Speedball in Love

Three lay on a mattress on the warehouse floor, not doing anything in particular, just gazing at the water-stained ceiling and wondering if she had the energy and the cash to get her hair touched up before tonight's drug handoff. Her dark roots were starting to reveal themselves, and although it was a pain in the ass to keep getting them bleached, her shock of white hair had become her trademark among the local toughs.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned her head in a lazy way and squinted at Ozone, walking toward her across the room. "It's not my turn on watch yet."

He gestured for her to get up and follow him. Curious, she did as he asked, wondering what flighty, impressionable Ozone had come up with this time. He was forever dabbling in some sort of idealistic nonsense, so maybe it was something good.

They paused outside the door of one of the old offices and Ozone motioned for her to peek around the corner. What she saw caused her to draw back in alarm. She met Ozone's eyes, then they moved as silently as they could back into the main room.

"What do you think?" he asked in a low voice.

"Unbelievable. I always thought he was too shallow or too crazy for that sort of thing."

Ozone nodded agreement. "Vince will be pissed if it makes him not want to work or something. He's insane, but he gets the job done."

Three couldn't argue with that. No whack job was too repulsive and no ground too hallowed for Speedball. He got a thrill from hunting down their enemies, even if it meant charging into the blasts of rival gunfire. "This won't last long," she said, without any sense of certainty. "It's just not in his nature."

"I hope you're right." Ozone cast a glance back toward the room where Speedball was rapturously doodling a woman's name on the walls. "The idea of Speedball in love..."

"Repugnant," Three agreed with a shudder. "We'll just have to wait and see how this unfolds. She probably won't return his interest anyway. What sane woman would have him?"

Together they gazed at a spot on the floor, lost in similarly glum thoughts. Rejection might be just as bad having the object of Speedball's affections return his interest. Either way, they stood to lose a skilled fighter at a critical time.

Finally Three sighed and returned to her mattress. "Not much we can do about it, either way."

"But don't you think we should—"

"What? Play matchmaker? Break it up? Find a whore and get him laid?"

Ozone frowned, a line forming in the center of his brow. "No...that last one is probably how this whole thing got started."

Three gave a nod of satisfaction, lay down and stretched her arms overhead. "In that case, there's nothing we can do, and it's Vince's issue to deal with."

"He's the boss," Ozone agreed.

Indeed. Three returned to gazing at the water spots on the ceiling. What a day for Speedball, of all people to be in love. It would be interesting to see what Vince had to say when he found out. A little tirade might shake things up a bit.

Then again, today would be a fine day to get her hair touched up, if she only could rouse up the energy for it.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.  Please see the sidebar for more stores about Vince and his gang.

Marked Man

She certainly looked the part. Vince gave the young woman an appreciative once-over: gold jewelry, gun at her hip, iconic black leather outfit and steel-toed boots. Yes, she fit in nicely with the crowd at Leon’s Social Club, but something wasn’t right.

Nevertheless, she was nice to look at, and he nodded at the bartender to bring them each another drink. “So why do you want to work for me, of all people? There’s groups that bring in better money. Did the Catorces and Sabados turn you down or something?”

The woman sat a little straighter on her bar stool. “No one turns me down. I'm the best female operative in this city. I always get my man.”

Vince leaned an elbow on the bar and considered. Bragging was okay; he did plenty of it himself. But there was an edgy quality to her voice that he didn’t like. Nice breasts, though. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She gave a little sniff and took a gulp from her fresh drink before answering. “Quix is an asshole and Malo is the biggest loser around. I wouldn’t work for them if they were paying in diamonds.” She darted a seductive glance over the rim of her glass. “I like you, though.”

“I like you, too, babe.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had caught his eye when she first walked in, all lithe moves like a dancer, and with a hip-swaying stride that made heads turn. “I use more than just personal considerations when I let someone join my gang, though. What do you bring to the table besides a pretty face and nice words?”

Vince thought he detected a scowl flash across her face, immediately replaced by a seductive smile. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

She slipped off the stool and headed toward the door, with Vince following just close enough not to lose her in the crowd, but not so close he couldn’t get a good look at her ass. Very nice.

