Greetings and salutations, my loyal readers new and old. Welcome back. How ya doing? I've brought you another installment of this ever darkening storm cloud of a fic, and I'm sure you're ready to read it. Before we do though, just a note and a warning; in this chapter, Frost uses some offensive language. And I don't mean "hell, damn, fart" kind of language. I mean offensive. As in having to do with nationality and sexual orientation kind of offensive. So if that bothers you...please don't get in a time machine and go back to the 20's. That said, let's jump into the story. I don't own Lackadaisy. I just own a circus. Enjoy!
Ivy Pepper yawned as she placed the coffee percolator on the gas burner of the stove. Most of her classmates from university would likely be sleeping in this gray Saturday morning, but here she was, awake at 7am, opening the café. Not that the job didn't have its perks, especially after closing time, but all things considered, the 19 year old would rather be bundled up in a duvet sawing logs right about now. She took a cloth and started dusting the countertop, when the bell above the door chimed. Ivy looked up to see Mitzi May walking in, looking about as tired as Ivy felt.
"Good morning Miss M." Ivy greeted. The light brown crime boss sat upon a stool at the counter and swiveled back and forth a couple of times before coming to a stop and resting her chin on her right hand.
"Good mornin' Ivy." Mitzi returned. "You're looking exceptionally run-down, spread-thin and tuckered out this fine dreary day." She gave a small, friendly smile.
"Yeah…end-term exams are coming up and I've been hitting the books pretty hard getting ready. Coffee?"
"Yes, please dear." Mitzi sighed. "An' I know what you mean. I've been up all night with the books myself. And I don't like what I was readin'. Word to the wise…runnin' a business ain't for the faint of heart, dear." She was of course talking about her long evening pouring over ledgers for the speakeasy in the cave below the small café. No matter how she ran the numbers and tried to look at it all through rose-tinted glasses, it was obvious that they were once again in a tight spot. Even though they had picked up a handful of new patrons, and with the small donations she had managed to charm out of Wick, it was looking more and more like The Lackadaisy was little more than a hobby being supported by the profits from her legitimate business.
"What about the delivery night before last?" Ivy asked, looking around unnecessarily in the otherwise empty room for eavesdroppers. "Wasn't that a pretty good haul we made? I bet you can make a fortune off all the bottles in those boxes. Oh, and that bottle of champagne? You know how Mister Sable loooooves his fancy drinks…"
"Light bills, honey." Mitzi breathed. "And more than that. Duns and more duns. It all adds up. Payroll, gas for the car, Zib's cigarettes, this feud with our competitors…" She rolled her eyes. "…an' we're once again rollin' pennies to get by."
"I'm sure things will pick up." The younger woman said encouragingly. She turned to the now ready coffee and poured a cup, adding a dollop of milk and sitting the mug down in front of her boss.
"I hope so. At least I'm supposed to go see the Art museum with Wick today. That's something to brighten up my mood." The speakeasy owner took a sip of the coffee as she looked out the glass windows at the street outside. "Looks like it's gonna rain today." Ivy's eyes widened.
"Oh…oh yeah, that's what he said!" She gushed. "I mean…I completely forgot to mention it, but think I got us a new client. Isn't that great? He's a little dull, but jeepers, he looked like he loves to drink! So he'll probably be a regular customer!"
"Calm down, honey…" Mitzi chuckled. "Now you said you found somebody…"
"Okay, so yesterday evening after school, I was driving here, and there was this fella broken down on the side of the road. I stopped to help him fix his car, and wouldn't ya know it, he pulls out a bottle and starts drinking right there on the spot. He said he was some kinda businessman…" She thought for a moment. "Oh yeah, he said he's an accountant, and he just moved here. I asked him if he'd like to drink somewhere more private, and he said yes. He's coming here at six to meet with you."
"That's great Ivy…" Mitzi returned cautiously. "But I hope you didn't tell him too much…"
"Nope!" Ivy chirped. "I asked him the questions and everything. He doesn't talk much, and when he does…weellll…let's just say he's about as exciting as watching paint dry. He said he'd like to drink somewhere the coppers won't bother him."
