Untitled short story #1

I woke up with the wet pavement feeling cool against my busted up face. I couldn’t tell if the salty-metallic taste in my mouth was blood or the filthy streets of the city. I managed to push myself up onto all fours, my head pounding with the aftershocks of the beating I’d just taken. I looked down just as I felt something drip out of my mouth. Yep, that’s definitely blood.

I struggled to get to my feet as the pounding in my brain turned to swimming; I could almost feel my thoughts sloshing around like a teetering fishbowl. I leaned against the cold brick wall, just trying to stay upright, but keeping to the shadows on purpose. I’m not usually vain, but I wanted to see what I looked like. Based on the tenderness I felt everywhere in my face, I wanted to see how badly I’d been rearranged. Say what you will, Vinnie’s thugs are artists, it was just unfortunate that my face was their clay.

It was still night time and they had dropped me just inside an alley. The orange amber street lights, spread much too far apart, only seemed to enhance the shadows between them and around corners. I had no way of knowing how long I was out, which is ironic, considering how well I’d been “clocked.” I turned and leaned my back against the same building, feeling strength return to my limbs. My head began to clear and I thought about the message I’d just been sent. 

It was bad juju to cross swords with Vinnie, nee Vincenzo Malone, which is an odd name for a banker, because it sounds like he’s in the mob. But Vinnie was, in fact a “reputable” banker – on the surface anyway. It didn’t take me that long to discover that Vinnie was really in business for himself and his contacts in the banking world meant he had his hands in a lot of pies; or at the very least, access to those pies. You’d be surprised how many unsavory characters conduct business with bankers; or maybe not, bad guys have to keep their money somewhere.

It was the money trail that led me to discover that my client’s fortune was being whittled away by his accountant, who was clearly in Vinnie’s pocket. The only proof was on the accountant’s hard drive, which I had managed to copy only moments before being detected. I hadn’t planned on Vinnie’s guys finding me so soon, which meant I didn’t have time to stash the evidence in a secure hiding place. Although I guess I didn’t do too bad, considering I can still feel the flash drive in my shoe. If I could be grateful for anything, it was that Vinnie’s hired muscle, while good with their fists, weren’t so good with their brains. They patted me down, which I expected, but kept telling them that I wasn’t able to get anything from the hard drive. They believed me when they didn’t find anything in my pockets or on my person, but they were still thorough in delivering the message they were sent to give me.

I knew I had to lay low, but I needed to get myself cleaned up if I was going to hand the evidence over to my client, or, more accurately, my client’s daughter.  How I wish I’d never laid eyes on her. She came in to my office like Aphrodite herself had fallen from mount Olympus, looking for directions. Long, wavy, chestnut brown hair gracefully swayed around her, as if gravity didn’t apply to her the same way it did to us mere mortals. She had piercing hazel eyes that took in everything. She was a classy dame, definitely not the type to go for a shlub like me, but, hey, a guy can dream.

I decided to go to Gracie’s diner. It was a small-ish joint and they knew me there; they knew my business. My favorite waitress, Lucy, was good with the witty banter and never asked too many questions. I kept to the alley’s and shadows, in case I was being followed; you never could be too sure with Vinnie. The truth is, I never go anywhere by taking the straightest route. I guess that’s the price you pay for tailing other people for a living, you just assume you’re being followed as well.

The familiar pink and blue of Gracie’s neon sign were a welcome sight. I walked in to the quiet, dimly lit diner. I spied Lucy, an even more welcome sight, behind the bar, sitting down and reading a paper. She looked up when I came in and a smile started to crack her face, when the look of me really registered and her eyes widened.

“Good Lord, look what the cat dragged in!”

“Hiya doll, tonight I feel like something the cat dragged in.”

“Well for heaven’s sake, go get yourself cleaned up and let me get some ice for your face.” 

She said it like she was annoyed, but I knew she cared. She may look like a crusty old woman on the outside, but she had a heart of gold, this lady.

“Thanks Luce.” I shambled to the back towards the restrooms. “Hey, what time is it anyway?”

“Just after 1:00 am.” She called from the kitchen.

Once in the bathroom I looked in the mirror and wished I hadn’t. They did a number on me this time. My face looked like a patchwork quilt of cuts, bruises and blood. I ran the water in the faucet and the cold water stung my face at first, but then felt amazing. I slicked my dark brown hair back and tried to wash what blood I could out of my white button down shirt. I was distracted by the door being pushed open and seeing Lucy walk in without so much as a knock.

I gave her a knowing look and she replied with, “please hon, you ain’t got nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” She handed me an ice pack. “Come on,” she added, “I got some coffee for you at the counter.”

“What would I do without you, doll face?”

She clucked at me and waved her hand like my teasing was an annoying fly, but she grinned all the same.

“So?” She said, nodding her head towards my face and pouring me a hot cup of coffee, “was it worth it?”

“I think you mean, ‘was she worth it’?”

“Oh, for heavens sake!” she said in mock derision and rolling her eyes.

I chuckled, “without a doubt; without a doubt.”

“Well, she better be, hon, ‘cause I don’t think your pretty face can take much more.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Don’t get fresh with me, young man. You want apple or cherry?” She said walking to the pastries.

“Cherry, and don’t be stingy with the whipped cream.” She set a large piece of pie down in front of me and piled on the whipped cream. “Bless you,” was all I could think to say.

She went back to her paper and let me work on the pie as well was think about my next move.

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