As they neared the door, she paused and gave him a sidelong look over her shoulder, then pushed open the door and stepped outside. Vince made as if he would follow, then ducked to the side at the last moment so another man could exit ahead of him. The sudden staccato of gunfire outside silenced the barroom, and all eyes turned on Vince.

He met their gaze with an expression of utter innocence. “Must’ve had an enemy.”

A few toughs looked outside, saw the bleeding man sprawled in the dust and shrugged. The patrons of Leon’s Social Club weren’t known for their friendly contacts in the outside world.

Vince returned to the bar and picked up his drink.

“What happened to your friend?” the bartender asked as he cleared the young woman’s glassware.

Vince considered his words. “She was on a mission.”

“Oh. I wish her luck, I guess.”

“Don’t bother,” Vince said with a grin. “For once, she didn't get her man.”


 This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Telephone

“What do you think?”

The young woman stood up, a shock of white-blonde hair falling over one eye. “It seems to be a good cable. The problem is probably in the wall. Or maybe in the line running to the building.”

Vince slumped into a chair and rubbed the blue stripe on his face. “It would be so fucking pre to have a working telephone.”

“It's not like it doesn’t work at all.”

“Just not when I want it to.” He was about to say more, but a jangling from the refurbished analog phone made him jump. He lunged for the receiver. “Hello? No, you’ve got the wrong number, but can you—” He held the phone away from his ear and examined it in bewilderment. “Why do they keep hanging up on me?”

“Wrong number.”

“Come on, Three. They could at least tell me what they dialed so I’d know what my number is.”

“It would be nice.”

Vince grabbed Three's wrist and tried to pull her into his lap. “Well, since we’ve got a little time to kill before our gig with the Catorces. . .”

She pulled away. “It hasn’t even been a month.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to never have fun again.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Okay. I’ve got some calls to make, anyway.”

After Three scooted out of his office, Vince picked up the receiver but found the line dead. It didn’t really matter, since he didn’t know any of his contacts’ numbers, or even if they had phones, but it might’ve been fun to dial numbers at random and see what kind of people answered. He’d had such high hopes when he moved his gang into this abandoned warehouse and found the old non-electric phone plugged into the wall. In a world gone mad after decades of wars and resource scarcity, he was finally on top, one of the privileged. He had a telephone! Wasn’t it just his rotten luck it hardly ever worked?

He heard a tap on the door and looked up. Speedball stood there clenching his big hands, his eyes darting nervously. “Quix is here from the Catorces.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Send him in.”

Speedball stomped away, grinding his teeth, and a few minutes later Quix appeared, dressed in black, with an oily fringe of red hair peeking from beneath his leather hat. Vince jumped up and shook his hand. “Quix, buddy! We’re gonna do some business tonight, right? Looks like you brought us some already, by the way Speedball’s acting.”

“Your man can’t keep out of the white stuff, that’s for sure.”

“Takes all kinds, mano. Have a seat.” Vince pulled a stained chair on rusted casters from a corner, then went behind his desk and fumbled with a mis-aligned drawer. “Whiskey?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Over good Kentucky bourbon, the young men settled into a discussion of logistics for the evening’s “gig,” a heist of pharmaceuticals from Chicago. “My boys north of town delayed the train as much as they could,” Quix said. “Unless an unaffiliated derails it, we should see it pull in around eleven, and they'll be shipping the goods to the east side warehouse no later than one.”

The phone rang, bursting in on their plotting. Vince tried to stay cool. “Excuse me. I’ve got a call to take.” He picked up the receiver. “Vince, here. No, not Brian. Look, can you tell me. . . dammit.” He threw down the receiver.

Quix stared in wide-eyed admiration. “What happened? Nice phone.”

“Yeah. Uh. . . line went dead. El Duque hasn’t done shit for city services, you know.”

“If he had, we’d be out of business.”

“Right. Now, as you were saying. . .”

They quickly wrapped up their plans and shook hands. “I appreciate you taking this gig,” Quix said. “If you ever think about selling that phone. . .”

“Not happening. Plastic pickers love these things. Top dollar on the black market when they work.”

After Quix had gone, Vince spent a few minutes making notes about the evening’s plans so he could have his thoughts in order when he held the strategy meeting. Then he turned his attention back to the telephone. He played with the buttons, especially the one the receiver rested on. He unplugged the cord from both wall and phone, reversed it, and plugged it in again. Same result. The line was dead, with only a faint hiss of static.

