Guilt Kills

Chapter Five

By Cory!! Strode

O'Ryan awoke from the same dreams he had been having for months. Dreams of being trapped as everyone he known dies. They no longer upset him, because after so long, seeing the same thing lessens the impact. He knew in the dream that he was dreaming, and would spend his time trying to think of new ways out of being trapped under the rubble, but no matter what he did, it always ended the same. Master Heenan, laughing at him while being surrounded in flames.

O'Ryan was disoriented for a moment, then he realized he was in the hotel room that John Spencer had driven him to. He couldn't stay at the place Rick had set up for him. Not until he was sure that Rick hadn't set him up. O'Ryan hadn't even thought that Rick would have been the one setting him up, but after talking to John, he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

The room was still bright, and O'Ryan saw that he had slept until almost five in the afternoon. A quick check in the mirror showed that the gunshot wounds he had gotten days before were still healing, but luckily, the herbs and ritual he had done while waiting in the warehouse the night before had sped up the healing so that they no longer hurt. He rewrapped each bandage, and made sure to put the proper salve on the wounds so that they wouldn't get infected. By the time he was done with a shower and checking his wounds, the sun was starting to set.

He'd been unable to sleep when he got to the room, so he had cleaned his guns, made sure they were in working order and tried to think of what he could do next. He knew the whisky was gone, and whoever the people who stole it had worked for now knew that he had left with a cop.

Or did they?

All they knew was what the man he'd knocked out had told them, and he wasn't even sure if that man knew that Spencer was a cop. There were too many variables, and too many different ways the whole thing could be going down. All he knew for sure is that Mikey Ross would have to know that his man had given him up, and the he and Mercy hadn't been killed. Everything else was up in the air.

O'Ryan got the ghost of a smile on his face, and said to Mercy, "All they know is that I am missing. They have no way of knowing how much I know. There has to be a way to turn that to my advantage."

Mercy looked at him impassively and pawed one of her feet on the floor, signaling him that he'd been asleep so long that she needed to go outside. After she was done outside, O'Ryan looked at his clothes and knew that there was no way he would be able to go out with them as torn up as they were. His car, with all of his gear in it, was back at the warehouse in Havana, and he really had no way of getting it without letting people know that he was still around. He didn't have much, but the element of surprise would help a lot in this situation.

Thankfully, in his knapsack, he'd stored some of the money he had left from the home, and the rest was so well hidden in his car that they would have to tear apart the seats to find it. He called down to the front desk and asked if they could get him some clothes, and the man at the front desk wasn't sure he could until O'Ryan reminded him that he would be able to count on a tip just as big as the one he'd gotten in the morning for allowing him to keep Mercy in his room.

An hour later, O'Ryan had two new suits, both fit fairly well for being off the rack, and he was sure that the price he was quoted by the Concierge was inflated to at least double of what it was in reality. They were well made, and he hoped he would be able to keep them when he was done here. By the time they had shown, he had figured out his plan for the night, and had spent some time getting addresses and getting directions from a nice elderly man who had been sitting in the diner downstairs. He'd gotten himself something to eat and gotten Mercy another big bag of corned beef hash, and the man he chatted with had told him all about the area.

O'Ryan had only to ask a few questions before the man told him everything he needed to know. O'Ryan had kept the conversation going with the older man by simply listening and agreeing with him on anything the man discussed. It was a pleasant enough way to pass the meal, and when the old man was done eating, he shook O'Ryan's hand and wished him well.

As he went to his room, O'Ryan asked for a taxi to meet him at the lobby in a half hour and slipped the concierge another five spot to make sure that there wouldn't be any problems. The man assured O'Ryan that it would be taken care of and continued to thank him profusely as he went to his room.

When O'Ryan emerged, he was ready for battle, but you couldn't tell it from simply looking at him. His shoes were once again set with two knives ready to be used, and a short bladed weapon tucked away in the back of his pants. It was hard to fit his holsters to the suit, so he was only able to set one up properly, and the other was in one of the pockets of his blazer. He wore a black fedora, different than the hat he normally wore, but he hoped it would give him enough of a "normal" look that people wouldn't look twice at him. The first order of business was to case Rick's place, see what they were saying about him.

