Shanghai rubys, p.12
Shanghai Ruby's, page 12
I gave him a nudge to shove him aside, but he was big and bulky. I also remembered this moron was one of Ruby’s faithful enforcers in the old days.
He mumbled a confused excuse about observing our bedroom performance and added something about how he never liked me when I was with Ruby either. He was close enough to observe the battle scars creasing my face and wasn’t intimated. Stubbornly insisting in crowding my space in the narrow hallway, he wasn’t finished letting off steam either.
I’d had enough of this lug and dropping the grin said, “Back off dog breath … out of my way.” I gave him a push on the chest up against the wall.
He was still closer than I liked. From the way he’d been looking at us downstairs, I knew he’d been jealous of Noir’s interest in me and wanted a showdown. It wouldn’t work out the way he planned.
He didn’t say more. But, from the determined look on his mug, I knew he’d take a swing and try to take me down. It was a tight hallway and I couldn’t get out of the way in time. He tossed a short throw and I stepped aside, catching his glancing blow on one shoulder. We grappled. After deflecting his next telegraphed punch, I drove a sharp knee upwards into his groin, smashing his balls as hard as I could. He dropped his arms and grabbed his crotch instinctively with both hands to prevent another blow. I followed that up with a two-handed clap to both ears, ringing his chimes loud enough to hear back in China. He screamed in pain. I could almost hear his eardrums blow, but this loser was a big lug and far from finished.
He was partially out of commission and going to need another round of softening up before I was done. I had to work fast. Instead of pasting him with a round house swing like he deserved, I gave him a short-range elbow smash across the bridge of his nose. It snapped his big head backwards, smashing it into the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. He collapsed down the wall like a deflated gas bag, spattering blood on the floor from his busted nose, obscuring his vision. I stepped over the bleeding loser, cupping his ringing ears to silence the bells and groaning in pain from the smashed snout.
I still wasn’t finished with blockhead. Before leaving, I dropped another well placed knee into his ribs to remember me by, then grabbed my hat off the floor, adjusted my tie and took the stairs down and out to pick up my heap in the parking lot.
Chapter Eleven
The fog and light mist had turned into a weak but steady drizzle while I was inside drilling for oil. I stood on the front porch and lit a cigarette, watching the falling rain drops glisten in the parking lot lights through the blown smoke. I tossed the match out into the rain and thought about this joint tonight and was still amazed there were no knockout drops or any other funny business from that broad. Other than a jealous bartender getting in my way upstairs and maybe his fruitless attempts to snap a few compromising blackmail photos of one of Noir’s customers, nothing else happened while I waited. I flicked the smoke into the downpour and contemplated the shortest route to my Buick through therain-filled pot holes in the parking lot. A couple of drunks stumbled off the front steps blindly in no particular direction, hoping their buggy would suddenly appear and whisk them away before getting totally soaked.
Mine was off somewhere I couldn’t see, hidden in the back by the parking lot valet. I’d let him find it for another few bucks and wait on the front porch under the roof. They’d moved the portable umbrella covered valet station closer to the sheltered overhang entrance. I shouted at the guy on duty, now wearing a yellow rain slicker and hat pulled low over his collar and got his attention to go get my heap. He motioned that he remembered me and, without a squawk about a ticket stub matching his board of auto keys, raced over to the other side of the lot and returned faster than jackrabbit on Peyote. I dashed outside, greased his palm with more dough and slid in behind the wheel on a damp seat, tossing my hat beside me.
He’d left the engine running and the windshield wipers were flopping overtime against the drizzle. I ran my hand over an already steamy window, twisted my defroster switch on and slipped her into first gear, spinning the tires on a slippery patch exiting the parking lot. I swung left on Neptune Avenue bumping over a couple of hidden gopher sized pot holes deep enough to jog your fillings loose and swore at the city politicians responsible for road maintenance. After that round with Black Jade, I was anxious for a good night’s sleep and headed in the direction of the Black Swan, closer at the Anchor Marina in San Pedro than my apartment in Hollywood several long miles away.