"Well that more or less describes our entire roster of regular customers…" The blonde cat said jokingly. "And it wouldn't hurt to get some new faces around here. Wick, that ossified postman and that screwy Anarchist gal practically paid the bils last month." She took a long drink of the coffee. "Hell, if he's an accountant, I might be able to pick his brain for some ideas on how to save money 'round here." She swirled the beverage around in her cup a little.
"We could always have Rocky dance out front for nickels." The brown-haired teenager giggled. Mitzi laughed daintily and gave her young employee a light slap on the arm with her fingertips.
"Laughter is always the best medicine, isn't it?" She smiled. She took a final drink from the cup and slid it across the counter. "Thanks for the coffee. I'd better go get all dolled up for my day out on the town." She hopped off of the stool. "Well, I'm off. Do try and keep the shop from calamity until I get back, okay?"
"Will do, ma'am!" Ivy said cheerfully, and shot her boss a salute on her way out the door.
….
"You know why Heller's sendin' us alll the way out here, eh Nico?" Serafine asked as the siblings got out of the car outside of the run-down boardinghouse. "It's prolly cause after last night, he's scared something fierce of that skinny devil in there." Dressed in a billowy red blouse the top two buttons unfastened, black pinstripe trousers, and a black fedora with a red band, she stared up at the building as Nico let out a low chuckle.
"I'd a' guessed it's cause he don't wanna get no dust on his shoes." The taller white cat said. "So this' where ol' Frost is bunkin' eh?"
"Oi frere, this is the place." Serafine replied, looking at the scrap of paper. "An I think mister bigshot made us get up this early on purpose. You know Sweet could'a sent for him instead a' sendin' a little bitty message wid us." They started walking toward the large house.
"Heheh." Nico laughed again. "Heller's probably all steamed up 'cause we went an took up for that spooky sumbitch last night." He held the door open for his sister and they walked into the small foyer and looked up the stairs.
"Ouais, eh bien, maybe Shadowman got some coffee on." The cajun woman yawned, and wiped an eye.
"Aw, he ain't even réveillé yet, soeur." Nico guessed as they climbed the stairs. "Dem triggermen, they sleep aalll day. Heh. They get up with the vampires and the bullfrogs."
"Well you know what they say about vampires…" Serafine commented in a wry tone. "They get all kinds a' steamed up if ya go knockin' em up outta their coffins before they rise." They shared a small laugh as she knocked on the door. "Ey Shadowman…" She called playfully. "Get your bag a' bones up out your pine box."
"It's open." Frost's low, calm voice stated from inside the room. The Savoy's flashed each other a glance and a shrug, and Serafine opened the door. Frost was sitting at a wooden writing desk in the tiny room, cleaning one of his pistols. His 1911 was fully disassembled before him, and he was in the process of running an oiled cloth patch through the barrel. A slab of raw bacon sat on the left side of the table, next to his large tin cup, which was half-filled with a mixture of cold coffee and whiskey.
"Okay…" Serafine commented. "You a early bird, or do you even sleep, Cher?" The Savoy's were both mildly confused. Frost was fully dressed, save for his hat and long coat. He was even wearing his shoulder holster. At 8:30 in the morning, he seemed to be up an at 'em, sitting at a table in the dingy room, cleaning his pistols. He glanced over at the callers, took a strip of raw bacon in his left hand, and dropped in unceremoniously into his mouth and started chewing. Serafine wrinkled her nose. "Okay…that écœurant, Frost."
"Breakfast." He stated, swallowed the bacon, then took a long drink from his cup. "What do you want?" As his sister simply stood there and snarled at the stomach-churning display, Nico spoke up.
"Mister Heller sent us down here ta give you un message from Mister Sweet."
"Okay." Drake growled. He threw another piece of uncooked bacon in his mouth. "Wad ish it?" Serafine shook her head, took out a penned note and answered.
"Mister Sweet says he liked what he heared a' your performance last night." She said. "An' he wants an update from you." Frost stared at her blankly and took a long drink of his coffee/whiskey poultice. She took this as a go-ahead. "He wants to know if you got any plans on how to deal with dem…little interlopers over at Lackadaisy…"
"I'm working on that." Frost answered. "Might hold council with him tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Give him good news." The Savoy's once again looked at each other and shrugged. She continued.
"Oh, and Heller wants you to go fo a lil' ride tonight. The four of us again." She grinned. "We gonna visit some pig farmers." Frost slid the barrel and recoil spring back into his pistol.
