleven, thirteen, fifteen… seventeen. Got you. You’re mine, matey.”

  He took out the lock picking set from his inside jacket pocket, using the picks to tickle the tumbler until it hit the doors sweet spot. It wasn’t a problem, not for a decent P.I. He eased the door open and slipped inside. A slant of light spilled from the bathroom. Kim was inside, fixing her hair in front of the broken wall mirror. From the fleeting glance he’d got, Jack had to admit she was a swell dame. Eddy was in bed, muttering in his sleep.

  Jack knelt down. He eased the key from the bathroom door, pulled it shut and locked it. He didn’t want the broad to see this. If he had to kill Eddy, she might never get over it. He was a gentleman like that.

  He tucked the key in his pocket and took out his gun, leveling it at the blanket-covered figure in front of him.

  “Don’t try it, gum-shoe,” came Eddy’s low, gravelled voice from under the white covers. “I got you covered, mate.” His gun pointed square at Jack from beneath the covers.

  Jack’s trained eye locked on to the snub nose barrel.

  “Who sent you?” Eddy’s voice was a mix of anger and concern.

  �
��The name’s Jack Malone. P.I from Central. You’ve got a price on your hide. I’m here to see you answer for the murders of Big Mike and the others, plus a mutual friend of ours wanted to say hello!”

  “Well, dick, it ain't going to be as easy as all that. I’ve been ducking and diving all my life. This is my big chance and you, pal, aren’t taking it from me.”

  Eddy’s head slid up over the top of the covers. The two men eyeballed each other long and hard. Each man studied the other, looking for a mistake, a wrong move; a slip-up to give the other the edge. Both men had way too much to lose. Eddy couldn’t help himself. He glanced at the leather bag. That one split-second was all Jack needed. He dived for the floor as he let some hot lead loose. Eddy fired back. The bullet went wide, dinging Jack’s left arm, smashing a lamp and embedding in the wall. The pain burned into him as he dived for cover behind the chest of drawers.

  Eddy wasn’t so lucky. He took a bullet square in the chest, his blood spraying a crimson ribbon across the peeling wall. He was dead and dripping blood on the cheap wooden floor. A pool of blood framed his corpse. Kim screamed. Her voice carried high. It would bring attention Jack could do without. She screamed even louder when she couldn’t get out, banging the door like a crazed creature.

  Jack glanced around. The chaos from the bathroom subsided as the words of a well-known prayer chimed. He recognized it from Sunday school and couldn’t help but chant Kim’s plea to the Lord. Jack was saying it more to himself than anything.

  “The Lord will keep you from all harm, he will watch over you all your life. The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forever more.”

  Jack grabbed the leather bag Eddy had been so interested in. There was no time to check, but gut instinct told him it contained the money from the heist. He searched through Eddy’s jacket. Inside was his driving license. It would do, proof of a job well done.

  The gunshots and hysterics had woken people up. It would not be long before they had company. The black-and-whites would attend and that wasn’t exactly on the cards. He unlocked the bathroom door and a furious female charged at him, claws and teeth scratching madly at his face.

  Jack held her off for a moment but her frenzied attack caught him on the forehead. With no time to deal with a crazy woman, he knocked her out. One blow on her glass chin was all it took.

  Jack gathered her on his shoulder like a stone-aged caveman and hurried from the room. He was just in time too. They missed the hotel manager and other frantic staff as they came around the corner from the elevators at a wary pace. Jack, with Kim still over his shoulder, slipped down a badly lit back stairwell and through a back door and into the night. He took the barely conscious Kim off his shoulder as soon as he was a street or two away, so not to draw attention to himself. He supported her the way he would a drunk, which the excuse he used to the Hindi cab driver who picked them up outside the newspaper vendor’s stall. He bundled her inside, got in beside her, and paid the Hindi a little more than his fare to keep quiet.

  Back at Jack’s hotel, he manhandled Kim up the stairs and into his room. He dropped her on the bed and locked the door, then placed the leather bag on the bed.

  His hands shook as he unbuckled the straps. Before opening it, he took a deep breath. There they were, the president and some of his friends, more money than he could earn in a lifetime. A smile crossed his face as he stared at the bundles of bound dollar bills. Thousands of dollars piled up, his mouth watered.

  He emptied his clothes from his travel bag and filled it with money. He then took several bundles, maybe two or three hundred dollars, and set fire to them in a waste paper bin. He let the money burn for a brief moment, and then put it out. After that, Malone poured himself a drink, courtesy of the hotel’s bar. He let the cogs turn. After a second whiskey, he had it. As a plan, it wasn’t much, but it might be enough. After all, Victor wasn’t the smartest fish in the big blue.

