The Client

The Devil is an asshole and I think he cracked a rib. He's just doing his job old man. And you're not done yet. Sure as hell I'm not. He tossed my tired ass out back, in the alley with the rest of the bums and veterans. He was kind enough not to take all my money. The sweet-dirty taste of blood filled my mouth: the natural reaction is to spit the stuff out, but I find it's best to swallow it with your pride and hold your head up: it sends a message.
"You got guts old man," The bouncer shifted his hulking form back inside, out of view. Cheap stripper music blared out for a second. The alley dropped to silence.
"Jeeshus shun, yer gotta tip 'em girlsh." A dirty old wino with all his front teeth missing doling out advice, while simultaneously swigging on something illegal and purple. I was really straddling the precipice this time.
I needed two things: hot coffee and a payphone. It was time to update the client.
The beautiful thing about the city is that one minute you can be down in the depths of sin and the next you can find yourself in a sterile mall on the respectable side of society. The place was quiet and shut up for the night, inhabited by a lone janitor working his way from one side of the plaza to another. Slap slap was the sound of his mop washing away the filth of the streets. A lone vendor stared out from behind his stall, the poor guy probably worked seventeen hours a day to feed his kids. His jaw worked stale gum like cud.
"You look like shit fella."
"Thanks. Gimme a coffee. And a Danish."
"Sure thing."
"You know a place called Sampson's?"
"West and twenty-third?"
"Yeah."
"Sure. Guy who owns it is scum. He'll pawn anything."
I didn't like the sound of that.
"Thanks." I took my food and tipped him. He smiled.
"Thank you very much sir. And keep sniffin' Jack."
I turned and gave him a sideways glance: he carried on smiling like nothing was wrong: that was the moment I realised this case was going to take me places I didn't want to go. So here's a tip to you kids and wannabes: never take cases from politicians.

The Girl...

I imagine the stench of piss and urinal cakes hit him first. My fist hit him second. I bundled his yuppie ass into the nearest cubicle and set him against the flimsy plasterboard.
"There's a few things we need to sort out, a few problems we need to discuss."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm the guy asking you where the girl is and the same guy who is gonna pound you if you don't tell him."
"You some kinda cop? By the time my lawyer's done with you, you'd be lucky to pound the streets."
"I'm no cop, kid."
"Then what do you want?"
I answered with a stiff backhand.
"Who are you?"
And another.
"C'mon, give me a break."
The third time, I didn't stop. I didn't like this man, if 'man' was even the right word. He was scum and I was the one who had to skim him off the surface. I slapped him around for a good few minutes: it wasn't long before he started spitting blood down his shirt. he wasn't crying yet, but I could see in his eyes that he was all ready to break.
"look what do you want, money?" He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a fresh wad of bills. "Just stop hitting me." I took the bills, gave them a cursory glance and stuffed them in my top breast pocket.
"I'll tell you now I'm not interested in your money."
"Then what do you want?"
"I already told you! Where's the girl?"
"What girl?"
I shoved his head down the toilet and flushed. Whoever was in there last had obviously eaten something bad. He came up gagging.
"What girl?"
"Blond, about five-two. Remember?"
"I don't know!"
"She was barely seventeen!"
"I don't know!"
I socked one in his gut and made him swallow toilet water. This time, when he came up, he threw up all over himself. It was a pathetic sight.
"Where is she?"
Through piss stung eyes and a thick goo of puke and blood he uttered these sporadic words: "Sampson's pawn shop, corner of west and twenty-third."
I gave him a final fist in the stomach as way of thanks and got ready to leave.

And that's when the bouncer walked in.

The Dangerous Days

I lit up a cigar and sucked deep

Stake-outs had a habit of grating on me. They were long, they were boring, and they damn near turned you insane. Not the kind of insanity that sends a man rampant with his sidearm. No, it was the kind that could only be found at the bottom of a glass. I’d known guys with double my resolve that ended up lost in the bottle. It was a killer. But then I guess it helped when you had nothing to live for.

I had fallen on hard times: up to my ears in alimony and only dead cases were passing my desk. I missed the old days, the sweet days: the dangerous days. Nobody bought into the tough guy-former cop routine anymore. They just tried to buy you out, meaning I was the only guy in New York who kept his nose clean. And even I fought dirty. A mean left hook left over from my boxing days was just itching to crack jaw.

The waitress asked if I wanted a refill and I had no choice but to say yes. The kid was a pretty little thing, barely out of high school; an innocent blonde with wide blue eyes, curves just filling out. I had to stop and tell myself, think pure thoughts, old man.

She’s probably here to pay off expensive college fees. If she’s lucky, she’ll make it through with only a bitter taste in her mouth. If not, well, let’s not go down that path. I imagined her self respect was somewhere in the gutter right now, along with the minds of the filth leering at her. That’s what this city does to the innocent, takes them in and chews them right back out.

And I was just waiting for the executive lounge to chew someone right out onto my lap. I could make out my guy through the filthy haze. Boy was he gonna get a grilling. The old one-two, turn him black and blue.

But before I got the chance to think about how I was really going to work on him, a shadow cast itself over me…

Cold neon...

I thought about that lethal construction of steel as the cold neon lights of the city night came at me through the haze of filthy water. They promised me girls and booze: the age-old pleasures of every man before me throughout the aeons of time. And yeah, I wanted them, I wanted them bad. God, it had been so long since…

Fortune would have it that I was a smart guy in a dumb city and knew that if I fell into the temptations that it offered, it was only going to throw up a whole host of other problems I didn’t want to be dealing with. Not now, not ever.

I had work to do.

There was a particular light I was searching for on this particular evening. It was one of the more colourful ones, in name and image. Yellow, blue and green tubes marked out the shape of a tropical island and palm tree; its name emblazoned in seedy red.

The Paradise Club.

There was no choice but to head on in…