Hello all of my readers out there, and welcome back to the program. As promised, I'm back with yet another instalment of the gritty gangster noir you've all come to enjoy. So without further ado, let's jump in. I own nothing but my OC...but if Tracy ever wants to use him, I wouldn't object. Enjoy the chapter!
The car's headlights switched off as Frost pulled into the parking lot behind The Marigold. He stopped his Ford sedan alongside the sleek '27 Cadillac V8 parked in the dark corner of the lot. He could see the Savoy's in the front seat of the luxurious and powerful automobile as he pulled in. The gang was all here. He turned off his car and stepped out, then walked to the driver's side of the Cadillac, where he stood silently until the driver's window as well as the rear window were rolled down. A perturbed Mordecai sat in the backseat, an eyebrow arched.
"Well?" Heller asked in an annoyed tone. "Are you awaiting an invitation? Get in." Frost stood there a moment, then spoke.
"Before I get in...what kind of guns do you carry?" The question was obviously directed at all three of the vehicles occupants, as he eyed them all in turn as he asked it.
"What difference does that make?" Heller replied tersely. "You no doubt have a few on your person, so get in."
"No..." Frost growled. "It makes a great difference. Tactically. I need to know. What guns do you carry?" Nico, sitting behind the wheel, lifted a Colt Police .38 and grinned.
"Ha Haa." He laughed lowly.
"What'chu think cher?" Serafine asked in her smoky cajun accent from the passenger side. Drake peered into the car to see her wearing a dark suit and red shirt, her hair done up more respectably than the last time he'd seen her. She shook the Chopped-down BAR she held lightly. "I carry dis 'cause it matches my eyes? Hahaha. She then opened the glove compartment and withdrew a snubby little Fitz Special .38. "Now ask me what I have for those...up close an' pers'nal moments, shadowman." Frost then turned his attention back to Mordecai, who sighed defeatedly and pulled open his coat to reveal a Colt Government in a leather shoulder holster.
"Mm." Drake grunted. "Eleven. Good man. Nice strap. A.E. Nelson rig, isn't it?" It took a moment for Heller to realize Frost was actually giving a compliment, what with his deranged way of grumbling everything and speaking in sentence fragments.
"Yes. It is." The Marigold lieutenant stated. "Now get in the damned car, Frost." Drake nodded, and turned around to his own car, opening the back door, and pulling his BAR from under the blanket. He sat this up against the fender, dug around in the floorboard and retrieved the .38 Colt revolver he had taken from the patrol officer. He dug around some more while Heller rolled his eyes and checked his watch. Finally, Frost jammed the long machine rifle into the back seat of the Cadillac, and deposited a canvas bag full of loaded magazines onto the floorboard. He slid onto the plush leather seat, closed the door and jammed the revolver into the newspaper pocket in the door. He looked over at Heller as Nico started the car.
"Insurance." He simply stated, then stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of him. Mordecai looked at the hired gun, his large weapon, back to Frost, then back to his rifle. Finally, he couldn't stay quiet any longer.
"And what was the purpose of bringing that Browning Automatic Rifle, when Serafine already has one?" He commented.
"Exactly." Frost answered without breaking his 100 yard stare. "Shared ammunition. Thirty aught. Shared magazines. Get in a big fight, it helps to have standardized weapons. Brought another .38...and some shells." He finally looked over at Mordecai as they drove along, and the hatchetman wrinkled his nose a little, repulsed at the way the streetlamps made Frost look even more creepy as the light played across his face. "We both have Colt Governments."
"Well mine is in .38 Super." Heller said matter-of-factly. "Far superior to those short-ranged howitzers you carry."
"Superior..." Frost muttered. "If you are killing soup cans.
"Hm. And you are showing your ignorance of science again, Frost." Heller replied haughtily. "Everyone knows that a .45 caliber round cannot penetrate a bullet-proofed vest...or even a car's body panels." Drake stared at him for a moment.
"I'm not trying to murder cars." He stated. "Did you bring extra magazines this time?" Heller huffed, and was quiet for a few seconds.
"I have two spares, not that I need them." He stated tersely. "How many do you carry on your person, no...don't tell me. You're a walking arsenal. Six spares, on your gun belt."