  He sneaked out of the hotel with a leather bag full of burnt money under one arm, and in the other, the bulk of his fee plus and a self-awarded bonus. He’d finally caught his break.

  ***

  Kim tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurred, hazy, and her jaw hurt like hell. After a few moments, the room came into focus and she rubbed her chin with her hand. It was tender and her head felt like a tap-dancer had gone to town on it.

  She sat up slowly, glancing around the unfamiliar room. Bundles of banknotes littered the bed. She gathered them, holding them to her chest. Whoever the man was, he’d left her enough to start a new life. Tears of joy welled in her eyes.

  ***

  Days later, back in Central City, a couple of Victor’s henchmen met Jack at the airport. They escorted him back to the club, showing him into a small, poorly lit room, and informing him Victor wouldn’t be long. Left alone with his thoughts something didn’t feel right. He started to wonder if he had made the right choice. But it was too late to change his mind now. He had to see this through to the end, no matter what.

  Victor entered, smoking a large cigar. His slick backed hair gleamed beneath the lights of the drab, overdone office. “Well, my boy! Jack. It’s good to see you.”

  Jack took a deep breath. “I have some good news and some bad, Vic. Which do you want first?”

  Victor rolled a pair of die on his desk, landing on snake eyes. He studied the dice, and then glanced at Jack. “Well… I think maybe the bad first, get it out the way.”

  Jack nodded. “I found the money but there was a fire. Eddy tried to get smart. I’m sorry, Vic, but it’s lost.” He dropped the bag on the desk and opened it up, letting the badly burnt notes fall out. “I tried to save it…”

  “And the good news?”

  “I got him and took care of business.”

  “He’s dead? You’re sure?”

  Jack dropped the driver’s license on the desk next to the burnt money. “Stone-dead.” Before leaving the corpse, he’d wiped some of Eddy’s blood on it, for effect.

  Victor’s smile returned to his bulldog-like face. His criminal reputation was intact. He might have lost some money but the thief had been dealt with; no one messed with him or his club. He stood, picked up a handful of the blackened notes and crumbled the paper in his hand. “But how do I know the money’s gone?” His eyes fixed on Jack’s.

  Jack kept his calm, meeting his glare. “Cos I swear it, Mr. Renetti.”

  The club owner smiled broadly and then let out a laugh. “We’ve been through a lot you and me. You’re right. I trust your word. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to do me wrong, would you?”

  Victor sat back in his chair. He stared at the torn bloodstain on Jack’s upper sleeve. “He get you?”

  Jack shrugged. “A scratch. He missed. I didn’t.”

  Victor laughed again, more relaxed this time. “Yes, my friend, you’re as good as I said, maybe better. You’ve done well.”

  Jack thought carefully for a second. “Victor?” he said. “As the money’s lost, you can forget the finder’s fee. You don’t have to pay me.”

  Victor stood up and stepped around the table. Opening his arms, he gave Jack a big hug and patted him on the back. “No, no,” Victor said. “A deal is a deal. Job done. Money paid. I gave my word, and Victor Renetti always keeps his word.”

  He nodded to one of his bodyguards. The man stepped forward with a sleek black suitcase. “Ten grand, as agreed.” With their business concluded. Jack nodded to Victor, who smiled and left the office.

  Outside, Jack’s mind was racing, he had pulled it off. He was rich and there was no one after him. There and then, he vowed to make a new agency with more P.I’s, something big. He walked down the street into the cold, cloudy night. “Something Real,” he said, and then lit a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he disappeared into the fog.

  END

  Jack Malone P.I will return in his own series.

  Author Bio

  Adam lives at home in Shropshire, UK, with his young daughter Holly and amazing wife, C
aroline. Who has put up with all his mad rambling’s and bouts of being ignored.

  While writing he is always pestered by their pets Fleur the dog and Skitz the cat.

  With all Adam’s book’s he tries to bring awareness that people with Dyslexia can accomplish anything, and it should never hold them back from reaching their goals.

  Adam has been a fan of the Film Noir Genre and Classic American crime ever since he read “The Long Goodbye.”

  When he's not writing his nose is always stuck in a sketchbook illustrating for his fellow author pals for more information and to keep in touch follow him on:

  mitchellwriter.weebly.com

  Follow him on Twitter @MitchellWriter

  I’m also on Facebook Adam C Mitchell