Interlude Stories: Jason Chirevas

MAN DOWN - JASON CHIREVAS

Leo pressed his dinner plate palms and butcher-block chest to the thick door. Fists and shouts pounded the other side. Slick with sweat, he stepped right and pulled a file cabinet down across the doorway.

“Leo!”

He stumbled round. Vin lay on his side across the grimy basement floor, his hand clamped over the back of his thigh, red.

“W-when?” Leo dropped to one knee.

“Right before we ran in here, I think.” Vin ground his teeth. “You got to take the thing.”

“I…I can’t.” Leo sunk to a hip. “I dunno where—”

“You know where.” Vin spasmed into jackknife and gripped his leg.

“But.” Leo shied from the noisy door. “In the service they says to never leave a man down.”

Vin slapped Leo’s bristly jaw with his dry hand. “This ain’t the fuckin’ service.” He grabbed a handful of Leo’s dirty, zippered sweatshirt. “Take the thing and get outta here before Dolan kills us both.”

Shots joined the voices and kicks at the barred door. Leo put both hands and feet under him and pushed himself erect. Streetlight stabbed through a rectangular window below the ceiling to the floor near Vin’s head. Leo’s kielbasa tongue swept his lips. “OK…OK, gimme the thing.”

Vin smiled between croaks of pain. “Good boy.” He rolled onto his healthy leg and yanked the thing from inside his suit jacket. Leo tucked it into his sweatshirt. He frowned at the thick crimson pool under Vin’s thigh. “Bye, Vin.”

“Wait.” Vin reached into his jacket again, wincing and squealing. He pulled his chunky .45 and shoved it at Leo. “Take this, too.”

“OK.” Leo gripped the gun by the barrel. The door shuddered as a slug made it through the dense wood and skipped off the concrete floor. “OK.” He exchanged a nod with Vin and crossed to the far wall.

A battered desk bore his weight long enough to smash the window out with the butt of Vin’s .45. Eye level with the sidewalk, Leo tossed the gun through the window frame and dragged his bulk out after it. Stubborn glass wedges gouged through his sweatshirt and carved red lines in his arms, chest, and back.

No one on the street. Leo grabbed the .45, this time by the grip, and got to his feet. A crash of wood came from the broken window at his feet, followed by a tasseled loafer stampede. Voices attacked each other; Leo heard Vin’s say fuck off. He trotted across the street.

*

His card table back up against the snot green bathroom door, Leo rolled his tearing eyes. “Fourth and third? Or third and fourth?” He stepped to the stained sink, flipped on the cold. Just a brown trickle. He wrapped his hands round the sink; his wet eyes found the spotted mirror. “Third and fourth or fourth and third?”

A choked flush from behind. Leo wheeled to face the opening stall door. A used up suit tottered to the other sink. He flipped his faucets, but got nothing. “Aw, shi—...Uh oh.” He jerked at the waist and filled the sink with puke.

Leo twisted away, sleeve over his nose and mouth. The bathroom door was open. Three men in sharp threads filled the frame. The flankers pointed guns. The one in the middle held out his hand. “Give me the thing. Dolan says maybe you walk again, if you do.”

Leo stepped back. The middle sharp did too, allowing the gunmen through the door. Leo’s hand moved to his sweatshirt, the thing on the other side of the soft material. The used up suit finished his puke and straightened up. His red-rimmed eyes narrowed at the gunmen. “What the fu—”

Leo slipped behind the puker, his back to the tile, hands braced on the cold radiator. He kicked up from the ground with both feet, put his size fifteens to the puker’s back and shoved him at the gunmen. One of them sidestepped, his piece clattering against the closed second stall. The other, eyes wide, fired his cradled nine. The bullet did a quick pass through the puker’s mouth, blew a flesh flower out the back of his neck, and shattered the little window over Leo’s head.

More glass. Leo turtled his neck to his shoulders and powered off the wall. He dipped his shoulder and caught the guy against the stall in the sternum, which cracked along with several of his ribs. His mouth a ring of stunned anguish, the guy dropped his piece and tumbled through the stall door. His hip hit the bowl, his head dented against the fixture, and he stopped moving.

Leo wheeled on the other guy, who was against the doorframe, the puker face down gurgling at his feet. He raised his nine. Leo grabbed his wrist, broke it, and rammed his elbow into the guy’s nose, spreading it across his face. He dropped the nine as his hands went up. Leo tossed him to the radiator.

The third guy, the talker, staggered back up the hallway. One hand traced the wall; the other searched the inside of his snazzy jacket. Leo made a lunge for him, but the toe of his Oxford snagged the puker’s deflated head and he went chest first into the doorframe.