"Eight." Frost corrected him. "Plus a spare round. It is in my pocket."
"And why...do you carry a spare bullet in your pocket, praytell?" Mordecai inquired with a sigh.
"Idn't it obvious, chere?" Serafine piped in, turning around in her seat until she was practically hugging it, her head draped over the top. She grinned darkly. "Our dear Frost ain't never gonna be captured alive...ain't that right, chere?" Drake averted his eyes. "You got that whole suicide king personna, and you wear it on yer sleeve avante garde. Absoulement non...you'll do yourself in before you'd let the other guy getcha, wouldn't you, shadowmaaaan..."
"Wouldn't you...voodoo woman?" Frost growled. "If you went and got caught. People's had...sick things...done to them...when they've went and got caught." Serafine bit her bottom lip and her eyes flashed wider for a brief moment.
"Oh don't ya worry 'bout me cher." She cooed. "If it's my time, is my time. The Baron calls, I'm ready to roll. I got friends...on the other side." Frost frowned a little. He stared out the window.
"It is good to have friends." He said. "If they are reliable." Serafine flopped back into her seat.
"Whatchu think of our new companion, Nico?" She asked her brother. "Mister broody eyes back there, eh?" Nicodeme shook his head slowly.
"You widdout a doubt the spookiest lil sonafabitch I ever met, an that's for sure, ami." He said in a low creole accent. "But de rest a ya...ha. I'd have ol Frost there on mah side in a brawl anyday."
"Oh really?" Mordecai asked boredly.
"Oui Bossman." The burly white cat answered. "Dem quiet ones, whoo mercy. They the ones that light up the biggest. Bettern to have him on your side than across the ring from ya."
"Point taken." Heller ceded. He glanced over at Frost. "Now, when we meet with these contacts, I will do the negotiating. Your sole job is to be seen and not heard...unless you are needed. Then, I expect you to be efficient and thorough."
"Understood, Heller." Frost stated. "Nico. You stay close to Heller. It looks like you are good with your fists and your .38. Serafine is with me. We will deploy together...at an oblique to the contacts. If there is a battle...we can cover Heller with our machine rifles." Mordecai snarled.
"Oh?" Serafine rebutted. "An why do I need to go with you again?"
"Like I said. Shared ammunition. I can feed our weapons. If they shoot at us, we can slaughter them all. I brought twelve magazines. Three are thirty round." The cajun woman glanced back and narrowed her eyes.
"Ah what now?" She asked. "I didn't know they made no thirty round clips, cher."
"They don't." Frost growled lowly. "I built them. More firepower."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Frost." Heller finally interjected. "I don't think I am comfortable with you running my crew. And for the record, I'd prefer having Serafine with me."
"Not running anything." Drake replied. "Just placing your guns. Setting your men where they are most effective. That good with you...boss?" Heller pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"Yes...of course, just run it by me first...before you decide to pretend you're General Custer..."
"Custer was a Lieutenant Colonel." Frost muttered, staring out his window. "He was a fucking imbecile. I will run it by you. And the swamp witch stays with me." Serafine made a mocking face from the front seat.
"Very well." Mordecai relented. He glanced over with his eyes. "I would certainly trust the word of a military man with combat strategy, after all." Frost slowly turned his head like it was a rusty cannon on an old ship. He stared at Heller in silence for a few seconds with a look that could see through a lead plate.
"What...did you say?" He finally growled in a monotone.
"Oh, don't act like it's some kind of secret, Frost." The tuxedo cat returned. "You have all the bearing of a soldier. You oftentimes speak like a soldier as well. It was more than obvious."
"Old habits. Being predictable is dangerous." Frost simply said. "It's bad for my health."
"You just don't hold your cards close enough to your chest." Mordecai advised. He leaned forward and looked out the windshield. "We're here."
Nico stopped the car on a desolate road, flanked on each side by thick forest. Frost surmised that the only way Heller could have known where to stop was that on a nearby sycamore tree, someone had painted a white ring about the trunk. Leaving the engine running and the headlights on, the four stepped out of the car onto the dirt road. Serafine, carrying her BAR, started to walk when she felt a tap on her right shoulder. She turned back to see Frost holding a long metal magazine for the weapon in his left hand. In his right, he carried his own machine rifle.