I reached for the radio dial, pausing in midstream. One glance over my shoulder told me another story I wouldn’t like. The glint of something in the rearview mirror caught my attention and give me a start. Maybe, I wouldn’t be doing any resting on the boat or anywhere else for a while, possibly a long while … unless it was permanent.
A face that I didn’t want to see right now was staring back at me from the back seat with a twisted grin that spelled trouble, big trouble. I started to reach for my .357 mag. under my coat, then put on the brakes. I wouldn’t be able to get it out easily and if I did, I was in an awkward position to do anything effective with it sitting behind the steering wheel facing the wrong direction. I was trapped like a rat in my own trap.
“Well, well, well… out so soon?” I said. “What rock did you crawl out from under Chester? You want another lesson in manners?” I watched his arrogant reflection pointing the barrel of a large caliber revolver towards the back of my head, and added, “And watch that heater, you might shoot yourself.”
“Shut up you bastard,” he mumbled, slapping me on the side of the head with his gun barrel. I mumbled under my breath trying to absorb the stars and didn’t elaborate on his cheap shot.
“Take a left on 8th street and I’ll tell you when to turn again, got it? And don’t try driving fast or nothin else smart. I’m on to those tricks, smart ass. We’re going to have us a little party and guess who’s the guest of honor?”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it, punk.”
“We’re have’n fun already, ain’t we?”
He didn’t wait for a response, just grunted a sickening laugh and slapped the side of my head again, this time harder. He followed up with a couple of sharp prods to the back of my neck with the gun barrel, reminding me who was in charge of this joy ride, at least for now anyway. He growled with a rasp, ”Now, get moving.”
I winced again after the last tap and this time saw a kaleidoscope of shooting comets, but stayed focused on the rain-soaked road, swerving around a pock marked section of pot holes. I was going to make another crack about the bandages wrapped around his noggin, but decided against it. I just said, “I got it, pal. Anybody else going to this shindig I know?”
“Yeah, you and that little big mouth whore cotton Candy that you were so cozy with at the diner. She’s on our list too. If you don’t spill faster than a rusty drain pipe, she’s gonna be the centerpiece of our party tonight and you can watch while me and the boys take turns hitch’n a ride on that bitch. You got it, pal? It’ll be up to you.”
“Yeah, I’m catching on.”
This cockroach was starting to get worked up about something he thought I knew about and I definitely didn’t like hearing what he had in store for the little pink mop-headed cutie either. The guy was a real psycho all right and was released immediately from the slammer by someone, as predicted. Some justice system; it worked just fine for the criminals. Especially those that should either be locked up permanently or exterminated. They were all running loose. Everyone else…well, the hell with them.
I was looking forward to getting an edge on this crumb before this hay ride was over so I could kick his carcass into a deep, dark sewer somewhere it wouldn’t stink up the city and slam a nice tight manhole cover over the top.
One glance in the mirror at his agitated face told me it would be better to calm down too and shut up. This jitterbug was waving that hardware around a little to carelessly for my money. I hoped he didn’t have the hammer back on his heater, but couldn’t tell from my angle.
I steered straight, slow and careful, avoiding some of the larger water filled holes that would produce a nice, nasty trigger tripping jolt, if we slammed into them. That I didn’t need. I’d just have to play it smooth and calm until I could make my move, if I lived that long.
“Okay, take Earle St. and just take it nice and slow until I tell you to stop,” he ordered.
In spite of the heavy downpour, one glance around through the foggy windows, told me where we were. I knew this Los Angeles Harbor like the back of my hand and where we were going wasn’t the best place to be late at night. We’d bypassed the heavier traveled areas and were now in a desolate section of Terminal Island. Quiet old storage warehouses, many empty, lined both sides of the damp streets. Overhead lighting was minimal to none. The busy port loading and unloading docks were over a few streets and unless there was a freighter or two waiting to be serviced, this was a mighty lonely stretch to be stuck in with a gun shoved in your back by a thug with revenge. I slowed way down to get my exact bearings and anticipated one of these old vacant wooden warehouses was our intended target. If I wasn’t wrong, I wouldn’t like it any better. This was a crummy area with limited options for outside help. I spotted only a few burned out homeless bums, sleeping off a booze jag in an alley, to count on … great.
