Rhozier Brown - DC Noir 2 - The Classics

Sunshine’s Mercedes was off line. Bitterman figured she was probably curled up with some rich young defense attorney in one of the city’s better hotels. Next to a Sugar Daddy John, a Galahad Defense Attorney was a girl’s best chance to get off the streets and get some instant respectability. Just another reason to hate those scumbags. Bitterman gave up after talking to Betty Boop. She’d shown up around the same time as Sunshine, and Bitterman had fancied her, too. Now her looks had gone like last week’s snow.

Bitterman pulled up across the street from Langtry’s and started over when he saw Sunshine’s Mercedes. He turned back and got into his car to consider his options. If she was in Langtry’s alone, he’d pick her up and put her somewhere until he was done looking for Lufer and then celebrate Christmas Eve with her. If she was somewhere else nearby and he went in looking for Lufer, he’d miss her when she came out. He didn’t like that plan much. Of course, she could be with someone else already. As long as it wasn’t some fuckin’ defense attorney he’d flash some badge, heft a little gun, and requisition her on police business. Bitterman decided that this year the city could wait to get his gift.

He hadn’t been this excited since he was four years old and came down in the middle of the night to see if Santa had brought the baseball glove that would make him Willie Mays. Just give me this one thing, Lord, just because it’s something I can ask for. Everything else I lack is so huge, so vague, so damned close that I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

Dantreya Watkins hurried halfway down the alley, then slowed and moved cautiously along the wall to the intersection with the street. He was trying to think of what his heroes would do. Batman would swoop from the dark and knock Lufer down, then disarm him, tie him up, and leave him for the police. The Punisher would kick down a door and come in guns blazing. Dantreya tried to conjure courage but all he got was a tremor in his legs and a wave of nausea. He turned back to the alley and threw up all over his shoes. Courage had not delivered him to this place. He had nowhere near enough money to pay for Lufer’s death, and he could not imagine running away to live elsewhere. He could leave his world as a superhero, but not as himself. Like his mother, he had an allergy to the police and would not take a step toward one. He knew Lufer was a guarantee of death, only the date on the death certificate was missing. His fears and beliefs, what was impossible and what was certain, had brought him to this alley. His mind had painted him into a corner and it didn’t bother with a small brush.

The tremor in his legs increased and Dantreya gripped the pistol in his pocket even tighter, hoping that would slow down the shaking that surged through him. He thanked God for the gun. Without it he knew he was a dead man looking to lie down.

Forty minutes later Lufer Timmons in his long red duster pushed open the door to Langtry’s and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Avery Bitterman sat up, cursing his luck that Timmons would be the one to show first. Timmons held the door and his companion stepped out into the night. She really was lovely, a thick mane of brick-red hair, pale skin and deep dimples when she smiled. Sunshine, in her knee-high boots, towered over Lufer, who traveled up her length slowly, appreciating every inch of her. He was gonna love climbing up this one. Lufer wasn’t particularly fond of white meat, but that crazy honky who’d been jivin’ with him put him in the mood to fuck this bitch cross-eyed, then maybe mess her up some. Called him a faggot, a punk. He’d show him who the real man was. First he’d teach this white bitch about black lovin’. That’d ruin her for white dick. Then he’d go find that motherfucka, kneecap him, make him beg for the bullet, then shove his gun all the way up his ass before he did him. Lufer smiled, goddamn that felt good. Life was good to Lufer, offering him so many avenues to pleasure.

Sunshine slipped her arm through his and they walked down the street, Lufer showin’ off his prize and she whispering in his ear about what she had in mind for him. Bitterman let them pass his car, then got out and walked up the opposite sidewalk. Oh my, he said to himself as he felt something leak out of him. Sunshine was still as beautiful as ever, but her smile as she lay her head on Lufer’s shoulder was not one he wanted anymore. He couldn’t kid himself about what they would mean to each other, not any longer anyway.

Lufer pushed open the door to a three-story walk-up between a Brazilian restaurant and an erotic lingerie store. Bitterman pulled out his radio, gave his location, who he was watching, and called for backup. If he’d been able to see down the alley across the way, he’d have seen a slim figure back away, turn and run to the fire escape and quickly begin to climb.

Bitterman crossed the street and stood by the door to Timmons’s crib. He opened his jacket and thumbed back the strap on his holster. A level-three vest was supposed to be able to stop a.44 provided it wasn’t too close, but they said the shock would flatten you and you got broken up inside even if there wasn’t penetration. Where the hell was backup, Bitterman thought.

He scanned the street in both directions and saw nothing. Right now he was the thin blue line.

A shot rang out, then another, then a scream and a third one.

Bitterman yelled into his radio, “Shots fired, I’m going up!” He pulled the door open and heard things falling, scuffling and screaming from above. Both hands on his pistol, he followed it up the stairs. He hit the second floor and pointed his gun at all the doors and then up the stairs.

The noise was coming from the door at the far end. Bitterman closed in rapidly and pressed himself against the wall. He reached out with his right hand and touched the doorknob. It was unlocked.

“Wonderful, I get an open door but no backup,” he said to himself.

Bitterman slowly turned the knob. The noises had stopped.

No banging, no screams. When it was fully turned, he flung it open and stepped through into what he hoped was not the line of fire.

Lufer was on the floor. His pants were down around his knees. Sunshine was under him, twitching. Lufer’s cannon was in his hand and there was a bullet hole in the sofa. There was also one in his neck, and the blood was pooling under his chin.

Bitterman saw a young boy to his left, holding on to a snub-nosed .38. The gun was jumping around like it was electrified. His left leg tried to keep time but it couldn’t. There was a large stain on the front of the boy’s pants.

“Put down the gun,” Bitterman barked, but the boy didn’t respond.

Bitterman searched his face. His eyes were wide open and unfocused.

“Put down the gun,” Bitterman asked, more gently but to no avail.

The boy was clearly freaked out by what he’d done. Maybe he could get close enough to disarm him.

“Son, please put down the gun. You’re making me nervous the way it’s shaking there. I don’t know what happened here, but I know he’s a bad man. Why don’t you tell me what happened here.”

Bitterman edged closer to the boy, who was facing away from him. Maybe he could get his hand on the gun, then hit him in the temple with his pistol. At this range he couldn’t afford to let the boy turn. Even shooting to wound him wouldn’t work. An accidental off-line discharge could be fatal this close. Should he tell him he was going to reach for his gun, or just do it? And where the fuck was backup anyway?

Bitterman moved slowly toward the boy until he was about two feet away. If he turned on him he’d have to shoot him. He had no choice. Why wouldn’t he just put the gun down and make this easier on both of them?