They Started It --- 1920s Gangster Short Story
I was merely paying a friend a visit when one of Tomlin’s boys tapped me too hard on the shoulder. It wan’t nuthin. So I slammed the guys head on the side of the bar. Big deal. I coulda, and have done, a lot worse. People who run their mouth have it coming. That’s what I always say anyway.
Evidently I pissed off the wrong people. Next thing I know I’m picking up from a drop with my pal Louie, and as we’re leaving the place I spot a row of Boss Tomlin’s lackeys across the street with a bunch of tommys peaking out their greatcoats. It’s obvious to me. Like it does any good to hide the hulk of metal beneath your clothes. Everybody can see that you’re carrying. Especially me. I’m like that. I have to be. If you don’t notice things right away in my line of business, you might as well kiss your kids goodnight one last time ‘cause you ain’t gonna last a single day on these graveyard streets.
My pal Louie learned this lesson the hard way. I saw the bootlicks as soon as we exited the drop place, a dance hall on 46th street. At least that’s what they call it. Except the ladies are doing more than dancing on and off their little stages. Anyways, like I said, I saw the gangster rats before Louie, pulling my .38 and dodging for cover. My associate wasn’t so quick on the uptake. Let’s just say the poor guy had lead for brunch.
They tried to get me too. Shattered glass fell from the car I hid behind, adding weight to my brand new fedora. A little disgruntled by this, I managed to put a bullet through two of the five sent to do this dirty deed. There were three left, and if you mess with me there usually ain’t nuthin’ left over, if ya know what I mean.
So I put the drop valise in the front seat of the car I’m next to. Who the hell’s gonna drive off in a car filled with broken glass in the middle of a shootout anyway? Their tommys are singing. A song all too familiar to me. I could care less. All I’m doing is crouching, hiding and biding my time as I pull out my other gun from my jacket. One of the jokesters attempts to cross the street to my side, so I sprint in his direction. I’ve found it best in certain circumstances to meet your enemy head on. He ran behind a large van, thinking it to be a place of refuge. I popped him one before he could even fathom his error. That left two.
Next thing I see is the other tucktails down the street trying to leave the scene and forget this ever happened. Little did they know I’ve been shootin’ bottle ever since I could walk back on my Uncle’s Nebraskan farm. Must’ve just injured ‘em as they drove away somewhat erratically. Still managed to shatter their back window and pop a tire. Anyways, I knew Tomlin would get the message not to mess with me, at least with less than ten guys and where I could see ‘em comin’. I know one thing: my boss, Mr. Capone, ain’t gonna be too pleased with this new feud and losing Louie and all. At least he’ll get his money. Without the money, a feud might lead to war. And I’ve seen too many of those.
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Your writting somekind of a novel ?
