Thanks for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. After a delay due to circumstances beyond my control, I am back with a new chapter. I know I left you on a bit of a cliffhanger there, and so I'll be brief. Enjoy!
Frost slipped out of his apartment at 5:05. The store downstairs was closed, and with the street fairly deserted this time of evening, there would be few people to notice him in the seconds he would be visible with his weapons. The gunfighter had his shotgun slung on his right shoulder, and carried his Thompson by the pistol grip, the muzzle pointing upwards. He left through a door at the back of the building, got into his Ford sedan, and pulled around to the front of The Little Daisy Café.
The gunman quickly left his car and jogged to the door of the small restaurant. He tried the door. Locked. Within five seconds, Frost had punched out a windowpane in the door, reached in and thrown the deadbolt, and slipped into the café. With the muzzle of his Thompson pointed at the shelf at the back of the business, he slowly approached the hidden doorway. He swung it open and aimed down the stairs, but there was no one there. Frost took the first step, then the second. Then the third. He could now see the door to the speakeasy, but the doorman wasn't there. The assassin froze, his calculated mind in motion. They probably were not open yet. He was likely in the joint with the rest of them…unless he had quit. The fat ostiary didn't seem like the hard type. He would have probably placed his resume the minute he heard that somebody was threatening the operation.
Frost paused at the door, and cocked his head toward it. He could hear music, some jazzy tune playing inside the club. The band must have been warming up for the night. He took this as a good sign. His tail twitched involuntarily. The time was now. With a hard shove, the gunman pushed the doors open and instantly had his chopper held at the ready as he strode into the room.
The speakeasy was empty, save for the musician, sitting by himself at a table near to the bar. The bartender was not behind the counter, and other than Rocky, there wasn't a soul to be seen. To Frost's cautious surprise, the grey cat in the blue suit simply looked up, tipped his hat and went back to enjoying his drink. Frost growled and moved closer to the table, the muzzle of the submachine gun trained on the seemingly unarmed and indifferent musician.
"Where…are the others…" Frost growled, his finger resting heavily on the trigger of his weapon. Rocky looked up.
"Hiya paaalll!" Rocky grinned. "Thought you'd never stop by. Been meanin' to tell ya…no hard feelings about the other night. If you was me and I were you…" He leaned over he table with his good hand held to his cheek as if telling a secret. "…I'd have shot me too." Rocky gave the assassin a wink.
"Where…is everyone?" Frost asked in a deeper, more threatening tone, raising his Thompson a little higher. Rocky gulped. He wasn't scared. He was terrified, but he also knew that if they were going to have any chance at all, he would have to play his part a little longer.
"I…couldn't tell ya." He replied. "They said something about needing to clean this place up and…" He tapped his chin in pretend-thought. "…or was it clean this place out?" Frost took a deep breath. "Oh yeah, and I hope you like our band." Frost's head snapped over to the stage. A record player on a stool was just finishing a song, a microphone in front of the brass bell amplifying the music. He turned back to see Rocky nimbly vaulting over the bartop.
"Fuck."
The cavernous space seemed to explode around the gunfighter as the giant bartender swung around a blind spot next to the stage and fired his shotgun at the same time a burst of automatic gunfire erupted from the doorway leading into a tunnel at the back of the room. Frost instinctively dove forward and rolled in front of the bar to avoid the buckshot that whizzed past him. He sprayed a stream of .45 slugs toward the entrance to the tunnel, and then dove onto the table Rocky had been sitting at minutes before. With the grace of a collapsing house, Frost overturned the table and used it as a shield against whoever was firing from the doorway as he sent a burst toward the stage, forcing Viktor to duck back behind cover.
Freckle ran from the doorway of the tunnel and dove behind a pillar, sending another torrent of bullets toward the assassin as he laughed maniacally. Frost felt his cover being splintered, and fired his own Thompson in reply to Freckle's as he bolted fifteen feet to the safety of a card table with a thick oaken fronting. Viktor slam-fired his shotgun thrice at the gunman, and Frost felt a blow to the back of his vest, and a pellet or two tore through his left bicep as he dove over the counter. He hit the ground hard and instantly released the empty drum of his weapon, quickly reloading with one of the 20 round sticks in his coat.
