Welcome To Central City

by Adam C Mitchell

  The Lost Angel was new and exciting it had become a hot spot in this grim city. The sounds of the jazz club filled the early evening air, beckoning people in from the cold. I crossed the traffic rich street dodging sedan’s and a crisp new ford that I would have killed for, I had to force my eyes away from the ford as it parked up. Pulling up my collar I walked into the dim lit alley, I couldn’t go through the main doors, not with those ogres lording it over everyone.

  But thanks to the plans I learned that the alley had a side door where the band did their comings and goings undisturbed, thankfully the alley was empty with no eyes to spy. It I had found my way in.

  Inside, the heady cocktail of music from the ‘Sensational Jasmine La-Rouge’ and the smoky light and vibe of the chatter filled my senses I had to admit I was a little drunk off it. I made my way passed booths of people already drunk on watered down spirits, I made my way to the bar and sat down at one of the small tables in the corner. Letting the Lost Angel seduce me into buying a smoke and letting my guard down, so the girls could do what they were paid for. Making a man’s night all the more pleasant.

  I asked a very busty, hardly dressed cocktail waitress named Flo who if I didn’t have a girl on my arm already I’d have taken a shine to. I asked if she had seen my old friend Ruddy slipping a dollar in her hand and a playful slap on the bottom for the information. She pointed a ruby red finger nail to a guy in a low-lit corner booth. He was twenty-something at best guess with greasy hair slicked back to his scalp and skin and a day-old shadow around his cigarette smoking mouth.

  Old before his time. This city could do that if you let it. I ordered two whiskeys from Flo who served them up placing them in front of me, she bent over just enough to give me enough cleavage to give me a shiver right down my leg, then with a smile walked away. Taking a second to pull my self together I went over and placed a murky glass in front of him. Rudy cautiously looked up, being friendly in this to bit town could get you killed if you weren’t careful.

  "You wouldn't be Rudy, would ya? What’s kicking?”

  Rudy drank the whiskey in one gulp without a word or a thank you couldn’t blame a guy for that. A devilish smile crossed his pocked face.

  He motioned for me to take a seat. My right hand stayed inside my old overcoat pocket, on my Colt the trigger begged to be pulled. Just in case the deal went sour.

  “So, what can I do for you, buddy?”

  I placed my battered fedora on the table. “Your partner bought the farm. His bragging got him in hot water, if you catch my drift. Don’t know who plugged him but someone did. I saw the package and took it, better me than the goons chasing after him.” I leaned forward lowering my voice. “I saw the wad of cash and the plans.”

  “So, Tony’s a cold lump of meat. I hear you pal no great loss not really, but what’s all that got to do with me?”

  “Listen, Rudy, unless you want me to rat you to Decker at the thirty-fourth precinct and get you a reservation at Sin Sing, I want in. Not the measly ten percent you offered Tony though. I want it cut down the middle.”

  Rudy’s eyes glazed open and his cigarette fell from his slack-jawed mouth. Beads of panic ran down his forehead. He looked at me, around the club, then back at me. After an age, he said, “How do I know you’re not a cop or a hitter?”

  I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic laugh. “Coz if I were pal, you’d be dead alongside your pal or in the birdcage by now instead your drinking whiskey with me.”

  The greasy weasel let out an uneasy but relieved sigh. “True. I see your point buddy”

  “Okay Let’s say I’m interested in what you have to offer. How do I know you won’t do a George C. Parker and con me out of the loot? Or worse. How do I know you’re on the level?”

  Rudy grabbed a drink from a passing waitress. I tossed the wad of bills to him, hoping to sweeten the pot. The slick Willy was biting. “The way I see it, pal. You need a second. A bag-man. So, unless you’re Harry Houdini, you need me to pull this off. Now, you’ve got those bills to help you think, so I’m going to grab a scotch and the intentions of Flo and wait for you.”

  In the time it took me to walk to the bar get the eye of Flo, order and return, he’d come around.

  “Okay. Say I’m interested. What d’you want to know?”

  After ordering him another drink, I answered, “Well, buddy, the drop-off and cargo would be a start, and how the hell are we meant to get out of this town? This is Victor’s place. If we steal from him we’re looking at a trip down the Burbank River in our near future if you get me, you know as well as I do he’s a bit dark son of a bitch. You get me?”