Grease-ball was a man of few words. He signaled with another heavy gun barrel rap on the right side of my head again and grunted more directions under his bandages. “Pull in over there, smartass, stop and shut the engine off.”
He pointed with a waving motion of his gun that I was to park next to a dark colored empty Hudson sedan in front of the last gloomy building on the right, the one with no lights in front.
The multistory slightly dilapidated and weathered wooden building that he’d picked, like all the others in this section, had seen better days before and during the war as fleet military storage facilities. They were now just hanging on to avoid the wrecking ball. Some of these old shells still housed some merchandise. Most were abandoned, useless until they’d gotten torched to collect the insurance value or sat empty, crumbling and moldy, save a stiff rodent or two decorating the abandoned traps. This one was no different.
I slid into the gravel lot, killed the engine and cut off the heaps running lights. There was only the sound of a moaning fog horn somewhere in the harbor trying to break through the silence for company. While I sat there waiting for our next move, I unbuttoned my suit coat and squeezed my .357 mag. under my left arm for assurance. It was still there and too soon to unleash with this jitterbug still somewhere behind me in the shadows. I’d wait for a better opportunity.
Grease-ball slid over and unlatched his back door with the gun still pressed firmly against my skull and said, “No time for tricks, buster. Get out and put both hands on the back of your head and I’ll tell you when to get moving.”
I didn’t argue. We both exited carefully and smoothly into the driving rain. If I couldn’t get my .357 out in time, at least I needed to get my hands on his revolver. But he wasn’t stupid enough to get that close and lingered back in the sheet of gray rain. He waved the gun again towards a solid sliding wooden door in the front and said, “Move it, Thornton, and open it slowly and stay in site where I can see you.”
I moved forward at a snail’s pace, stalling for time and searching for an angle. I glanced back once or twice and noticed his bandages must have been getting soggy. He’d stopped to wipe the downpour from his face and was falling further behind. Maybe this was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Quickening my pace as I approached the building, I noticed the padlock was dangling and the door open a crack. A shaft of light glowed from inside. I could hear muffled voices. Others were already inside waiting our arrival. This wasn’t getting any better. So far, I still had my gun. I just needed the right opportunity to unleash it before whoever was in there would make it impossible.
Not sure what or who was waiting for me inside, I gave another quick glance back at Chester, now just an outline in the downpour. He was stumbling in the puddles of water and still fussing with his waterlogged bandages. I decided to make my move. Dropping my arms, I grasped the sliding wooden door handle with both hands. Instead of pulling it slowly as expected by dum-dum behind me, I flung it along its rusted rails with a surge of adrenaline, spinning out of the lighted doorway and using the sliding door as a shield as it opened. It slammed against the opposite edge of the door frame with a bang, startling the occupants inside and exposing whoever was waiting with my surprise party. I flattened my back against the wall and reached inside my coat, grasping the .357 mag. prepared for a firefight with Chester, but it wasn’t necessary. A fusillade of gun fire instantly erupted from inside the warehouse, blasting through the exposed lighted doorway out into the darkened rain streaked night. The unexpected volley from automatic weapons struck only the darkened figure of Chester standing way back in the rain drenched shadows, blowing him backward in a crumpled heap behind me near the Hudson.
His arrival, unfortunately for him, surprised his pals who were waiting for both of us, but not that suddenly. Their immediate reaction was to blast the unannounced intruder, who was only silhouetted outside in the darkened building parking lot in the rain. I now had two choices; make a run for it to the Buick parked close by, if I had time to get there and hope to get away, or move forward and bag whoever was gunning for me.