"Okay…okay…" He breathed. He couldn't believe these greenhorns had managed to get the drop on him like this. If Frost had harbored any desire to go easy on them before, all bets were off now. The kid had to be out, or at least running low on ammunition at this point. The big guy would be a breeze to ice once he managed to silence the chopper. Frost took a deep breath, and bolted upright.
Calvin pivoted around the pillar and fired his tommy gun, but Frost leapt over the counter and fired back with his own, dodging the trigger-happy kid's barrage. Freckle's gun clicked empty, and he growled and panted as he threw the depleted mag to the floor and struggled to line up a 20 round stick with the weapon's loading port. Meanwhile, Frost charged his position, and rolled behind another pillar twenty feet away. He stood and took aim on Freckle. The orange cat froze, and glowered at the gunfighter with a look of rage and defiance. He started to press the trigger…
Pop pop-pop-pop
Frost felt something akin to a pebble hit the left side of his vest, just under the armpit. Then another small slap on his abdomen. He spun to the left to see the moll standing there with a mouse gun just in time to have a round graze his left forearm and another hit his thick leather gunbelt, just to the right of the buckle. He managed to slide around the pillar before her aim could improve, but just in time to see the bartender take aim.
Frost fired blindly toward the stage, and the large Slavic cat ducked again. His Thompson ran empty, and not having time to reload, Frost lowered it to the ground and came up whipping his own shotgun from his shoulder. As soon as the butt of the stock touched his collar, Frost fired twice at the stage. Viktor fired back, and for a few seconds, the room was filled with the tremendous booming of a pair of shotguns. To Rocky, cowering behind the bar, it sounded like what he imagined two pirate vessels broadsiding one another would be like. Viktor's shotgun took two pellets from one of Frost's blasts, and another barked his left forearm, cutting a gash as cleanly as if it had been a knife. Victor growled and fired the gun once more one-handed as he ducked for cover again.
By now, Freckle had reloaded, and ran from behind the pillar, firing away, trying to catch the invader in a long burst. Frost dropped the shotgun and drew his pistols, maneuvering around the pillar to avoid the slugs that ripped through the air. He fired four times at Calvin, who rolled behind a pair of leather-bound chairs and started reloading again. Frost heard the pop of May's little pocket gun again, and felt a round impact his chest, the tiny bullet stopped by his shoulder rig and steel-reinforced waistcoat. He let out a fierce growl and turned in her direction, the club's owner disappearing behind her own pillar as Frost dumped the remainder of both magazines into it. He ran for cover, reloading on the fly.
Calvin let fly a torrent of bullets that chased Frost across the speakeasy, two punching a pair of new holes in his coat. Frost returned fire with his pistols, forcing Freckle to cover just as Viktor swung back into view with his shotgun leveled. Frost dropped into a baseball slide as a charge of 00 buckshot buzzed over him. Viktor ducked as the gunfighter fired six rounds into the stage. Frost hopped to his feet, and starting to feel the extent of his new injuries and seeing that he was partially surrounded, searched for a place to regroup. In a flash he dove over the bar. As soon as he hit the ground on the other side, he saw Rocky, laying face-down, his hands over his head. The musician looked up and his eyes widened.
"Oh ye gads!" Rocky exclaimed. Frost rolled up to a kneeling position and pointed both of his pistols at the cowering musician.
"Alright…fuckin' alright…" Frost panted in pain and exertion. "You all got me…but I'll get you…you goddamned dandified dewdropper…"
"Hey, creep!" Ivy shouted, coming out of nowhere to slide in front of Rocky. "Gonna blow me down too? After we was all nice to you and everything, huh?!" The ruse worked. Frost lowered his guard for a brief moment, giving Ivy time to snap her right hand forward, throwing a fistful of black pepper into the gunman's face.
"Argh…fuck!" He cried out, unable to see. He fired blindly, missing Ivy and Rocky by inches. Frost felt a heavy blow to the back of his head. There was a flash of tremendously bright light, then everything went dark.
