A FOOL FOR LOVE

Part Three: Dead Man's Hand

The Four Aces Club. I'd heard about this place.

The rumours were legion. Stories of imaginable depravity, sadomasochism, brutal beatings, even murder. It was a true tough guy's bar.

The Four Aces had changed ownership on an almost weekly basis since its days as a speakeasy in the 1930s. At the moment it was, and had been for an unusually long time, under the control of the Punchinello crime family. For the most part it was a legitimate front for any number of illegal activities.

"You understand that we're going to have to play this one real softly?" Alex said as we drove through the run down streets. "People who mess with the affairs of the big families tend to know about it when they wake up in the morgue."

"So?" I replied. "It's our job to deal with the scum. We're supposed to stop them, not pander to them."

"In an ideal world, yeah," Alex said sadly. "Unfortunately, this is the real world, and the Punchinellos run this town. I'd rather not come home and find my wife riddled with bullets."

I sighed hopelessly. "Someone needs to sort this town out," I said.

Alex shrugged. "What you going to do? It's the way it always has been here. We keep the small-times off the streets, the big fish run things the way they want and we sit back and make sure they don't get out line. But as long as they're not tearing the city to bits, we let them to it." He stared out into the road, streetlights flashing white streaks across his solemn face. "It's not fair. But it's how things are, and it's how they'll always be."

We pulled up about a block away and walked through the driving rain to the unwelcoming red-brick building. It sat bathed in sleazy red neon, bright as blood, raindrops slicking its run down surface. A small line of damp customers, sheltering under coats or umbrellas, stood outside, muttering and tapping their feet.

Alex took the lead, walking straight up to the entrance. Two huge bouncers greeted him, as through the door behind them loud pounding dance beats poured out into the street, as friendly as a punch in the jaw.

"Can I help you, sir?" one, a stocky man with a goatee almost twice Alex's height, snarled.

Alex flashed his badge. "NYPD," he said calmly, not missing a beat. "I'd like a word with Mr Malluchi."

The bouncer turned to his friend and chuckled. "We got vice here," he snickered, and folded his arms. He turned back to Alex, who barely flinched. "You know the score," he said. "Go on. Take a hike, buddy. We're all paid up with the PD. If you're here for a party, join the line."

"Afraid this ain't a routine inspection, knuckles," Alex replied. Despite the fact that the bouncer looked big enough to snap Alex's spine with one hand movement, Alex stood his ground and stared him straight in the eye, showing no fear. "We got us a murder charge. And we're storming the place. So step aside, or you can take a ride with us to the station with a bullet in your gut."

The bouncer grabbed Alex's collar and yanked to within an inch of his face. "I don't think you heard me…" he sneered.

A shot rang out in the rain. Someone screamed.

The bouncer fell backwards and Alex swung the barrel of his gun through the air, shattering the bouncer's lower jaw and sending him tumbling to the rain-slicked street. As if nothing had happened, Alex approached the bouncer and said, "Now, are you going to get in the way too?"

The bouncer shook his head and stepped aside. Alex politely thanked him and said, "Come on, Max."

I followed him through the door and into the dark, sweaty depths of the Four Aces.

Already the night was in full swing. Couples sat on the sides of the steps and the cloakroom, kissing and worse. The throbbing beats of Nine Inch Nail's Closer filled the room, deafeningly loud. Everything was bathed in darkness and shadow, cheap red and green lights flashing through the haze.

We descended the stairs into the heart of the club.

"See, Max?" Alex called back to me, gently pushing an almost paralytic young lady out of the way. "Occasionally the gun can be useful."

"Did you shoot him?" I yelled.

"Nah," he cried back. "Bullet to the floor. Threw a scare onto him. Then took my advantage. It can be pretty damn useful if you've got surprise on your side."

