Lunch in Bevo

Mitzi approached the table at the beer garden with her best mask of confidence. On her left was Rocky, Mitzi's most loyal employee with a streak of stupidity that often bordered on brilliance. On her right was the newly minted security, Freckle. Asa spots them and stands up, briefly taking the cigar out of his mouth to greet his old friend's widow.

"Oh, Mitzi! How are ya, doll face?"

Miss May didn't seem to care much for the pleasantries. "Confounded, Asa… and I see you brought a helping of salt to rub in my wounds too."

A quiet associate of Mr. Sweet with a uniform on that would make a German look sloppy then looks up to analyze their guests. Sporting a fine suit and a coat of black fur covering him head to toe except for areas of his face and tail which have a contrasting white. Asa maneuvered around the topic, trying to keep things on track.

"Heh. Right. And you brought—"

"Some of my associates. You see, my circumstance isn't quite as hopeless as you—"

Just for a second, if you stood far away and squinted really hard, smiles and baby-face could pass for gangsters. But it was clear that trying to look tough wouldn't work when Freckle got startled by a butterfly and Rocky was asking the waitress about pancakes. Giving up the bravado, Mitzi cut to the heart of the matter. "…well, let's just skip the introductions and pull up some extra chairs, shall we?"

Rocky recognized the straight-talking black cat as if he were an old regular at the club. But the bespectacled associate had a tongue as sharp as his suit. "The bandis doing your hands-on work now?"

"I'm just being resourceful, Mordecai."

"Ridiculous might be a better description. Is that what the 'R' stands for?"

"No, I think resourceful covers it pretty well." I say as I walk up and put a hand on Rocky's shoulder, steadying him.

Mitzi turned and gave me a smile. "Ethan, I thought you might have gotten lost."

"No, Miss M, just had to clear my mind."

Mordecai raised an eyebrow, sizing me up from head to toe. "And I see you found a cowboy, too. Is he supposed to be Butch Cassidy? Did he ride into town on a horse?"

The air was tense for a moment as all eyes looked at Mordecai and me. I could see the faintest hint of a pistol underneath his jacket. All I had was a knife, and a dull one at that. Mordecai sat there, emotionless. Mitzi tried to break the tension. "Asa, Mordecai, this is my newest employee, Ethan Kelly. Ethan, this is Asa Sweet and Mordecai Heller."

Neither Heller nor I broke away from staring at each other. I could sense that both Mr. Sweet and Mitzi were getting nervous. Opting not to cause a scene, I took a different approach. Breaking a smile, I roared with laughter while I went to bring up a chair.

"Ha! Mr. Sweet, I didn't know there was room for comedians in this business." I could feel the annoyance emitting from me new "friend." Just then the waitress came back to our table, seeing that there was yet another guest.

"And for you, sir?" She said, giving me a pleasant smile.

"Water would be lovely dear. Not quite used to St. Louis summers yet." Unfortunately, the water would have to wait. Mordecai apparently had enough and recused himself. Can't blame him because the conversation was starting to get into sensitive territory about Atlas. I resigned myself to pouring a glass from a pitcher left at the next table over, to at least quench my thirst and get some space between me and the conversation. As soon as I turned around though, everyone else had left except for Asa.

"Well damn, I was actually looking forward to some proper food for once."

Mr. Sweet just shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you could certainly stay if you wanted to, kid. Besides, if Mitzi won't listen to reason, then maybe one of her employees will."

Deciding to at least get the chance to sit for a minute before getting a ride back in the Sedan, I entertain what Mr. Sweet had to say. "Well, I suppose I could at least finish my glass."

Mr. Sweet looked me up and down. "You aren't from here, are ya?"

"No, Mr. Heller was correct. I am from out West."

"Where out West?"

"Shamrock City." I gambled he wouldn't know that's what the Irish called Butte. The fewer cards I lay out with this character, the better.