I chose the latter, spotting my best approach. I slid along the outside wall towards a metal fire escape ladder situated near the corner of the building. I climbed up on a stack of abandoned shipping pallets, grabbed the bottom rung of the sliding steel ladder and yanked it down to my level. I glanced back towards the open doorway and seeing no one emerge to investigate the body outside in the rain, scrambled up to the landing on the second story. It led to another door with a dirty chicken-wire encased glass window in the top half. I had to move fast to get inside and off the exposed balcony. I knew busting through the double pane safety glass would be noisy and difficult and hoped the old building management hadn’t been too diligent in securing the premises. I tried the door with a prod and a silent prayer. It paid off. It opened reluctantly with a broad shoulder nudge. I squeezed inside as quietly as possible around the opening. It was partially blocked by wooden crates full of something heavy with stenciled instructions written in Chinese characters. Aside from the light creeping in from outside the half-opened doorway, I found myself in a semi-darkened room. I was somewhere above the thugs who’d just plugged Chester by mistake and now surrounded by dusty packing crates of abandoned merchandise and a few prying eyes from some four-legged creatures.
Why had Chester brought me here? What were they doing down below and what did they want me for, revenge? I didn’t think so. I knew something or they thought I knew something. Or maybe I was onto something and they wanted to know how or who I was connected to. Was little Candy already involved? What a mess McCullen had gotten into.
I pushed the door gently so that it would appear closed from below, but it wasn’t and would still be a viable escape, if necessary. It was time to begin hunting. I snapped open my lighter, scanned the room quickly for an inside door leading to somewhere else. I spotted it at the far end of the room and navigated a serpentine route through a maze of unknown industrial merchandise, a few dusty desks, empty metal shelving and a few dusty work benches. This too wasn’t locked, the knob turned easily with only a slight squeak. I moved it inward an inch or two and peered outside, anxious to spot my attempted assailants somewhere down below. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be quite so simple. My room opened up on a short balcony which ran around the building inside in a horse shoe shaped pattern with a stairway at the far end leading to the first floor. Other similar offices or smaller storage rooms were adjacent to each other, all looking down below into a central assembly or work area intended for production of some type. It reminded me of a prison cell balcony looking down into an open courtyard.
The area below was dimly lit and from where I was standing, I couldn’t see who was down there. I could hear agitated men’s voices talking together, but not clearly enough to distinguish what they were saying. I needed to view it and hear it from the balcony railing out front from where I was hiding. I slid past the storage room door and crept forward across the dusty balcony closer to the rail. Down below two men wearing cloth caps and work men’s clothes were pacing nervously back and forth, next to several work benches with three kerosene lanterns throwing off weak light and flickering shadows. They were nervous and unsure of their next move after gunning down the vague figure that might be their pal, possibly lying outside in the rain dying or maybe already dead. From where I was standing, I might be able to take out one of the thugs, but the other one would jump out of sight immediately and have me trapped upstairs. He’d also be able to get away before I could get closer. I could hear they were contemplating bursting out into the rain to retrieve their fallen comrade, who they’d possibly gunned down by mistake, but were worried they might possibly get blasted themselves by persons unknown. Maybe they’d beat a hasty retreat through another exit. One of them mentioned something about a pink haired party doll, but I couldn’t see her. It must have been Candy. That was just what Chester had mentioned on the way over.
It was time to act. I’d put a stop to these rabid dogs before they collected her for their next victim. Unfortunately, my position was far from advantageous. I needed to maneuver into another location closer and take them both by surprise. The open wooden stairwell was located opposite from where I was watching. It was far from an optimal way of descending closer. I’d be exposed, but I had no other choices. I cautiously maneuvered in that direction and began a heart pounding decent into a cauldron of sub-machine guns in the hands of two jumpy lunatics. The way the stairs were situated, I’d be out of site and hidden until I hit a landing halfway down. Then I’d be out in the open and fully exposed. I began slowly, trying to avoid any loose steps that would creak or make noise signaling my presence. Before I reached that midpoint, a quick survey of the room layout presented several possible alternatives to a full-frontal suicide attack. One idea looked more promising than the others and would set several chain reactions in motion at the same time.