The third guy cleared his piece, a little .22, and jabbed it out in front of him. Leo rolled off the doorframe into the bathroom. Three slugs whizzed past him into the near stall. Two hit the partition, the other caught the first gunman in the ass. He still didn’t move.

Leo slapped his forehead and jammed a hand in his sweatshirt. He pulled Vin’s chunky .45 and whipped it round the corner. The third guy froze, wrist limp, .22 dangling. Leo yanked the trigger.

Nothing. Safety.

The third guy ran. Leo switched his grip to the barrel and boomeranged the .45 down the hall. It nailed the guy in the back of the head and he spilled from the hallway into the dank barroom, sprawled out on his belly.

Leo thumped from the hallway to the prone guy, who stirred. Before he could get his hands under him, Leo brought the heel of his size fifteen down. The boot broke the guy’s neck; the hardwood broke his jaw.

Leo snatched the chunky .45 from between the third guy’s legs and leveled it at the skinny bartender who, along with the smattering of derelicts he served, had his back to the nearest wall, palms up. “It’s…it’s cool, man. No trouble. It’s cool.”

Leo wiped drool from his jaw. He stuffed the .45 in his sweatshirt and stumbled out into the streetlights, massaging his chest with four fingers. “Something about Parkhurst. North of Parkhurst? Fourth and Parkhurst?”

*

Leo sat opposite Sonia at the wobbly kitchen table, the thing between them, rays from the rising sun playing on it. Sonia’s eyes ping-ponged between the thing and Leo. “Is that really a—”

“Yep.” Leo’s buffalo head bobbed. “Nice, right?”

“Yes.” Her toes curled against the dirty linoleum. “Maybe we could just keep it a while.”

“No.” He waved his hands over the thing. “No, I have to get it to the fence. I just…” He pushed up from the table and wrapped his arms round the back of his head. “I just can’t remember where he’s at.”

Sonia’s eyes rolled as she took her coffee cup from the table and labored to her feet. She pulled her robe closed over her pregnant belly and poured stale joe into the sink. Her voice didn’t quite make it to Leo.

“Just once I wish you’d put us ahead of—”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Jimmy trotted from his closet bedroom to the door, his footed PJs shooshing up a wave of dust.

“I’ll get it.”

Sonia tossed a dishtowel over the thing. Leo stepped toward the door. “Ask who’s there, Jim.”

Jimmy twisted the knob between his palms and pulled the door open. A man limped into the room, an overcoat hanging from his bony frame.

Vin.

Sonia’s eyes flashed to Leo, who squinted, one hand extended, palm down. “You’re OK?”

“Been better.” Vin took the door from Jimmy with a gloved hand and eased it closed. “Turns out Dolan’s got a good on-the-spot doc.”

Leo cocked his head. “Dolan’s got…?”

Sonia took a step toward the kitchen table.

Vin watched her sidelong and stepped forward. “I got a new job.”

“New job?” Leo raised an arm toward the kitchen table. “But what about—”

“No, Leo!”

He looked to Sonia, who gripped her hair in both hands. The first shot put two holes in his heart. The second tunneled though his thick skull into his brain and settled there. Leo stumbled back with a vague look on his face and fell on his ass against the wall.

Vin crossed to the kitchen table, flipped the dishtowel aside and tucked the thing into his overcoat.

Her jaw slack, mouth working wordlessly, Sonia stood on her toes, the small of her back against the sink. Her robe fell open.

“Aw, fuck.” Vin shook his head at the big, round belly with a heavy sigh, then raised the silenced nine.

“Please!” Sonia’s arms surrounded her stomach. He shot her between the breasts.

He hobbled toward the door. Jimmy stood in front of it, a tear dangling to either side of his chin. “Why?”

Vin pressed the nine to the boy’s forehead. “Never leave a man down.”

BIO: Jason Chirevas has appeared in Hardboiled, A Twist of Noir, Pulp and Dagger, a Cyberpulp horror anthology, and in short, often irritated, missives on Twitter @JasonChirevas.

Interlude Stories: Jason Chirevas

MADDIE - JASON CHIREVAS

City like any other. I rolled into town on Friday with a thing to do. I had an address and a time. The address was round the corner, the time was not yet. I ducked into Dick’s Tap between second and third.

*

“What do ya have?”

She’d definitely been around the block, but there was still something left behind all the bad sex and light 100s. Her body hadn’t gone too far downhill. I gave her a smile and grabbed a fistful of peanuts. “Just these for now.”

“Suit yourself, but you’re taking up a lot of my bar.” She moved to a guy who looked like his golden parachute tore halfway to the street.

I gave her another smile. She paid it back halfway and took the golden shlub's order. I crushed the shells in my fist and dropped the mess on the bar. Looked at myself in the mirror over the backboard as I snacked. She was right; I was two stools wide, at least. Used to be I was muscle from elbow to elbow. Now, not as much.