"Take this." He stated, an order that lacked any harshness, but sounded more like some grandfather imparting wisdom to a child. "Load this one. Use your other as a spare. You use that weapon…first volley is good for moving to or breaking contact. Better to have more bullets if you're advancing." Savoy took the mag and deftly swapped the one in her rifle for the larger.
"Merci…I do like me a big bunch of bullets…Shadowman." She said with a small smile. Drake didn't smile, but scanned the dark area intently with his eyes.
"I have two spares." He said. They stopped, Mordecai and Nico standing in the middle of the road, ten feet in front of the Cadillac. Frost and Serafine moved to the right side of the lane, and Drake took up a kneeling position in the knee-high grass, where he continued his conversation in a low voice as he got a better look at her BAR. "Your rifle doesn't have sights."
"No…I made me some modifications to mi Boudreaux." She grinned, staring up the empty road. "Shortened him up real nice to make it easier when I's in…tight spots." She flashed a smirk at the hired gun. "And don't you worry none, homme effrayant. I don't need no sights to put my bebettes right where I need 'em." Drake, not even paying attention to the Cajun girl, loudly racked the bolt on his rifle.
"Be quiet." He stated tersely. "A vehicle is approaching." Serafine looked down the road and her ears perked slightly.
"Cher, I don see no…"
"They're coming." Heller advised. Serafine frowned and glanced back at Frost, who had his rifle held in a rigid grip in the kneeling position, his left elbow resting on his left leg. He was stock still, like one of the photographs she'd seen of the soldiers in France. She held her rifle at the hip, the muzzle tipped slightly downward as headlights came around a bend in the road ahead.
The 1926 Chevrolet Superior X One-Ton truck slowed, then stopped twenty feet from them. A tall cat hopped off of the passenger-side running board, and two stepped out of the cab. The passenger and the hanger-on both carried shotguns. As they came nearer, Mordecai held up a hand in greeting.
"A good night for a long drive." He stated. The unarmed cat, wearing a dark suit jacket and denim pants cocked his head slightly.
"The road from Cuba is in need of repairs." He spoke. The code phrases for the meeting issued, Mordecai got down to business.
"We understand you are looking for a retailer for your merchandise." Heller began. "What guarantee can you give that you are trustworthy enough to do business with our operation?" The obvious boss of the trio put his hands on his hips.
"I can ask you the same thing, pretty boy." The older cat returned. "We don't sell to just anyone, what with all the revenuers coming round to this part of the country these days. Hazardous to trust the wrong folks."
"My sentiments exactly." Mordecai stated, "Which is why we are offering to purchase everything you can bring us at a fair rate." As the two conversed, Frost's right ear twitched. His eyes snapped over to the trees on the right side of the road.
"Savoy." He whispered. Serafine glanced over slightly and nodded. "Do not move. Don't give me away. I'm checking something out. I will return. I call for suppressing fire, you shoot the tops out of the trees. Here…to my right. Moving." With that, Frost slowly and quietly rolled back into the grass so stealthily, that even from six feet away, it looked to her like he had just melted into the earth.
"Huh…Shadowman en effet…" Serafine cooed, gently biting her tongue playfully.
"Now…" Mordecai was explaining, "…we can pay you the sum of four dollars per gallon of moonshine whiskey, if you can provide a minimum of one-hundred gallons every two weeks. That of course as I stated…being the minimum, and if it is of "
"Four dollars?!" The leader of the bootleggers exclaimed gruffly. "Why I can get six selling it directly to booze halls. Five if I sell it to my neighbors."
"Yes…" Mordecai mused, pushing his glasses up onto his nose, "…but can your neighbors and these…booze halls purchase your full supply in a timely manner? Or can they guarantee secure business transactions, free from the threat of law enforcement involvement?"
"No, but I can sure as shit make more money, bucko." The light grey moonshiner returned. "And all this fancy talk about timely transactions and secrecy…how do we know you people ain't undercover bulls? Huh?" He looked at the three cats. "That broad o'er there sure don't look like no rumrunner. You yourself looks like some kinda federal man." Mordecai huffed a tired sigh.