"I'm busy tonight." He growled. "Got somewhere to be. Working on Sweet's rat problem."
"An' you didn't think of invitin' us?" She mock-pouted. "A girl could get offended at that, ami." Drake continued putting the pistol back together. "Besides, how you think Heller's gonna feel knowin' you done kept him out of the loop?" The gunman racked the slide of his now assembled pistol, held it up and dry-fired it to test for function, then proceeded to load in a magazine and chambered a round. He glanced over at his superfluous partners.
"I work for Sweet." He stated. "I do not work for Heller." Serafine smirked.
"Ya know, I'm gonna tell him you said that." She threatened. He dropped the magazine out and loaded a cartridge into it then slapped it back into the weapon. Frost stared at the wall.
"I don't care." He replied. She now narrowed her eyes.
"Ah yeah?" She challenged. "An what if I said that I know you a reeeaaaal evil soul. An that you have the smell of the grave and the otherside all over you? What if I said I don't trust you as far as I can throw ya." He slid the pistol into his rig and drained his cup.
"That would make you…the smartest person…I've met so far…in this town." Frost muttered. "Knew you was smart. For a sacrosanct…witch dame." Serafine's eyes flashed with a barely repressed wrath. Nico saw this, and threw his left arm across her.
"Yeah Frost?" She fired back with a dark, smoky tone. "Tu ne me fais pas peur. An' I hope you go slither back into what e'er damned dark an' hellish pit you arose from, Shadowman…" Frost simply stared boredly at her for a moment.
"I will." He returned in his stoical way. "When I am finished. With my job." The room was silent for a few seconds, and the hired gun finally shook his head. "I have to be somewhere. At six tonight. Pick me up here at midnight. Might have good news. Might not. Have to see."
"R…right…" Serafine stammered. "Midnight. But don't you stand us up."
"I won't." Drake replied. He picked up the second 1911 from the table, which he had already stripped and oiled, and put it in the left side of his shoulder holster. The Marigold enforcers started to leave. "Hey. Miss Savoy." She turned back to the gunfighter, who had stood from his chair, and was standing slightly turned away from them. "Nothing personal. I work alone. Don't do company. Better that way." He picked up a bottle from the floor and took a drink.
"I can tell." Serafine commented. "You're a strange one, alright. Still dunno what you are, but you sure get my hackles up like nobody else."
"I'm no ghost." He said, his back to them. "I'm not one of your…demons. I'm a bastard…but I'm a living bastard." Serafine motioned to Nico with her head, and her brother walked out of the room. She stood there, staring at Frost's back for a moment.
"Heh. Whoever you are Frost…" She said. "You sure as shit ain't alive." With that, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. Drake's head turned back slightly as he heard the door latch click. His acute hearing traced their footsteps as they walked down the hall and descended the stairs. He made a low grunt.
"Mm. Smartest dame in town…" He muttered.
…..
Mitzi sat on the stool in the Little Daisy café, a cup of tea on the counter in front of her. She still wore the red dress, tall black gloves and makeup from her day out on the town with Sable. She and Ivy had turned off most of the lights for the evening, and had turned the sign in the window to 'Closed'. Now the two of them were just waiting for the strange guy Ivy had met on the road to show up for his interview, listening to the patter of rain falling outside on the road. Mitzi was hoping he was on the up-an-up. They drastically needed more customers to shore up the speakeasy's finances. A car pulled up on the curb outside of the small diner and turned off its lights. Ivy looked at the clock on the wall. It read 5:59. Exactly one minute later, a figure appeared outside the door.
"Well…he's a punctual sort, ain't he?" The club's owner commented. The door opened and the bell chimed. Frost stepped in, seemingly unperturbed by the water dripping from his fedora and long coat. It looked as though he had taken his time walking to the door, despite the rainstorm outside, and droplets of water periodically dripped from his whiskers to the hardwood floor as he looked around slowly.
"This is the correct place…" He said indifferently. Mitzi glanced at Ivy, and the teenager nodded to the affirmative. She swished her tail and hopped off the stool, giving the newcomer a warm smile.
"I believe it is, if you are the gentleman my young cashier here rendered assistance to yesterday."
"I am." Frost stated, and said nothing more.
