Chapter Ten.
It is hard to imagine a feeling better than that of winning. Everything seemed brighter, more welcoming, less dangerous. Winning was a booze that made the more foolish of man a careless one… or a dead one, if his carelessness got the better of him.
Walter hoped that he didn't seem like too much of a fool, as he sauntered around, punch-drunk on his recent winnings. The thought of cash in his pocket nearly upset the nagging reminder that he would more than likely never see this place again.
If he was lucky.
Which was unlikely.
Walter wondered where he could get a decent car, but he was dragging his feet about it- he knew the reaction Astrid would have, when he showed up and told her what needed to be done, and it wouldn't be pretty. He entertained the brief notion of booking a flight, and immediately dismissed it- he'd spent enough time jumping out of planes that he was certain he would never be able to ride in them properly ever again. No, no- a car would do just fine. Perhaps a ford; they were good, when it came to stopping bullets. And grey… yes, grey, it would match his hat…
"Dr. Bishop."
He nearly walked on, along the boardwalk, nearly ignored it. He hadn't been addressed by his proper title in a good, long while. But something in the tone, something dangerous, stopped him. And it was a good thing that he had learned long ago to follow his baser instincts.
The repeat was not needed, but was added anyway, even as he was turning, "Dr. Bishop," and he knew it was her.
What he hadn't counted on was the gun in his side, and he exclaimed sharply as the glossy, black barrel of a Thompson jammed his kidney. He replied casually, even as his skin crawled, "Hello, miss Dunham."
"Into the alley. Go."
"You're a classy gal, I've always said that about you," Walter murmured, but he did as he was instructed. He grunted sharply as she gripped his collar, shoving him back against the wall of the building.
"Just what the hell are you involved in, Bishop?" she demanded lowly, pressing the gun into his stomach.
"Well, I was part of the keno club for a bit, but then it became more of a bingo club, and I hate bingo-"
"My friend is laying in a hospital with six bullets in him, doctor. I need answers, and I need them now," Olivia growled, her finger tightening on the trigger.
"If you're asking if I have enemies, Miss Dunham, the answer is yes," Walter said, "But shooting me won't help you or your friend."
xXx
"It appears to me that you don't have a lot of people that are very fond of you, Dr. Bishop," Olivia continued.
He continued to watch her.
"If I go back to New York without you, it will only be a matter of time before someone else comes looking for you."
"And what are you suggesting?" Walter snapped, "I've been dead for years, Miss Dunham- I can die again."
"And more people that I care about could, if I don't collar you," Olivia replied darkly, "This isn't a choice, doctor. You're coming with me back to New York--" She was interrupted as Walter shushed her, pushing the gun down into her coat as obscuring it as he stood in front of her.
"Bishop, fancy running into you, here," A massive man seemed entirely too big for the narrow alley that had been containing their conversation impeded them, smiling widely with distressingly gaped teeth, "and hello- you've got a new dame, is that it?"
"Davy," Walter said evenly, "Always a pleasure."
"I can't say I blame you. That singer was cute, but I've never been one for the darkies. Unnatural, if you ask me."
Olivia only briefly registered the red creeping up the back of Walter's neck, and the sudden heat that radiated from him, "What do you want?"
"The same thing I always want- what you owe me," Davy replied, and the figures of several lesser men were eventually visible past his bulk, "word has it you've made some winnings. I only want what's mine."
"Fine." Walter delved into his pocket, pulling out his billfold. He tossed it against Davy's chest, "It's all there. I don't want trouble, Davy."
Davy's gapped smile grew as he counted through the bills, "Very nice. A first, if you ask me. But if you're winning, Bishop… I think I might have to charge interest."
"You work for Champ- he won't like you stepping in on your own much longer, Davy."
"Aren't you the yappy bastard, preaching morals? Shut your mouth, three-fingers."
Walter bit the inside of his cheek, "I've paid you, Davy. It's the end of our dealings."
"Whoa, whoa- don't be so hasty. I know you too well for that, Bishop. I'll tell you what," Davy slipped the money into his pocket, shrugging his massive shoulders, "since you ain't using the darkie anymore, howsabout giving me the sweet, then?"
Olivia exclaimed as Walter ripped the Thompson from her hands, setting it to his hip and jamming back the trigger. The explosive chatter of automatic fire roared in the alley as Davy crumbled to the pavement, "How's that for three-fingers, you gorilla prick?!" Walter spat angrily. "Drop the pieces!" He shouted as the other strangers jumped for their pistols, "Drop 'em, or taste the chopper!"
Hesitantly, pistols clattered on the floorboards at his feet, and he narrowed the Thompson on each of them in turn, "We're all reasonable here, gentleman. And I have only one request, for you to take back to Champ, or any of the others that inquire- don't come looking for me. And if anyone ever touches the dame- this one, or the singer- I'll kill 'em." He barred his teeth, "Savvy?!"
There was the distant wail of sirens, and Olivia seized Walter's arm, dragging his off down the alley, "C'mon!" She said hastily as the thugs were scrambling for their guns, "we'll take my car!"
A shot sounded, and Walter gave a cry as his hat tipped forward, a bullet whizzing past his head. Olivia shoved him into the off driver's seat as she bolted around the hood, grinding the car to life and screeching the tires as they sped onto the street.
Walter was shaking his head as he covered his eyes with his hand, the Thompson in his lap, "Ooh… I shouldn't have done that."
xXx