"Your paranoid conjectures are doing little to make this meeting progress efficiently…" He muttered.
"Yeah…well…" Their contact growled irritably. "Sometimes a little paranoia's all what keeps you above ground!"
"We are wasting time." Heller advised. "If you do not want to broker a deal, then I will take my party and leave."
"Oh…what with you guys seeing my face and everything?" The moonshiner shot back. "I'd rather you stand right there." The two cats on either side of him raised their shotguns to the shoulder, the muzzles still dipped toward the ground. Mordecai raised an eyebrow.
"You are seriously contemplating the idea of holding us hostage for two dollars a gallon…" He said boredly. "We have better weaponry than you."
"Ha!" The moonshiner laughed. "From what you've seen."
"No…" A voice growled from the darkness. Both groups looked toward the woods to see a brown and white cat in a green flannel shirt and brown fedora walking from the trees with his hands held high above his head. Behind him was Frost, the muzzle of his BAR pressed into the other cat's back, and a long-barreled scoped lever-action rifle slung over his shoulder. "I would say my boss had a…fair assessment of the…situation." He pushed his machine rifle forward, sending his prisoner scampering toward the moonshiners. Drake looked at Heller. "Found him. In the woods. Set up behind a log. Looked like he had his sights on you."
"Nownownow…" The boss of the bootleggers stammered. "It was jest a precaution ya know? Just in case y'all were cops. I didn't mean nothin…"
"Your men are untrained." Frost stated in his low gravely voice. "Clumsy. Stupid. You are not a professional. You are a hillbilly. You will get caught. Or killed. Marigold is the power here. You deal with this guy…you deal with the big leagues." He leveled his BAR at the entire group. Serafine saw this, and grinned maniacally as she too swung her rifle up. "Or you try something. We'll cut you down. Chop you up. In little bits. Good fertilizer. Make the grass grow better."
"Jesus Christ!" The moonshiner exclaimed. "Yeah, we'll deal, we'll deal! Four dollars…yeah, that's a good price. We'll take it. I'll…I'll have you a hundred and fifty gallons Tuesday."
"Is your product of good quality?" Heller inquired. He glanced over at Frost as if to say 'I'll deal with you later'. "We have had some issues in the past with suppliers using automobile radiators…"
"Hell no. This is the good stuff." The answer came. "Straight-run, crystal clear. Burns blue and clean. My granddaddy's recipe."
"It will have to be tested." Heller advised. "However, if you agree to our terms, bring your one-hundred and fifty gallons on a truck to the old grainery in High Ridge, off of Route 30. You do know the location, correct?"
"Yessir. Know it well."
"Good. We will have our own truck there Tuesday night at 11PM. Upon receiving and testing the purity of the moonshine liquor, you will receive your payment."
"Agreed." The moonshiner nodded. He looked at Frost, who was still holding his BAR at charge-arms. "Uhh…sir…can my fella there have his rifle back?" Drake was still for a moment, then slung his machine rifle on his right shoulder, and in one smooth motion, flipped the long lever-gun from his left and held it up in front of his face. The gunman's eyes traced the weapon. It was a rarity; an 1895 Winchester. The rifle was fitted with a long brass telescopic sight.
"This rifle?" Frost finally returned. The leader of the group of bootleggers nodded nervously. "All the same…I think I will keep it. Good gun. I can use it."
"Yeah…sure…" The terrified cat replied. "It's yours. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, pal." Frost looked over at Mordecai, who was staring at him, obviously wanting an explanation.
"What…" Frost growled. "It is a good rifle." With that, he turned and walked back to the car.
The ride back to the Maribel Hotel started out in silence. All four of the car's occupants acted as though they were riding atop a barrel of nitroglycerin. Mordecai kept glancing over at Frost, who sat stolidly, staring either out the windshield, at the back of Serafine's head, or into nothingness, he couldn't tell which. The gunman held his Bar upright with his right hand, and his newly-stolen Winchester in his left. Finally, Heller had enough of the tense silence.
"And what, praytell…was that little performance about?" He asked.