"My name's Mitzi. Mitzi May. And your name is…" Mitzi said curiously.
"Fisher." He answered. "Edwin Fisher. From Sioux City…Iowa." Mitzi tried to make light conversation, just to see how respectable this potential client was, or at least how harmless.
"Oh Sioux City." She remarked. "Lovely place. I been once myself. You ever been to the waterfront park there, honey?"
"Once." He replied. "I have a little house…in the north of town. Near my mother. My mother's back there. Haven't seen her in a long time." Mitzi frowned. The poor guy obviously traveled a lot and missed home, which would explain his dour demeanor.
"Your job keeps you out and about, huh?" Missus May sighed. "Ivy here says you're an accountant."
"Yes." The fake Mr. Fisher answered. "I balance accounts. Freelance. I work for many clients."
"Well…I may just have to enlist your help one of these days." The light brown cat jested. "If you're not too busy, that is."
"I have a big client right now." Frost replied. "In town for work. I will be free once my contract is finished. If you are still able to use my services."
"You mean if I still need you..."
"Yes. That's what I meant." He agreed. "My apologies. I need a drink." He pulled his silver flask from his coat, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink before capping it and putting back in his pocket.
"Do you drink anywhere else in town?" Mitzi queried.
"I drink in my room." He answered in a monotone. "I sometimes drink in my car. I drink at work. When the boss isn't watching." He stared at her a moment. "I would like to drink somewhere more private, ma'am…before I get caught."
"Well that's what we're tryin' to work out, Mister Fisher." The speakeasy owner explained. "I just need to know that you'd be a good fit in our establishment…and not a liability. You understand, right?"
"Of course." Frost replied. "You may be sure. I am not a police officer. I don't talk to coppers. I don't…enjoy their company. The last time I had a…run in…with a cop, it did not end well." He frowned slightly.
"Oh, I'm not too worried about that now." Mitzi waved. "I can tell you ain't exactly the informant type. One more thing though. We have some nice younger female clients. You won't be causing any problem with these girls now, will you Mr. Fisher?"
"I don't like women." He stated boredly. Mitzi's eyebrows raised slightly.
"Oh…" She breathed, in a shocked tone. "Sorry honey, didn't peg you for the fruity type. No offense. To be honest, one a' the guys in the band might enjoy…"
"I didn't say I was a nance." Frost interjected apathetically. "I just don't like women. I have my work. I don't like…distractions."
"Well I mean, at least you're not a cad." Mitzi joked. Drake didn't laugh. "So, it looks like you're good to go, honey. Ivy…be a dear and get Mister Fisher one of our badges of distinction."
"You bet!" The young woman smiled, and pulled a small pin from a drawer under the register and slid it across the countertop. The club's owner picked it up and presented it to Frost, placing it in his hand.
"This is your ticket in." She explained. "You wear this…inside your lapel, inside your coat, wherever. Just show it to the doorman, and you can get in anytime." Frost looked at the pin. It was an enameled gold tack, bearing a club, like on a poker card. He slowly pulled the back off, and pinned it inside of his long black coat.
"There." He uttered. "Is now an acceptable time…to use my ticket…"
"Why sure!" Mitzi answered with an amiable smile. "We were just getting' ready to go down ourselves, weren't we, Ivy?"
"Yes indeedy!" Ivy exclaimed. "Right this way, Mister Fisher. I'll show ya around the joint. Give ya the ley of the land. How's that radiator holding up, by the way?"
"Top shelf." He returned in a bland way as he watched the Moll open a secret door concealed behind a shelf at the back of the café. "Swell job. Drove to town all day in my car. No leaks."
"That's great!" The brown-furred teenager said happily. "See Miss M, I can fix cars." Mitzi gestured for Frost to walk down the set of stairs inside the door, and he obeyed, still taking in everything around him.
"Never doubted you fixing them, sweetie." Mitzi sighed. "It's causin' them to need fixin' that's in question." Ivy giggled nervously. Frost made it to the bottom of the stairs to see another door, a large ornate wooden door set into a stone wall. A short, rotund but friendly-looking grey and white cat in a tuxedo stood by the new entrance, his hands clasping the lapels of his evening jacket. He looked up at the newcomer as his boss and Miss Pepper descended the stairs behind him. Drake pulled open his coat, not far enough for the doorman to get a glimpse of his weapons, but just enough to show off the pin.