"…quick…get his guns." He heard the moll say. Frost tried to move but his limbs felt heavy.
"Nughhh…" He groaned.
"Quick…uh…uh…we gotta tie him up." Freckle stammered.
"What are we gonna do with him?" He heard Ivy squeak.
"Torture him? Rocky proposed.
"Nobody's torturing anybody." Mitzi replied.
"I vould torture him." Viktor growled.
"Ughhh…fuck." Frost choked out, then everything went black again.
Mordecai walked down the hall toward the office of Mister Sweet. He drew the gold watch from his vest pocket and glanced at the face. It was 11:30pm. He had heard nothing from the gun-for-hire since their conversation earlier that morning, and something at the back of Heller's mind kept screaming that something was amiss. The numbers for one did not add up. If the gunman was going to assault The Lackadaisy, he should have done so already. A quick entry and the eradication of the handful of people in the club should not have taken more than five minutes. Twenty if he searched the entire building, by Mordecai's estimation.
The Marigold's contact in the local police department had not received any reports of dead persons or insane gunslingers with machine rifles today. It was as if nothing had happened, and that was a little more unsettling to Mordecai than the reverse. Unless Frost had not even begun his attack as of yet. Perhaps he had contacted Sweet…
"Mister Sweet…" Heller began, entering the office. The crime boss looked up from his desk.
"Yes?" Asa asked curiously. "Do you have good news from Frost yet?"
"No. I in fact have no news from Frost. He was purportedly initiating his overzealous campaign of destruction tonight; however I assumed it would be completed by now. It is somewhat worrisome." Sweet let out a sigh.
"Don't get bent out of shape. That Frost is a professional. He's probably taking his time and making sure everything goes smoothly. I'm sure we'll hear something by morning."
"Yes sir…you are probably right." Mordecai groused.
"Now…I'm glad you're here." Asa said. "I want you to take the Savoy's and spend the rest of the evening downstairs. We have quite a few guests right now, and it would be…worthwhile for them to see the three of you. Maybe have a late dinner in the restaurant. If you want, go down to the club and enjoy the ambiance."
"An alibi." Mordecai stated.
"Precisely." Sweet smirked. "You three would be the prime suspects of course if anybody said anything. Nothing like having a dozen witnesses to put you here all night. Come tomorrow Heller, we'll be reading the papers…bootlegging racket taken down in a hail of bullets. Heh."
….
Frost's eyes flickered open. His head was throbbing, and he felt like he'd been run over by a truck. The gunman let out a low groggy groan and tried to move. He couldn't. His yellow eyes snapped fully open in an instant. He was sitting in a wooden chair in a dimly-lit room of some sort, his wrists bound behind him and his ankles tied to the front legs of the chair. The mercenary pulled at his restraints, feeling the thin rope cut into his wrists.
"Nugh…the hell…" He grunted. His mind began to make sense of where he was and what had happened, and the normally stoical gunman felt his heart-rate spike as he struggled. "Bastards…fucking bastards!" He growled. "Fuck you! Go to Hell!"
Outside the door of the small storage room in the cave, Mitzi gave a worried glance at Calvin and Ivy. They could hear the assassin screaming, cursing and fighting against his bonds on the other side of the door. None of them had known what to do with their captive. Kill him outright? Try to ransom him to Asa Sweet? Turn him in to the authorities? Viktor wanted nothing more than to off the killer, saying that he was too dangerous to be left alive. Rocky had proposed the far-fetched idea of attempting to hire him for themselves, buying the weapon of their enemy, so to speak. Zib wanted to tie him up and throw him in the Mississippi and let the fish and snapping turtles decide what to do with him.
In the end, Freckle and Ivy had been against killing their attacker. They insisted on keeping him tied up until they could figure out a better course of action. Rocky had agreed as well, saying that since he hadn't actually killed anyone yet, he didn't need to be killed back. So they had tied him to a chair in one of the small rooms in the cave system and locked the door. Now that he was awake, they couldn't help but wonder if that would be enough to restrain the frightening juggernaut.