"I see. Well, kid. You seem smart enough to understand the situation. Now, I don't know what Mitzi has promised you—"

"A place to live, a full pantry, and no small amount of entertainment."

"Be that as it may… Ethan, what Mitzi is doing is going to get you all killed. She doesn't have the means to rebuild Atlas' empire, and wrestling with the scum of the countryside for bits and pieces won't accomplish anything other than prolonging the inevitable. I assume you have skills besides standing around and sweating in the heat?"

"I have done a few things in the last decade or so…"

"Good, then allow me to give you a word of advice. Convince Mitzi to shut Lackadaisy down before anyone else gets hurt. Walk away from this before there is bloodshed."

"Threats aren't going to work on me, Mr. Sweet."

"No, not a threat. That's what I'm trying to tell you. That boy, the other one in that suit, you, Mitzi, none of you are cut out to wrestle with the big game in town."

"I suppose that would be your employers."

"Exactly. Ethan, my employers are powerful. They want the Mississippi for themselves and won't tolerate any competition. All product going through this city goes through Marigold, understand? Honest, I'm not here trying to pick a fight with an old acquaintance, but persisting down this road will quickly run us out of options. If they order me to wipe you out, we will."

"I will take that into consideration, Mr. Sweet. Now, allow me to offer some advice in return. Go after any member of the Lackadaisy crew and you will face a reckoning. Good day."

Mr. Sweet leaned back in his chair and stirred his glass. "Take care, Ethan. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Walking back to the car, I notice Mordecai getting out and shooting the two boys a glance before he walks my direction. As we pass, he stops to speak.

"I'll give you the same advice I just gave Miss May. Don't do anything that forces me to come in and finish off Lackadaisy for good."

"I suppose you fancy yourself a killer, don't you?"

He stops to look at me with some expectation of something clever. I look at him head to toe, taking in every detail of his suit. But it's all a mask, a skin, a distraction from a basic truth. Underneath it all, he's flesh and blood like the rest. Something must drive him other than bloodlust or blind obedience. He was clearly too intelligent for such mundane motivations. All I'd need to do is find out what motivates him."

"I am efficient and more than competent to handle you. Don't get in my way. Believe it or not, I have more important matters to attend to than cleaning up the scraps Atlas May left behind."

"I certainly don't want to step on toes, Mr. Heller. But at the same time, I too have a job to do. I will tell you now that we don't have to be enemies."

"Our employers seem to think otherwise."

"What our employers think does not matter. We are free men, not slaves. We do as we wish."

"Then consider this a piece of professional advice. Close down Lackadaisy before I am ordered to, it is in your best interest and in the best interest of everyone you care about in this world."

"Fighting each other is in no one's best interest, but I won't be backing down. I pray you never find out what I'm capable of, Mr. Heller."

"Good day, Ethan. Watch yourself."

Rocky's Plan

We part ways. I couldn't figure out how loyal this guy really was to Asa, but he was certainly good at being uninterested in normal interactions with others. There was a bit of arrogance about Mordecai as well, but how much of that was a mask and how much of that was real is still to be seen. By the time I'm in the back seat with Calvin, Miss M is already explaining things to Rocky, and by extension, us.

"I need you to find out where in the marketplace we can find some wholesale, and fast. Viktor ought to know something about that."

"Oh, he'll be so happy to see me!"

"On your way, you can drop me off at Wick's house. Though maybe I should stop at home first and hang into something a little less… matronly."

Luckily, despite Rocky's complaints about Wick, he's able to turn it quickly into a joke and sure enough, Mitzi's smile is back despite the meeting. As we drive along, Mitzi turns around to address me specifically. "Thank you, Ethan. I didn't know if you would show up or not. You really did seem set to leave."

"Yes, well, what can I say? You need help, I need a home. Maybe this will work out after all."

Rocky smiled as he looked at me through the mirror. "I knew you'd come around to our way of thinking, Ethan. And don't worry about the sourpuss back there, Mitzi wants us far away from Mordecai."