"Got my ticket, sir." He stated. Horatio, the greeter, made a sour face at the creepy tone of the customer, but when his employer gave him a nod, he opened the door.
"Welcome to The Lackadaisy, sir." He bowed, gesturing like a concierge. "Enjoy your evening." Frost walked into the speakeasy. "Madam…madams…" Horatio added.
Frost paused, just inside the door and slowly turned his head as he scrutinized the room. The establishment was built into a cave of some sort. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and the floor was solid limestone. The cavern had been spruced up for sure though. A fancy bar was set against one wall, with a complete stage near another. Tables with fine linen, each surrounded by four cherrywood chairs were scattered throughout the large space. This would complicate things…
His original plan was simple. A mechanic job. He would go in, infiltrate the speakeasy under the guise of a customer. Most of these holes were ripe with drunken, stupid people, and it would be more than easy to goad someone into a fight. The more, the better. Threatened by the biggest, most hard-boiled and intoxicated crumbs in the place, Frost could easily push them into pulling a knife, a stick or better yet, a gun. Then, he could easily eliminate the patrons threatening him, causing as much noise and bedlam as possible. Slipping out during the chaos, he could make good his escape, and the police would be called, effectively shutting down his boss' rivals without his having to take a direct role in the action. Even the patrons and gangsters would just assume it had been a tiff between customers, an unfortunate accident.
Now, he had to modify his plan somewhat. Being this deep underground would muffle the sound of gunfire and screaming, effectively restricting the pandemonium he caused to the cavern itself. Nobody up on the street was likely to hear anything. Someone would have to be using artillery to effect a noticeable change in the atmosphere aboveground, and he doubted any of these louts had a 75mm field gun in their vest pocket. Still…nobody liked being shot at, and few outside of the gangs that run these places likes seeing blood and death. If the shooting started, most of these civilians would start panicking and run for the door. One was sure to call the police. If they didn't, he could himself, anonymously, after he made good his own deportment. The Dame, Mitzi, may have the police paid off to look the other way as she sold hooch, but a couple of dead bodies, a shot-up taproom and a herd of witnesses would be something even the most corrupt police chief couldn't overlook…
"So, whadya think?" Ivy asked, assuming Mr. Fisher was admiring the décor. "Pretty snazzy joint, isn't it?"
"It is an opulent drinking establishment." He answered, looking about at the musicians lounging lazily on the stage, the clients bent nihilistically over their drinks and the surly and sullen-looking bartender. "A very buzzing joint. I think I will have a drink." With that, he walked toward the bar. Mitzy put a hand on Ivy's shoulder.
"Next time, try and bring in somebody who'll liven the place up…not make it even more lifeless." She sighed. Ivy grinned timidly.
Frost took a seat at the bar and sat in silence for a few moments. He would have to blend in, look like a normal degenerate drunkard if he were to set his plan into motion. Too soon, and it would be obvious that he'd come here with the pretense of starting a row. He looked to his left. A middle-aged cat with a light grey and black stiped coat, wearing a blue shirt and brown fedora was nursing a glass of some breed of drink like it were bad medicine. He looked right. A young woman with a very asymmetrical calico pattern, wearing a men's blue pinstripe suit was holding an empty shotglass to her mouth, literally licking the inside of the glass as if to eek any remaining alcohol from it. She locked eyes with him, let out a defiant trill and turned away. Finally, the tall and broad-shouldered bartender, who sported a patch over his right eye, let out an irritated growl.
"Yeah…what you want?" He asked in a thick Eastern European accent.
"Something." Frost spoke. "High proof. Preferably nonlethal." Viktor squinted his good eye at the newcomer. There was something about this one…
"Coming right up…" The orange-coated Slav grumbled, and proceeded to pour two ounces of Canadian whiskey into a tumbler. He slid it in front of the dusky-hued patron, who took it and guzzled it down in one sitting. He sat the glass down on the bar, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it on the polished wood countertop.
"You water your drinks." Frost stated coldly. "Still…fill my glass, Hunky." Viktor slammed his hands onto the bar top, his claws digging into the wood.