"Think…he can get out?" Freckle asked apprehensively.
"The way Viktor tied them ropes…" Mitzi replied. "…an elephant couldn't get loose."
"Elephants don't carry guns…" The young gangster muttered.
"Shoot me!" The assassin growled loudly from inside the room. "I hear you duplicitous fucking pikers…out there plottin' away! Come on! Come shiv me in the belly already you goddamned cutthroats!" Mitzi rolled her eyes.
"I hope he doesn't do this all night…" She sighed.
"Argghhh…finish it…why wait?!" Frost continued. "Cowards! Do it. Just put a goddamned slug in my skull and get it over with…"
"Geez. He sounds like he really wants to die…" Calvin remarked. Ivy frowned. "I mean listen to him."
"Gimme my guns. Gimme my '11 and one round. I'll do it. I'll fucking do it and save you the fuss and bother, you fugging cowards!" Frost thundered. "Do it!"
"We can't just let him go on like this." Ivy stated. "I'm going in there." Freckle moved in front of her and spread his arms wide, blocking her path.
"I don't think that's such a swell idea, Ivy." He said. "He's still really really dangerous and you could…"
"He's tied to a chair." The teen stated dryly. "What's he gonna do, spit on my dress?"
"It…it's a nice dress…" Freckle argued meekly. Ivy pushed past him and threw the bolt on the door. She pushed open the heavy wooden panel and cautiously stepped inside. The gunman was still tied to the chair where they had left him, albeit more animated than he had been two hours before.
"You…" Frost looked up, meeting eyes with the young woman. "You're the one they sent in here to kill me…" He said in a low, dark voice.
"What?" She squeaked.
"How you gonna do it, girly?" He growled, his head lolling to the side creepily. "Plant one in my head? Slip a blade in my ticker? Huh?" She held a hand to her mouth.
"Look, I didn't…I mean…"
"Don't play stupid…" Frost muttered. "…you manipulative little bearcat. The ploy with the pepper…that was good. Knew I couldn't kill you. Sneaky little brat, ain't you." He narrowed his eyes. "Might as well put me down. Want me to talk…I won't."
"I don't want you to talk…" Ivy began. "I just wanted to see if…you know, if you wanted anything…" His right eye twitched, and his head jerked to the side, an unconscious spasm.
"Kill me…." He hissed.
"I…I'm not going to kill you, Mister Fisher!" Ivy returned, an edge to her tone. "Nobody's gonna kill you."
"Then why am I all trussed up in this cell now, Miss Ivy…" He snarled.
"So you don't try to kill us, that's why!" She responded. "Now if you want some water or…or…something to eat I guess, tell me." She saw his head twitch again.
Frost was trying to keep it together. Everything he'd drunk throughout the day had nearly worn off, and all that was left was a clearing sky, the clouds parting to reveal a light that he knew would burn him to cinders. He pulled against the ropes, letting out a choked cry. He tried to focus on Ivy, standing just inside the doorway, but he couldn't force away the swirling images of German soldiers in mud-caked trench coats, the bug-like eyes of their gas masks, coming out of the smoke.
"Whiskey…" Frost groaned. "Get me whiskey…now!"
"I don't think…"
"Please, for the love of…fucking God…get me whiskey…" He rumbled. Frost took a couple of labored breaths, his eyes squeezed shut. He opened them, and stared right at Ivy.
"Are you…okay…" She said softly. This dangerous, violent killer had just tried to murder her and all of her friends, but she couldn't help feeling a pang of pity at seeing him like this. He was obviously in some great pain, and it looked like it was becoming harder and harder to bear it.
"P…please…Ivy…" He gasped, and she could see a hint of tears in his eyes. "A drink…hurry…" She nodded and bolted out of the room.
"Getting Mister Fisher a drink, be back soon!" She called as she ran down the tunnel. Mitzi and Calvin looked at each other and shrugged. Freckle stepped toward the door and pushed it open.
"Uh…hello?" He called. The assassin was writhing in his chair, his teeth clenched.