"I do have conditions for my employment, though."

"Name them." Mitzi replies.

"First, I need a gun. Not just a pistol or a broomstick. I need a proper gun, a rifle. That's what I'm trained to use. Second—" I lean in close behind Rocky so he can hear me. "No more blood feuds. My sister's safety takes priority. Do I make myself clear, Rocky?"

"Hehe, crystal!" He says swallowing.

Eventually we make it back to the Little Daisy. As Rocky throws the car into park, I get out of the back and quickly open the door for Miss M. "Thank you dear." Once out of earshot, I turn my attention to our strategist.

"So, Rocky, what's your plan?"

"Well, first I'll need to visit our dear friend, Viktor, and depending on where he sends me, some scouting will be in order. Then you and Freckle here will have your own parts to play."

"So nothing yet, great. Well, I can make myself useful here I suppose. I'll get whatever you think we need. But watch yourself out there. Mitzi is right about that Mordecai fella. He's no soldier but there's something… more there that I can't put my finger on yet. Just find us a supplier and I can help with the rest, got it?"

"Aces! Oh, this will be great Ethan! Just wait until we're doing rum running together, it will just be like when you were in France, and—"

Poor kid had no idea what he was talking about. "You had better pray to whatever God you believe in that we never end up in a mess half as bad as the War. Just find us a supplier, keep your head down, and stay out of trouble. For all of our sakes, okay? I got a lot riding on your success here."

"Yes, sir!" He says, giving me a salute just as Mitzi comes back outside. I open up the door once again for our boss. "Take care Miss M. Call if you need anything from me."

"Thank you, Ethan. While Rocky is busy, I'd appreciate it if you could help the boys downstairs sort out last night's mess. There's a keyhole behind the bookcase in the café. Just put a knife inside it and the whole thing should open up for you."

"It will be a pleasure, Miss M. Errand boys doing what they do best."

A Weapon of War

As the car drives off, I have to take a moment to rest and think about all this. Damn, that Rocky grows on you fast, almost like a rash. But somehow, he's made it as far as he has, so either he's got some sort of guardian angel, or Rocky is more competent than he let's on. At least my job is simpler by comparison.

Checking in on Riley upstairs, I see she's asleep. Back downstairs, I quickly whip up the girl's favorite sandwich, or at least something resembling it with what we have in the pantry. Then back upstairs once more with my creation covered to keep the flies off it. As I am leaving the room, her sketchbook catches my eye. While I try not to snoop through my sisters stuff, curiosity does get the better of me on occasion. Opening the book, I'm always shocked by how good Riley is despite being so young. The drawings of mom and our brothers are recognizable. But so are all the different things she's sketched out around Butte, including the ruined remains of the mining hall. That alone is enough to get me to put the sketchbook away. One more event to try and forget.

Just as Mitzi said, a knife in the right spot slides the whole case to the side, revealing the same staircase I climbed up last night with Riley and Zib. Lights give me a dim, but serviceable view of the stairs as I descend into the belly of the Earth. It felt almost like a mine, and that's certainly not a feeling I enjoy. It's tight, cramped, hot, wet, smelly, and all kinds of gross and nasty things await in the shadows. However, that was just my imagination starting to get the better of me. Got to keep that thing on a tight leash lest I go nuts again like yesterday!

Sure enough, the staircase bottoms out after about thirty feet, and a door takes me into the Lackadaisy. Things are far quieter and more serene now. Too early in the day for patrons, just the hard-working doorman sweeping up. In the back, cigarette smoke floats out from behind the stage. A small voice calls out to me from behind the bar. "w-who are you?" A rotund cat with a patch of white on one eye asks.

"I am Ethan, Miss M's newest hire. And you are?"

"Horatio, sir!" He says, standing proudly with a broom in hand.