"What did you say, bowtie?" The bartender growled. The patron to Frost's left was making a nervous grimace, and the tomboyish girl to his right pursed her lips and had a face that resembled an excited spectator at a boxing match. Frost smacked his lips and looked up from under the brim of his fedora.
"I said…pour me another drink." He said in a detached tone. His right eye twitched. Viktor snarled a little, grabbed a bottle of Old Log Cabin and filled the glass to the brim.
"There. Now I watch your brain run out of your ears." The mountainous cat rumbled. "One way or other." Drake picked up the glass.
"Many have tried." He muttered. Seeing the potentially volatile situation, Mitzi hurried over and plopped herself down next to Frost and leaned forward over the counter.
"Ya know, I think I'd like to have myself a little refreshment." She announced. "How about a mint julip? Yeah, that would sure hit the spot." Viktor's eye finally shot over to her. He relented.
"Coming right up." He said, and proceeded to start crafting the drink. Mitzi leaned closer to the new customer.
"Sorry honey…I know you're new here, so I shoulda let you in on the do's and don'ts around here. Viktor here is a little…high-strung. I'd advise against any backhanded compliments or abusive remarks. Oh and the gal to your right…she doesn't like it when people make light of somebody's…racial distinctiveness. Don't think she likes the powers that be too much either." She nodded her head behind her. "That fella's a real nervous Nelly around violence, and that pretty thing over at the roulette wheel…I don't think she likes foul language very much."
"Mm." Drake grunted. "I'll try to remember that, ma'am." Mitzi smiled.
"Oh, and if you happen to see a young guy come in, bright orange hair, usually wears a green suit…it's best he don't see any violence or weapons either."
"Why is that?"
"Oh…poor thing just has some…issues with jumpin' in headfirst." The club's owner said vaguely. Frost's mind turned over this new information. The pacifist and the church lady would be no use to him. The bartender was a ticking time bomb. The Marxist girl and the boy with the temper problem might be useful as well. Viktor sat Mitzi's drink in front of her.
"Ma'am." He nodded, then turned his attention back to Frost, who now seemed to be staring out into nothingness. Viktor took in this vacant expression, and the way this guy's whiskers and ears occasionally twitched slightly.
"How about a toast?" Mitzi proposed, raising her glass. "Viktor, dear?" The bartender poured more liquor into the nervous patron's tumbler, refilled the eccentric girl's shot glass, and poured himself a shot. When Ivy grabbed a glass and held it out, he shook his head, and instead poured her a glass of orange juice. Mitzi smiled. "To new faces, old friends and a bright future."
"To end term exams!" Ivy chimed in. "I hope I pass!"
"Uh…to uh...my ex wife…" The light grey cat at the bar stammered. "Call me Shirlena…"
"To Lucy and Albert." The girl in the rumpled suit muttered boredly. Mitzi looked at the new member of the club expectantly.
"To…" Frost paused. He stared at his drink, remembering the last time he'd given a toast. He felt a twinge of something, and a font of anger somewhere deep down in his core. His lip twitched. "To friends long given…in agony to the Earth…and Heaven…" Viktor still stared at the quiet stranger for a few moments longer.
"Where were you?" The burly cat asked.
"What?" Frost shot back disinterestedly.
"You were soldier." Viktor stated. "In Great War. You have look. In the eyes…so where were you, comrade?" Frost's lip turned up in a sneer. "What unit?"
"11th Engineer's Battalion…" Frost muttered in a low voice. "I was at Cambrai. 1917. Didn't see action. Only some shells. When I got to the front, the Germans were gone." He turned up the glass and chugged the contents down as if it were water, to the astonishment of the others at the bar. He slammed the glass down on the table. Viktor crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Ughh. Got pneumonia. Sent home."
"Then why you so bothered then?" He asked.
"Viktor…" Mitzi tried to interject.
"If you no see any of it?" Viktor pressed.
"Were you there…" Frost muttered, his voice now low and eerily soft.
"Yeah…I was." The bartender answered. "16th Infantry Regiment. I was there until Armistice." Frost felt a chill go down his spine. He tried to remain calm, to keep himself rational…tactical. His hand, still gripping the tumbler, jerked, causing him to slide the glass violently on the bar top. He clenched his teeth.