Shells never stood a chance, though.

I used the mirror to take in the scene behind me. The bar looked like the place everybody used to go. More empty tables by half. Old jukebox was dusty and unplugged. I shared the bar with the shlub, two off-duty hookers down the far end, and a guy looked like he’d been there since the flood slumped over near the can. Couple ceiling fans moved dust and mumbly chatter around the room. Depressing.

“Know what you want?” She was in front of me again. “Or do I have to move the peanuts and call the bouncer?”

Unless the pile of sorry dude near the can was the bouncer, I was pretty sure she was kidding. And flirting. “Scotch and soda.”

“You got it.” She smiled, hand wandered under the bar. “Didn’t think I’d have that? I run a high class joint here.”

So high class there’s only one brand of Scotch. I showed her my palms. “Just doing what I’m told, ma’am.”

She flicked me my drink with the backs of four fingers. I downed it and nodded she hit me again. She did. I gulped it down and nodded over my shoulder. “Busy night?”

“Actually, yeah.” She raised the bottle, but I covered my glass. “This’s the Friday night rush these days.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I winked and got another smile. She’d be a good lay I thought, in that kind of used, broken-in way.

I glanced at my watch. She cocked an eyebrow. “Got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. High class joint with no napkins. “But not yet.”

“Ah.” She pulled my peanut shells to the floor with a rag from over her shoulder.

I folded my hands on the bar. “So, you got a name?” I nodded at the fluttering neon sign over her shoulder. “You don’t look like a Dick.”

Another smile, a giggle too. “Cute. Dick kicked. I never met him. I’m Madelyn. Maddie.”

“My pleasure, Maddie.” I offered my hand and we shook. I got a good look at her tits when she bent over. Decent. Her hand told me she was about thirty-five. I’d guessed older.

*

Two sets of footsteps entered Dick’s Tap. Guys, one pretty big. The steps came straight for the bar. I glanced at the backboard mirror. The big one was younger, the other guy skinny and gray. Big wrapped tight in an overcoat, hands stuffed in his pockets. Skinny wore a blue suit. Standard mob protection team.

They were right next to the golden shlub, between him and me. At the register, Maddie watched the backboard mirror through her eyebrows. She knew them. I traced a fingertip round the rim of my empty glass.

Skinny slapped the bar, his fat ring made more noise than his bony hand. “Oh! Wake up, darlin’. We come about the thing.”

Maddie slammed the register drawer shut and turned to face them, hips against the backboard, hands on it. Her eyes darted to me for a fraction before she spoke. “I know why you come. I don’t have it yet.”

“I don’t like hearin’ that.” Skinny ran his hand along the bar, the fat ring rolling between his knuckles. He looked up at his partner. “You like hearing that?”

Big answered out the side of his mouth. “Nope.”

“Yeah, see.” Skinny pointed at Big. “When he don’t like what he hears, we got problems. We don’t want problems. Give us the thing.”

“I told you.” Maddie’s eyes were hard, but so was her swallow. “I don’t have it yet. I need more time.”

Behind me, chair legs scraped the floorboards. Seems the clientele knew a protection racket when they saw one. The whores down the end of the bar were wise too, but sticking it out. The pile of pickled dude near the can remained motionless.

A little air went out of me when the golden shlub raised a trembling hand. “Eh-excuse me, miss. Can I just have my bill?”

Skinny cooked the shlub with a slow burn. His hand rested on the bar, but he pointed at Maddie. “We’re talking to the lady, pal. Wait your turn.”

The golden shlub found his voice, but his eyes never left Maddie’s beltline. “I know, I’m sorry. I just want­­...”

Skinny’s fat ring ripped into the golden shlub’s cheek. The impact of the backhand slap knocked him off his stool. The shlub went down like a tranqed buffalo. His comb-over flopped open, one shirttail out exposing his pale gut. The shlub lay in the grime, holding his cheek and whimpering.

“My father bothering you fellas?” I kept my eyes on my empty glass.

They turned to me, Skinny craning his neck round his partner. “How’s that?”

“My dad.” I folded my hands on the bar. “He givin’ you boys a hard time?”

I watched them in the backboard mirror through my eyebrows. Skinny looked from me to the shlub, back to me. “Your father? He don’t look any older than you.”

“My cousin, then.” I looked at them for the first time. “He bothering you?”

Big stared at me with a bit of a smirk. Skinny stepped round him. “What’re you doing, friend? Gettin’ involved?”

I swiveled to face him, hands still folded, elbow on the bar. “I just wondered why you’re giving my cousin a hard time when it’s his birthday today.”

Skinny glanced at Big and smiled. “His birthday?”

“Yep.” I waved a finger between my empty glass and the shlub’s. “We were having a drink to celebrate.” I refolded my hands.