  Rudy rubbed his chin he could see the tabloid headlines if they bungled this. But life was for living. Well his was, he didn’t really care about the life of his new found partner, so for now he’d just play along. “Kovakx, the time’s midnight Saturday. The cargo is green. Cold hard cash. Eighty grand to be exact, and we get it and out fast. As fast as we can. We both know whose joint this is, and frankly, for that payout, I’m ready to take a swim, are you. Besides, we’ll be in the city’s dust before our pal, Victor, wakes up.”

  Eighty grand. I had always been a small-time crook. This was big for me. Rudy explained the money was dirty and would be well guarded. I whistled at the thought of what the money could do for me and for my girl back home it meant a new life, I wouldn't be a waster any more, neither of us would. We had the chance to be somebodies, somewhere new.

  After ordering two more drinks, Rudy led me into a back room behind the bar that a pal of his had left free and clear thanks to a C note and a blind eye. “Eddy, we’re going to need firepower to pull this off.” Opening a locked cupboard, he pulled out a large canvas bag. In it were two Thompson sub-machine guns, two pistols and a boatload of extra brass. I held the Tommy; it was new, in factory wrappings. And smelt of new metal. The feel of the guns handle made me shiver with excitement, but I held it in as best I could.

  I smiled, and with a cheesy put-on mob voice that sounded half Humphrey Bogart and half James Caan, Ruddy said with a swagger, “These were lifted by a pal of mine from an army base down Frisco way. It’s 1946. We got to have the best to be the best.” I tossed a coin from my pocket in the air playing the mock part. “We don’t know what we’ll be up against?” Rudy said.

  We needed a car for the getaway, so I used the cash I had stowed at my apartment to buy a car from a dealership in the next town over. I hoped there would be less chance of being remembered that way if things went south. Rudy’s truck had black-and-whites looking for it. If we used that we’d be in hot water the second we turned the ignition. I got a small, but fast, blue Lincoln Coupé. It wasn't anything to write home about and I probably paid way more to the dealer than what it was worth, but with eighty grand ahead of me, what was an extra couple of hundred.

  Saturday night came and I met Rudy at the back of the Lost Angel. The club was heaving out front, a new Negro singer was on stage and had brought crowds and a sea of yellow taxi’s in from all over. Times were changing I thought as I took a final glance out front. But here in the alley the light out front didn’t shine, here where it was quiet and still, it was near-dark, lit by only two lamps, one at each end. Opening the back of the Coupé Ruddy took out his piece, as I snapped in the round Tommy Magazine and flipped off the safety. Shocked of the weight of this fully loaded weapon, it wasn’t like the movie’s, this was heavy I was sobered a lot by the thought that unlike a movie there would be no director to shout ‘cut’ or stunt double to take the shot when and If things nosedived. It was just me and Ruddy. Live or die. I knelt on the running board of the coupé after parking it about fifty yards up the alley from the door. I was sweating like mad, my hands tensed on the gun’s small but powerful trigger.

  “Cool it,” Rudy said, tapping me on my shoulder. “Five minutes. Be ready pal. We hit them hard. Get in fast, grab the cash and we are in the wind. Gone.”

  A crimson Sedan interrupted my thoughts as it turned off the str
eet into the alley our alley, it was on. “Wait till the club’s heavies are out,” I said. “We need them in the open.”

  Rudy nodded.

  I pulled my hat down and brought the gun to my shoulder I noticed the tremble of excitement in my hand had gone. I was in the moment now, ready. I flipped the gun to auto and eyed up the club door in my guns sights and took a slow, deep breath. Watching the sight rise and fall of the barrel between breaths. The Sedan stopped the car's lamps still bright. Four large men each as big as a bison, got out, all with Austen SMG’s. These big guns weren’t playing. But neither were we.