After about an hour, Three poked her head around the door. “We’re waiting on you, boss.”

Vince grunted in answer, still absorbed in the workings of the phone.

“No luck?”

He slammed it on the desk in disgust and the bell clanged faintly. “Only time the fucker works is when someone’s got a wrong number.”

“Well, it is free, you know. It’s not like you’re signed up with the city for any kind of service. We just found it here.”

“With the kind of crap services El Duque provides, he ain’t getting a nickel out of me.” Vince grabbed his notes. “Let’s go.”

“Pay’ll be good for this one, right?”

Vince wished Three would walk ahead of him. She looked deliciously fuckable in those leather pants. He would have to think of an assignment that would put her in them more often, but in the meantime. . . “Sounds like Quix laid the groundwork pretty good and all we have to do is collect.”

“Works for me.” They were entering the main room of the warehouse and now she moved in front of him, giving him a nice rear view before she found a place to sit on the rat-eaten sofa.

While she checked that her Glock was loaded and the safety set, Vince suppressed a sigh. Nothing like a pretty girl with a gun. He pulled his notes out of his pocket, called the group to order and began giving out assignments.

Unheard and unanswered, the phone on Vince’s desk rang and rang.

Fortune-Teller

Vince sipped his whiskey, feigning nonchalance as he watched his contact move away through the crowded barroom. Leon’s Social Club wasn’t much of a club and the leather-clad thugs who frequented it weren’t inclined to be social. This was a place for hiding out or making deals, and the deal Vince just made left him uneasy.

He waved the waitress over. “Two more.”

She glanced at the empty chair.

“They’re both for me. I don’t like wasting time.”

The girl shifted on her skinny legs, watching him now with pale, watery eyes.

“Are you going to get me my drinks, or what?”

She glanced over her shoulder to be sure the boss wasn’t watching, then leaned in close. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“What?”

“The lines in your palm predict the future. I know the guy you were talking with just now. He’s bad news.”

“So am I.”

“Just let me look, okay?” She slid into the seat across from him.

With a bemused grin, Vince gave her his hand. “Tell me how tomorrow night’s deal is going to go. If you say it’ll be good and you’re right, I’ll give you a cut.”

“Your hands don’t say those kinds of things.” She traced a line on his palm. “But you won’t get killed, at any rate. You’re going to have a very happy marriage with lots of kids and a long life.”

Vince jerked away from her. “You’re crazy, you know that?” He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood up. “I’m not the marrying kind. Any kids I have would know better than to call me daddy, and like hell I’m going to die in my bed, old and feeble.”

“But I saw—”

“Your own deluded imaginings.” He fumbled in his pocket and slapped a coin on the table. “Nice try, though, honey. I admire entrepreneurs.”

The girl waited until she could no longer see him in the smoky room, then picked up the coin and examined it. Pure silver. She dropped it in her pocket with a little smirk of satisfaction, then cleared the empty glasses and went to the next table. “Any of you boys ever had your fortune told?”

Halfway Point

Vince rested his hand on the gun at his hip. "I don't like it."
"Looks okay to me, boss." Ozone shrugged.

"It would." Speedball toyed with his knife. "You've always got your head in the clouds."

"At least it's not up my--"

"Guys." Vince motioned for silence. "Save it for after we close the deal. Speedball, check the west side. Ozone, you take the east. I'll go up ahead and see if anything's happening yet."

While his men went to inspect the decrepit buildings and alleyways, Vince moved cautiously up the street, trying to appear casual while keeping a sharp eye for anything suggesting an ambush. This was no-man's land, halfway between the area he controlled and that of his contact, but that didn't explain his unease. Bigger things were happening. The vibe felt off.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness and Vince started to draw his gun, but then realized it was only Malo, his contact. He waited, every nerve on edge.

"Your guys ready?"

Vince gave a slight shake of his head. "Bad time, bad place."

Malo's lips twisted in an ugly sneer. "You can't back out now. We have a deal."

"I'm not backing out. We just can't do it here. Something--"

Running feet. A shout. Then the hard impact of asphalt as Speedball shoved him to the ground. The explosion obliterated every thought and sent tremors through the earth. When he recovered enough to look up, Vince saw Malo on the ground in front of him, equally alarmed.