Skinny, grinning, leaned on the bar. “Why ain’t you sittin’ together?”

I looked him up and down. I didn’t look at Big. “Don’t want to look like a couple of fags, do we?”

They took a step apart.

The hookers down the end laughed. Maddie pressed a fist to her lips.

Skinny regained his grin and wagged a finger at me. “Good one, pal. Now mind your business, hah?” He turned back to Maddie.

Big hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “I ain’t no fag.”

As soon as he spoke, Skinny’s head dropped and his eyes closed for an instant.

I let my eyes slide to Big for the first time. “No?”

Big’s tongue flicked round his lips. “No.”

He was a bulky kid. Twenty-four or so, probably someone’s nephew. Pretty wide through the shoulders, but his trench strained round his middle. Soft belly or a beer gut under there. Ex-jock. I tilted my head toward the bar and puckered my lower lip. “Coulda fooled me.”

He was in my face. Skinny tried to stop him, but the kid walked right through him. Big stood over me with his hands still in his pockets, lots of movement in the left one. “Get up and say that.”

I carry a gun. Big one. Make your dick shrivel just looking at it. It’s thick, it’s nickel-plated, and I’ve never used it as a civilian.

Big’s charge left me looking at a button on his overcoat. I let my eyes wander up to his. “No need to get up. I see you just fine from here.”

“You think you’re somebody, old man?” He talked to my mouth. “Get up.”

I turned back to my empty glass. “You don’t want that.”

“Fuck I don’t.” He nudged my right arm with his left. “Get up.”

On my feet. Game face. “Alright, so I’m up. Now what, flower pot? Think high school football and a couple date rapes stack up to where I been?”

He took two steps back before I finished talking. I was a head taller than him and twice as wide in the best places. “Fuck you.” The pudge in his cheeks and under his chin quivered.

His left arm tensed, hand shaking in his pocket. I closed the gap between us to half an inch. “Go ahead, jerk it. Or I’ll make you jerk me.”

By this time, Skinny had pulled the golden shlub back onto his stool and dropped a few crunched bills on the bar. Big looked to Maddie for an escape. “You got two more days, bitch.”

I wrapped my hand round Big’s jaw with room to spare. I forced his eyes to mine. “Don’t turn away from a man when he talks to you, baby fat.” I gouged my thumb into the meat behind his jawbone. “It’s not ladylike.” His hands came out of his pockets to slap at my grip. I love pressure points. “Clear?”

Tears streamed down Big’s face as he whined something in a high pitch. I reached into his left trench pocket, pulled his piece, a lousy .38, and flipped it onto the bar in front of Maddie. “That’s the lady’s gun now. You’re not woman enough to carry it.”

Big, up on tiptoe, only shrieked and wriggled. I let him go and he fell backward to his ass. I returned to my stool, traced a finger round the rim of my glass, and caught Skinny’s eye in the backboard mirror. “You and your best girl walk out of here. On your knees.”

They did.

Maddie plucked the .38 from the bar and pocketed it without so much as a once-over. She planted her palms a yard apart in front of me. “That was interesting.”

I glanced up at her through a cocked eyebrow. “Was it?”

“I’d say so.” She tilted her head. “No charge for the shots, obviously.”

“Tell you what.” I checked my watch and slid my glass to her with a finger. “Those two, or anyone further up the food chain, ever come back here, you gimme a call.” I pressed my card to the bar with a thumb.

“Thanks.” She slipped it into her pocket.

“See you around.” I headed for the door.

“Yeah. See you around.”

*

Took me twenty minutes to go around the corner and do the job I came to town to do. I went back to Dick’s Tap to look in on Maddie, but the place was locked up and dark. I checked my watch. Eleven fourteen. Early last call for a struggling joint.

Light from a basement window in the alley. I crept to it and peeked inside.

A guy in filthy clothes dragged the two hookers from the bar into the room by their hair. They were naked, squirming, faces all twisted up. The guy was the pile of dude from in front of the can.

Maddie stood in the center of the room, pointing to a spot I couldn’t see. I stepped to the other side of the window to get that angle.

The wall was lined with cages. There were nude, smudged, young women in all but one.

The guy dragged the hookers into the cell Maddie pointed to, the empty one, and tossed them in. I couldn’t hear anything through the glass, but one collapsed and lay crying on her side. The other screamed, struggled with the bars. Her big, floppy tits pinwheeled.

The guy said something to Maddie, but his back was to me. I couldn’t hear her answer, but I read lips.

Yeah, they’re OK, she said. But we still need a slope with her cherry for those guys.

They walked out of view and the lights went out in the room.

Maddie never called.

BIO: Jason’s work can be found in Hardboiled, Pulp and Dagger, and a CyberPulp horror anthology.