"Well, Horatio, Mitzi asked to have this place cleaned up. Looks like you're doing all the work though."

"Oh, yes, I suppose. The band doesn't really—" Before Horatio can finish his sentence, I'm already walking toward the source of the cigarette smoke. "—do anything."

"Right, well that's changing today. Time to earn their keep around here." I reply as I pull the curtain aside, revealing the house band lazily sleeping in a pile of filth. I quickly spot the band leader in his chair who only bothers to give me half an eye worth of attention.

"Alright Zib, remember me from last night?"

The guy lazily looks up, clearly sluggish after what was undoubtedly a long night. "Ethan, you decided to stick around…"

"Well, your violinist can be quite persuasive. And I see your band has done the same."

"One of his better qualities I suppose. But I'd rather try and get some shuteye instead of talking. So if you don't mind…"

"How about picking up a broom and pitching in with cleaning this mess?"

"Why? Mitzi isn't opening back up tonight, is she?"

"No, but Rocky is off to find a supplier. And besides, the poor woman seems pretty down. We need to take stock of what we've still got to work with."

"It's not enough, I can tell you that much. Those hicks shot up half the bar, and the other half is such terrible product we may as well use it as floor cleaner. And, in case Mitzi forgot to mention it, we've got no weapons."

"Yeah, a certain 'Mordecai Heller' wiped her out."

His eyes open at the mention of the name. "Kid, if you've got half a brain, you should be terrified of what that guy can do."

"So I've been told. But Mordecai hasn't met someone like me before. We'll be fine if we keep our wits about us. However, this place still needs a good cleaning. We've got blood, booze, broken glass, and a handful of bodies to dispose of."

"Ah man kid, can't you see we aren't in the mood? Besides, we haven't been paid in weeks."

"Come on guys… I know it was a rough night, but surely you don't want to live amongst filth and stinking bodies."

"Ethan, we live in a cave. Centipedes crawl through my stuff all the time."

"Okay, fine. How about this? Help me for an hour, and I'll leave you alone the rest of the day. And I'll make everyone lunch, I didn't get a chance to eat yet anyway."

Zib shrugged his shoulders before standing up and stretching. "Fine, if you insist. Alright boys, you heard the man. One hour—"

"And not a minute longer, cross my heart and swear on my mother's grave."

Soon enough, bodies were moved, glass was swept up. The chairs were put back in place. Even some bullet holes were patched up. The last thing to do was comb the place for whatever shells we could find.

"Don't toss any spent ammo. I know how to reload the stuff; it could save our butts if we ever have a firefight like that again."

J.J. then yelled from the armory. "Hey guys, Mordecai missed one!"

I quickly make my way back to see an old familiar shape in the arms of the trombonist. "Well, looks like Mordecai Heller isn't as thorough as we thought. Where was this old girl hiding, J.J?"

"Oh, it was wrapped up and in a false bottom of that crate over there."

"May I see it?" I ask, and J.J. is happy to hand it over. Memories start to come back again, and I have to suppress them. Not all of them are bad though. I once had a similar rifle, and the warmth of the stock beckoned to me like no other gun in our arsenal. Looking over the gun, she's in remarkable shape despite being in a cave. Zib walks in just then and sees our find.

"Maybe Mordecai thought that gun was useless?"

Zib might be right. Nothing else in a gangster's arsenal would take the same ammo. Well, nothing except a machine gun, that is. J.J. then remembers something else. "Oh yeah, and this thing was wrapped with it."

"A knife?" Zib asks.

"You guys never got drafted, did ya? No, that's not a knife, it's a bayonet. Model 1905 in fact. As for the rifle, you see the writing there on the side?" I ask, pointing at the action across the top.

"Sure, but it may as well be Chinese to me, Ethan." Zib answers.

"This, gentlemen, is a Springfield, model 1903 rifle. It shoots a 30-caliber bullet with enough energy to drop a bear. And in the right hands, it's a weapon of war."