"I knew it…I knew you were gonna kill me. You…you're the fucking crazy kid…the triggerman…gonna chop me up in little bits, blow my fucking brains all over the goddamned walls…"
"Nnnghh…" Calvin whimpered, holding his hands up in front of him. "Nonono…I'm not, I'm really not…"
"Kill me…" He growled darkly, "Or I'll kill you…we kill…or be killed…eat…" Frost smelled blood, death and gunpowder. "Gah…damnit…shoot me in the fucking head, boy!"
"Look." Freckle stated, trying to sound calm and collected. "I'm not here to kill you, mister. None of us are going to do that, so if that's what you want, then too bad."
"Whiskey…" Frost grunted.
"Ivy's getting you some. She's…she should be back in a second."
"Ngghh…" The gunman sounded, and nodded in understanding.
"You okay?" Calvin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Shut up…shut up…" Frost hissed through clenched teeth. "Goddamned claws ripping at my soul…"
"What?" Freckle asked in a shocked tone, cocking his head.
"Got it!" Ivy chirped, reentering the room with a bottle of Canadian whiskey. She froze, the method by which to let him drink an enigma. She shrugged and pulled the cork from the bottle. The pop made the gunfighter's head snap upwards. Ivy cautiously stepped forward and placed the mouth of the bottle against his lips. Frost immediately started sucking down the alcoholic beverage, tilting his head back in a way that reminded Ivy of feeding a baby. After he had guzzled down half the bottle, Frost sputtered, and Ivy pulled the bottle away. He coughed, whiskey dribbling off of his chin and whiskers.
"Mm…" He grunted.
"Better?" Ivy asked. He glanced up at her.
"Mmm." He grunted again. His eyes flicked up. "Thank you…" Frost grumbled then looked away.
"I'll just uhh…" Ivy corked the bottle and placed it on the floor. "…sit this right here. You need more…there's likely going to be someone outside. Just ask, okay?" Frost felt his head clearing a little, his thoughts becoming murkier and murkier until all that was left was the present.
"You're devious…" he muttered. "Had me fooled. Whole sweet kid act. Murderous shrew…"
"Just what in the heck are you talking about, Buster?" Ivy demanded, her hands on her hips.
"Distracting me…with pepper in the eyes. Jumping in there so I wouldn't shoot. So your friends could ice me. Good trick. Mother should be proud."
"Hey! I only did that to keep you from shooting my friends!" Ivy shot back. "That's what people do, I guess. And what would someone like you know about that anyway?" Frost felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He let out a seething growl.
"Nothing." He intoned. "Not a goddamned thing. What do you want? What do you people want from me?!"
"Answers, honey…answers." Mitzi answered softly, entering the room. "I was hopin' we could have us a civilized conversation."
"Let me alone, you fucking gun moll." Mitzi's eyes narrowed.
"Listen here. I don't think you're in any position to be flappin' you gums like that." She chided.
"Then take that little mouse gun." Frost replied. "Put the barrel against my head. Blow your fucking answers out on the floor. That's all you're getting." Mitzi threw up her arms in exasperation and heaved a sigh before leaving the room. Freckle followed, leaving Ivy standing in the space with the bound killer.
"Um…so…like I said, if you need anything…"
"Beat it." Frost stated grimly. "Blow. Nice gal routine ain't gonna cut it. I'm on to you."
"Grrrr…" Ivy growled under her breath. "You're an evil, exasperating old scoundrel, you know that?"
"Yeah…I do." He answered. Ivy huffed, picked up the bottle and offered it to him again. He nodded, and allowed her to pour three more shots' worth of whiskey down his throat. She sat the bottle down.
"I'm leaving." She stated.
"Good."
"You're mean."
"Tricksy fucking vamp."
"Ugh!" Ivy groaned, and left the room.
Frost has been taken captive by the Lackadaisy crew! What will they do with the deadly gunman now that he is their prisoner? I will try to have the next chapter up soon, so keep those dials locked in right here for the next riveting installment of this thrilling tale! Until then ladies and gentlemen, so long and good night!