We wandered past the bar area and out on to the edge of the dance-floor. On the sides, two men and a bouncer were engaged in a ruckus as a few half-interested patrons looked on. Two people were passed out by the sides, one lying in his own vomit. The floor itself was a gyrating mass of people, all soaked in sweat, many in a state of near-undress, dancing in an entirely unfamiliar way to what I would consider 'dancing.'

The staircase to Malluchi's office lay at the back of the room, beyond a small black fire escape. A man lay slumped unconscious in the seat next to it as a young girl who looked like a hooker sat next to him. The walls were decorated in old movie posters – White Heat, The Big Sleep, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The French Connection and, of course, Gone With The Wind. I wondered if Vivien Leigh's unfaithful eyes were staring elsewhere this time.

Alex pushed open the door and we stepped out into a cool concrete corridor, lit by naked fluorescents. The deafening club music descended into barely recognisable beats. It was like stepping into another world.

We climbed the short steel staircase and pushed open the door to Malluchi's office.

"Oh, dear god," Alex cried.

We both stumbled into the room, and I suddenly wanted to run like hell.

Malluchi was tied to his chair, a strip of silver duct tape slapped over his mouth. He stared up at us with desperate eyes, and I could see why. Behind him stood a man in a balaclava, holding a 9mm to his sweat-soaked head.

"Don't move!" the man in the balaclava cried. "Don't you move an inch! Or I kill this son of a bitch!"

"Whoa, now," Alex said, raising his arms in the air. "Just… just calm down. No need to do anything rash. We're with the NYPD. Just calm down."

"You're just in time, detectives," the masked man said calmly. "To witness this scumbag's execution."

"I warn you, if you pull that trigger, we'll pull ours," Alex said. "Put the gun down."

The man grinned. Glanced down at Malluchi's quaking figure.

Malluchi screamed.

The masked man pulled the trigger.

A single shot rang out in the office and much of Malluchi's brains were blown out of his head. His body slumped forward in its chair.

Alex wasted no time. He pumped three bullets into the killer, who collapsed backwards against the wall and slumped into a smoking heap.

"Nice shooting, Tex," I said, following him into the carnage.

We bent down near the body of the killer. Alex quickly frisked his military jacket and withdrew a video cassette. Then he yanked off the mask.

The man beneath was young, with long blonde hair. Still had a few pimples.

"You think this guy was our killer?" I asked Alex, who was crossing the room to one of the CCTV screens. He slid the video cassette into the player below.

We were greeted with some grainy footage of the late Kat Demeo's room. Through the black and light grey colouring we could make out two people, stood in the room. Kat lay on the bed, wrapping her arms around a tall, slender man.

"Wait," I said. "Pause it."

Alex hit the pause button.

"I recognise that guy," I said, rubbing my chin.

"Sure," Alex replied. "That's Elmore Pierce. He's a big corporate figure."

We both looked at each other. And our blissful feel of victory was shattered as the telephone rang. We both simultaneously went to grab it, but I beat Alex.

"Hello?" I said.

"Doubtless you've just discovered that I killed Ms Demeo," a smooth voice said down the other end. "Well done, detectives. Well done."

"Pierce?" I grunted.

"Correct," the corporate chief said, and I could almost see his successful grin, as wide as a crocodile's. "Unfortunately for you, Detective, my company designed the majority of CCTV cameras on the East Side, and I have absolute access to all of them. I've been following your every move since you left the whore's apartment. And you made one major error. Calling your wife."

Something snapped inside of me and all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Raw anger flashed through my body. "If you've laid one finger on Michelle, you bastard…"

"Don't you worry, Mr Payne," Pierce chuckled. "Michelle will be fine. Providing you back off for long enough to let me leave the city. Otherwise, my men currently hanging around outside your comfortable Jersey home will be forced to put a bullet in her pretty face."

"You DARE!" I screamed.

"Two hours, Payne," he replied calmly. "And you'll never have to worry about any of this ever again."

He hung up.

I turned to Alex, and he must have seen the anger in my eyes, because he visibly flinched. "Come on," I said. "We're going home."

To be continued…