  This wasn’t going to be easy. All we had was surprise. That’s when they heard Rudy’s footfall from behind our car, Ruddy had stepped out, playing the big cheese and whistled. That’s when all hell broke lose. I fired on the nearest man my salvo hit the car, shattering the side window. The driver returned the brass volley, alternating his aim between Rudy and me, Ruddy ducking back to cove but Ruddy’s dive was late. The driver hit Rudy hard and loud. Sending him barrelling against the clubs side door. He dropped like a sack of spuds. With his last breath Rudy plugged another guy, but not before the shmuck fired back, killing Rudy in seconds. I was on my own!

  sprayed the car with a hail of bullets, emptying the barrel on them. It was over in moments. Three men lay dead in the clubs trash and a fat man slumped in the car, bullets where his eyes once were. I ran over dropping the gun, I yanked the door open and without thinking pulled the bloody leather bag from the fat guy’s limp, lifeless hand. I stepped back as the obese lump of meat fell from its seat, to the running board, a fat hand scraping the ground. I looked around and couldn’t help steal a moment and look at my partner, Rudy’s dead eyes stared up at me as I ran back to the Lincoln. The gun fire as expected had brought onlooker and with onlookers came screams from the club door. I had to move fast, the cops or worse Vic’s boys would be here anytime. I threw the bag inside the coupé and jumped inside, and floored the motor, driving away as fast as I could.

  Thankfully, I was near the edge of the city. Fields of corn, farmland and rows of trees greeted me the colours a welcome change from the dirty hues of Central. These roads were alien to me, as the concrete of the city fading in my rear-view mirror. After about ten miles or so the panic and excitement finally gave way to clear thought, a searing pain coursed through my left thigh. I pulled over on a track-way hidden by a bushel of shrub I could hear nothing but bird chatter, with not another soul insight, I could finally take stock. I had taken a slug to my thigh. It wasn’t clean either, from what I could tell the brass was still in there, but it would have to come out. There was blood everywhere and it hurt like hell, but would have to wait. I took a torn piece of my shirt and used it to plug the flow of blood, it would do for a while anyway . I had to put some more space between me and the city.

  By the early hours of the morning and suns first glimmer of light, I was many miles from Central City, touching eighty or more down coastal lanes and sea bound cliffs the smell of the sea keeping me awake. I slowed down as I approached a small fishing town. I didn’t want to draw attention. The last thing I needed was some Hill-billy country cop trying to give me a blasted ticket especially considering Vic had eyes everywhere, it wasn’t a stretch to think he might all the way out here to. With the first light of day, autumn leaves fell onto the hood of the car. Birds chatter became song, as they sang a sweet melody. It lifted my spirits a little. With the fishing town behind me I sped north towards Liberty City where I have folks as well as my girl but more importantly a place to lie low. The sodden roads were covered with red, yellow and gold autumn leaves. I wish I hadn’t slowed down though. The pain in my leg was getting worse my makeshift bandage had given up, when I raised my foot to apply the brake to take a corner, the pain intensified bringing me to tears. The car skidded sideways suddenly, veering off the road. I yanked the steering wheel right, shot left. I slammed into an old wall hugging the road and everything went black.

  When I regained consciousness, it was late morning. The road was empty and all was quiet. The undercarriage of the car pressed on the remnants of the prehistoric stone wall. I was jammed in the car with the money bag in my lap. I opened the bag up. I had never seen so much money. Ideas of how I would spend it swam in my mind. I’d made the big-time and got clean away. Well, almost. My leg needed fixing and soon. But I was in the middle of the boondocks, many miles away. I shifted in my seat and the wall crumbled beneath me. The car lurched forward, which is when I noticed I was on a cliff edge with the promise of a long, deep drop in my possible future. The car teetered on the edge, rocking back and forth. The pain in my leg blurred my eyes. I figured I had to do something fast or die on the razor-sharp rocks below. My heart pounded in my throat as I edged sideways. Money in one hand, the door handle in the other. The car rocked again.

  Part Two

  Daylight poured into the dark bedroom, bringing it to dreary life. Where was he? She slumped back on the dishevelled bed. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, the blonde strands catching the early morning light. Curls of gold framed her pale face. She stood up, circling the battered brown leather case that sat in the middle of the tiny room. Stopping in front of the large oval mirror, she stared longingly at her reflection. Would it give her the answers she was looking for?

  The dainty green hat sat on her head at an angle. The faux grey fur collar on her pink coat reminded her that she was ready to get out of this place. Panic welled up. She was a wreck. She wiped the tears from her blue eyes. He will come! He will be here! Just sit tight, Kim. Sit tight. She wiped more tears away and resumed sitting on the bed, waiting.