"Hi Mizz May." A voice greeted. Drake forced his eyes to glance over. A young cat, probably no more than 20, with orange fur had entered. He was wearing a green suit. The newcomer paused just behind the startled Mitzi and looked between Frost and Viktor. "Uhhhh…what's going on…"
"You made it home." The gunman hissed toward Viktor.
"Yes. I did." The bartender answered. Now. It had to be now…
"Well…" Frost growled. He leered up at Viktor with a bitter expression. "It's too damned bad…the Kaiser's men…didn't see to their duty."
"What…did you…say?" The big orange cat snarled.
"I think…" Mitzie began nervously. "…we all need to calm down and enjoy our evenin'…uh…uh Zib honey? We could use some music. Let's just…"
"Whyyyyy…" Frost rasped. "I came here to drink. This place is a fucking outhouse…"
"You don't like the club?" Ivy asked, disappointed. Beside her, Freckle was still standing rigidly, his tail slightly puffed, and his eyes darting back and forth.
"Uh…what's going on?" He asked again anxiously.
"This place smells like piss." Frost stated. "Your booze tastes like piss. I have to listen…to your incessant yaps. I'm surrounded by stupid little children…and pansy pacifists…and communist cross-dressing broads." The girl in the suit stood up, and Freckle pulled Ivy behind himself.
"Mister Fisher!" Mitzi exclaimed. "I've heard about enough from you."
"Then stay out of the bootlegging business you high-hat broad."
"Hey…buddy…" Freckle said, trying to sound tough in front of Ivy. "You'd better knock it off, or you're gonna be tossed out of here for life."
"Good." Frost replied. "This place is crummy." He paused. "No. It's worse. I wouldn't defile my good name by taking a shit...in the floor...of your stinking bathroom in this…wretched excuse for a two-bit whorehouse." The gunfighter wasn't finished though. He glowered up at Viktor, who had his teeth bared, and was breathing heavily, his fists clenched. "And you. Yoouuuu."
"What about…me?" The bartender returned darkly. Drake slammed his glass down on the counter.
"Pour me another fucking drink." He hissed. "You dumb…Russian cyclops son of a bitch." With a roar, Viktor swiped Frost's glass, along with Mitzi's off the bar. Frost stood and flourished his arms outward like a player on a stage.
"What are you waiting for, Goliath?" He asked in a low, calm voice. "Well Sandow? Gonna just stand there or are you going to do something?" Viktor started to climb on the counter, but Mitzi jumped in front of him.
"Viktor! Honey, no!" She cried out, putting her palms against his chest. Frost now turned to the tomboy.
"What about you, Joan of Arc?" He shot. "Bet a socialist bulldiker sapphist like you has at least a blade in your pocket."
"You wanna get busted up, wiseass?" She snarled. Mitzi now turned her attention from Viktor, and started motioning frantically with her arms and shaking her head, giving a desperate 'no' gesture. She didn't want a scene in The Lackadaisy. Scenes attract cops. Cops were bad for business.
"G…get out!" Freckle squeaked. "Now!" By now, both Viktor and the girl had picked up on what Miss M was trying to get across, and they backed down a little. Frost looked around, seeing that his attempts to start a brawl were useless. These people weren't the typical gangsters he was used to. They were more like hopeless amateurs. Any hope of his plan succeeding now was shattered. He dropped the ruse.
"Well…" He grumbled. "Nobody then?" Another glance around the room showed only angry and terrified eyes on him. "Sorry for the disruption." He looked at a still seething Viktor. "Keep the change." He tipped his hat to Mitzi. "Ma'am." Then he pulled the pin from his coat and tossed it onto the bar. "Have a good evening." With that, Frost calmly walked out the door.
Wow, eh? Tense; n: Any situation where Frost is involved. Seriously, is this guy not intimidating? Even his calculated use of racial and bigoted insults toward some of the characters just to goad them into a fight shows his level of manipulation. He even has Serafine Savoy mildly spooked. Can this guy be reasoned with? Does he have any speck of decency or humanity in his heart? And what does all this mean for the Lackadaisy crew? Hopefully all these questions and more will be answered soon, as I will try to have another chapter up in the next few days. Until then, let me know what you think of the story. Feel free to leave your theories and feelings about Frost in the reviews. Until our next installment ladies and gentlemen, so long and good night.