"They placed a shooter in the woods." Drake stated, not averting his gaze or turning his head. "They thought they were smart. We asserted our strength. It was a good meeting."
"I cannot argue that the negotiations went well after your intimidation tactics." Heller ceded. "Despite your exaggerated use of hollow threats toward our contacts."
"They weren't hollow." Frost replied stoically.
"Cher…don't be a wet blanket." Serafine piped in, turning around in her seat. "Our pernicious little friend here was just the…persuasion dem connards needed. Oh an' mes étoiles that was fun!"
"Ey Monsiour Heller…" Nico joined in, "…you done said it yerself, did'n ya…fear an' respect are two haves to dat same coin." Mordecai sighed and fell silent. The Savoy's were right. Frost's intervention had been exactly what was needed in the negotiations. Plus somehow, the assassin had somehow noticed the gunman in the woods…in the dark of night. He must have some uncanny senses indeed. He glanced over at the still-silent Frost. If he must admit that the trigger-happy mercenary had been right, he would at least have the last word.
"Requisitioning a potential ally's weapon was highly unprofessional. You do know this, right?"
"It is a nice gun." Frost stated simply.
They pulled into the parking lot behind the Maribel, and Frost exited the car, carrying both rifles, and with the revolver tucked into his belt. He deposited these into the backseat of his own vehicle, then returned to get his musette bag full of magazines. As he closed the door, Serafine leaned out the passenger side window, a cigarette in her lips.
"Au fait…" She called, "…you want your clip back?"
"No. You keep it Savoy." He returned gruffly. "I have two more." She smirked.
"Ah what's this now…bein' nice to me? Looks like our Shadowman might have a softer side."
"No." Frost replied. "Making sure we are all properly armed. You have a good weapon." He paused for a moment. "What is a shadow man?" Serafine pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke. She narrowed her eyes at him and smiled darkly.
"Oooo…it's a bein', cher…neither dead nor alive." She motioned dramatically with her hands. "In between da worlds a' the livin' and the departed. The Shadowman walks that twilight bridge…a messenger from da otherside…or sometimes, he come ta' take those who deserve it to a dark and terrible place." Frost's eyes moved back and forth as he processed all of this for a few moments.
"Thank you for the information. Mr. Heller…I will be at my apartment. I have an engagement tomorrow at 6PM. If you need me before then, come to my room." Mordecai gave him a curt nod. "Good night." With that, Frost went to his car, got in, started the engine and drove off. Heller and the Savoy's sat in the Cadillac for a while longer, watching his taillights disappear around the building.
"He is dangerous." Mordecai commented.
"Ooo yes, he is that." Serafine agreed enthusiastically. "I only wish I coulda got to see him light up like un volcan."
"Ugh. Don't tell me you like him." Mordecai sighed. Serafine gave him a sour look.
"Now don' get ahead a' yourself patron…" She warned. "Nothin' like that. A girl's just gotta have fun now and again, you know?" Heller rolled his eyes.
"Yes, and your idea of fun usually involves gratuitous violence. And what is this whole 'shadow man' thing you keep going on about anyway?" The cajun woman's eyes flashed wider.
"That there ain't no mortal bein'…no matter what you believe." She advised. "If he is…" She turned back to the windshield, took the last drag from her cigarette, and tossed the butt out of the window.
"If he is…what?" Heller pressed.
"Den he's got some darkness in him like nobody's ever seen." She stated in a low voice. "An you best not be messin' with him, or he just may send all of us to the Deadside."
"Pish posh." Heller waved dismissively. "He's some grizzled old war veteran. I knew someone that was like him once. Don't confuse crazy with ghosts and demons." He opened the door and stepped out. "Now I am going to tell Mister Sweet that negotiations were successful. Then I am going to bed. You two do the same." He closed the car door. "Shadowmen and hayseed liquor distillers. I'm surrounded by idiots…"
Frost is certainly someone you don't want to face down in a gunfight, isn't he? Those instincts and that level of intensity had to come from somewhere though, so is Mordecai right about him? What do you think? Drop a comment in the reviews and let me know your theories on how this fella got so deadly and so detached. I'll have another chapter up soon, so keep those dials tuned in here, ladies and gents. Until then, so long and good night!