  The shrill ring of the telephone broke the silence. Slowly, she raised the phone to her ear. “Kimmie Saint-Claire. Is that you, Rudy?” She twirled the cord around her finger with a trembling hand. “Rudy? Where are you?”

  She bit her lip hard, waiting for the sound of his voice. Nothing for a long moment, then a strained, “I need help. I’m in a bad way.” She just reacted, not thinking Kim wrote the address down that he gave her, grabbed her case and rushed from the motel room. She hurried down the stairs to her Ford-6. The lime-green paintwork added to her nausea.

  Throwing the case in the boot, she was away, heading out of the city. Worry etched like stone on her face. Tears ran down her flushed cheeks All sorts of horrid thoughts rushed through her min, she knew he was no saint, frankly that’s what attracted her to him in the first place. Kim knew he hung around in the wrong circles, but none of that mattered now. Rudy needed her help. The thought of him hurt or worse, dying spurred her on. She raced past farms and country cottages even past a Patrol officer, leaving him and the officers sirens in the dust. Central City became a distant shadow now behind her. She checked the address the voice on the phone gave her and turned right at the road ahead past a splattering of rundown barns and now derelict buildings. The wheels crunched gravel as the battered car came off the highway and onto the dirt tracks, Speeding down them wasn’t easy, especially after narrowly missing a hitch-hiker. A short way up was a rusty hut with broken gas pumps out front. The old gas station was a relic, but this was the place. Or at least she hoped so.

  Kim parked grabbed her bag and made her way up two rickety steps. She pushed the barely hanging door open the dying ring of a bell, made her uneasy. The door creaked as she stepped through. Suddenly a hand grabbed her, pulled her inside and covered her mouth.

  “Rudy...?”

  She struggled, but the man held her firmly in place. But then his hand slid from her face as he fell against the wall of the old gas station come hut, slumping into a heap on the floor.

  Kim spun around. The room was dark and dusty, but the chinks of light seeped through the wall. Blood glistened on the man’s shoulder and leg. A battered brown trilby hat covered his face, she noticed a bloodied shoulder, and leg. It wasn’t Rudy; he was too big and tall for it to be him. So, who was he?

  “Don’t be alarmed doll, Miss Saint-Claire. I’m a friend of your
man’s, of Rudy’s. We...we worked together.”

  She stopped her retreat and stared at him she could tell he was in pain, but still all she could think about was her man Ruddy.

  “He said you’d help me. The names Ed.. Eddy Kovakx.”

  Wide-eyed, she glanced around. “Where’s Rudy? Where’s my man?”

  Silence met her question. Eddy had passed out.

  Half an hour later, Eddy woke. It took him a wayward minute to make sense of everything that had happened. The sound of a distant memory, along with a prayer he’d heard in his youth, bringing him to his senses. He even remembered a few random lines from a memory locked away. It helped either way. Eddy wasn’t a religious man any more, how could anyone be who saw what happened in Europe. But somehow the words still brought him peace.

  The pain in his thigh had eased, and a steely blue-eyed angel looked down at him—praying for him. The prayer and her looks made him feel almost superhuman. Like one of those caped heroes he’d seen on the magazine stands, even if it was for only a few fleeting heartbeats.

  His thigh was wrapped in pink cloth, torn from the inside of Kim’s coat. It wasn’t a sure fire fix but it did the job though, for now. She had dressed the cut on his head, a cut even he didn’t know he had, as best as she could too.

  Kim rolled his trouser leg back down, set a wooden box in front of Eddy and finished cleaning him up. “Well, Eddy wasn’t it, who are you, and please where’s my Rudy?”

  Eddy took Kim’s left hand in his, feeling the tremble in it. He looked so deep into her eyes he could almost see the fear and growing pain. “I’m sorry, doll face, Rudy’s dead.”

  “How? Why?” Kim screamed breaking down. She fell to her knees, letting out pained wail that I swear Ruddy would have been able to hear in the next life. Tears flooded from her angelic blue eyes, sending pools of sorrow onto the dirty floor. The pain in her voice said it all, as she began to rock on her knees. Eddy couldn’t begin to imagine how she was feeling. He’d never really been close to anyone, not even his so called girl back home. He felt for her as she shook grief stricken. Eddy had to tell her everything, this dame deserved the truth. Its the only way she would recover in time.