"It's a setup," Speedball said. He hauled Vince to his feet.

Malo threw up his hands. "It wasn't me, I swear!"

There was no time to speculate. Vince and Speedball ran back the way they had come, with the sound of gunfire erupting in the distance. They reached Coal Street, one of the borders of their turf, and ducked into a building.

"What was that about?" Vince said, after catching his breath.

"Not sure."

"Probably the Diablos. Seems like their kind of work."

"They've got infiltrators everywhere," Speedball agreed.

"Ozone get out?"

"Dunno."

Vince pondered. He was always willing to risk his neck for loyal guys, but if he didn't know where Ozone was or if he was even in danger...

"We shouldn't do this any more."

"Do what? Make deals?"

"No, meet people out there. We should make them come to us."

It was a nice thought, but no one could earn a living that way. Vince suppressed a sigh. "Sorry, man, but that only works in fairy tales. It's risky, but in real life you have to try to meet folks halfway."

Sugar Pills

Sara dug through the canvas bag in exasperation. Was this his idea of a joke? “Homeopathic remedies?” She shoved the bag across the table. “I’m a real nurse, Vince, not some quack playing 'let’s pretend.'”

“Hey, it’s not like I work for a manufacturer, you know. When I find stuff, I bring it to you. If you can use it, great. If not, it isn’t like I paid any money for it.”

“And where’d you steal this particular batch of sugar pills?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Sara sat down with a sigh. She had felt so optimistic when her brother told her that he had acquired a stash of medicine. Shortages were rife at the hospital, and a lot of her patients lacked the money or the clout to leverage a spot at the top of the waiting list. It was embarrassing that her brother was a gang leader, but he could sometimes get things a person of her lowly station couldn't afford, or even find. “I had so hoped for tetracycline. Or at least some vitamins.”

“I’m sorry.” He touched her hair. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

Vince examined her with wary eyes. “There’s someone in particular you’re thinking of.”

“A kid. The parents aren’t rich or important, so she’ll probably die.”

“And these cycling pills would help, if you had them?”

“Tetracycline. Yeah, it’s what the doctor prescribed, but you practically have to be El Duque to get any. There’s none anywhere in the city.”

“We’ll see about that.” Vince straightened his leather vest. “I’m working a deal in about an hour, but after that, I’ll make some inquiries. There’s a few guys who owe me favors.”

“And more than a few who you owe money,” she reminded him.

He smiled, and it was the same boyish grin Sara remembered from their childhood. Vince had done a lot bad things since their parents died, but his generosity and spark of mischief were unchanged.

“What’s money, anyway?” Vince said. “It’s just some crazy thing that we all agree on, but isn’t really important in its own right.” He started toward the door, then stopped and dug in his pocket. “I almost forgot.” He went back to her and slipped something into her hand. “Don’t go pawning it so you can buy stuff for your patients, okay?”

Sara examined the piece of polished amber on a chain.

“Better than that bag of useless stuff, right?”

To Sara, jewelry was about as useful as homeopathy. She would wear it for a little while, until Vince forgot about it, and by then maybe there would be antibiotics for sale again on the black market. She could pawn it then. “Sure,” she told him, returning his winsome smile. “It's much nicer than sugar pills.”

Never on a Sunday

"Sorry, man, no can do."

Migo's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you talking about? You're the biggest money whore in town. This type of gig is right up your alley."

"I'm short-handed." Vince leaned back in his battered leather desk chair. "Fausto is injured, Ozone's out of town for a few days, and Speedball won't work Sundays."

"Don't tell me he's gone religious."

"No, nothing like that." Vince grimaced. "Just a phase he's going through, like last month when he thought Peru could read his mind and was transmitting his thoughts to ancient Apache deities."

Migo shook his head. "Where do you find them?"

"I always stumble upon them somehow. Speedball does good work, though."

"Except he's crazy as a rabid squirrel on meth."

Vince pulled open a drawer and drew out a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon. "We can't all be sane, and who'd want to be, anyway?" He poured a measure into a glass and pushed it across the desk. "Drink up, friend. And pick another date for your little gun-running operation. Any date, as long as it's not a Sunday."