The cab was waiting when he got there, and he rode to Rick's place in silence, despite the driver trying to get him to talk about his dog. Mercy ignored the man as well, looking out the window and actually shoving her head under one of O'Ryan's hands every few minutes to get petted.

Odd behavior for her, O'Ryan thought, but after all they had been through in the past few days, he felt that she was probably seeking reassurance.

He had the cab driver drop them off about five blocks away from Rick's warehouse, and he quickly got off the street and into the shadows of the alleys. He stuck to the darkness until he got to Rick's building. It was just like it had been when he first wen there, a big warehouse with a few cars packed in an unlit parking lot on the river side of the building. O'Ryan was a bit shocked to see his car there, but it only fueled his belief that Rick had been setting him up all along.

He crept over to the building, and looking around, saw that there was no one guarding on the outside. There weren't any windows or fire escapes, so he would have to either go in the front way, or see if he could hear something some other way. He looked to the top of the building, and saw that about ten feet above the ground was a ladder that led to the roof, so that people would have to lean a ladder against it and climb up to get on the roof.

They, however, had not had years of training in the areas that O'Ryan had.

He made it to the area just under the ladder and looked up. The wall was fairly smooth, and there was nothing he could drag over and climb, so he would have to use one of the techniques he had been taught.

He thought back to Master Edward, who had taught them not just how to climb, but how to defy gravity in the eyes of other. He remembered the first time he had seen the master appear to bounce up a wall, and thinking it had to be some kind of trick.

Master Edward had told him that it was, just not the kind of trick he had thought it was. He had used his own momentum to propel himself into the air, and to push off from the wall just enough to spring upwards. If it was a corner, he could use his speed to push himself up for almost five steps before starting to succumb to gravity, but when it was a single wall, he would have to use that momentum more efficiently.

The lesson had been drilled until his head until he had been able to run up to a wall, leap into the air, and then pant his foot on that wall and spring upwards a few more feet on the sheer momentum.

The problem was, if he made a lot of sound, he'd be heard by the people inside the building, which meant he couldn't get as much running before hitting the wall as he would like. He removed his shoes and made a gesture for Mercy to hide somewhere close. He closed his eyes and envisioned himself doing it effortlessly and hoped that by seeing it in his mind's eye, he could make it so.

He took four steps back from the wall and closed his eyes. He took off his shoes, so as to get more traction, but also to muffle the sound of his feet hitting the wall. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then took the four steps to the wall and leapt into the air.

For a second he thought he had missed the lowest rung of the ladder, but as his momentum ebbs, he stretched with one hand and grabbed it.

Sharp pain stabbed his shoulder as he had grabbed it with the arm that was weakened by the gunshot wound from the fight in Chicago, and it took all of his willpower not to cry out in pain. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up enough that he could grasp the rung with his other hand. A few more painful movements and he was climbing the ladder to the top of the building. His shoulder was in immense pain, and when he was safely on the roof, he had to stop and rest.

He opened his shirt enough to get a look at the dressing, and saw that there was fresh blood on it. He'd re-opened the wound, and his arm was in a lot of pain. He looked over the roof, which was flat and covered with tar and gravel, but there was a cooling and heating vent in the middle of the roof, and O'Ryan made his way there as quietly as possible.

When he got to the vent, he could hear voices from down below. He sighed, thinking to himself that he may have messed up his shoulder, but at least he was going to get some information.

The voices were muffled, but when he closed his eyes and concentrated on what was being said, he was able to make out most of it. It was easy to tell Rick's voice, but he wasn't able to place the other voice at all.

"Look, the kid is missing. For all I know he was working with Nitti and made it easier for them to steal the whisky. We've got his car here, but the cops we got on the take said the plates are registered to a 'New England Men's Monastery', and no specific person is named," Rick said.

Another voice, one O'Ryan hadn't heard before said, "Have you called Capone?"

"You're kidding, right? I'm in Dutch enough with Capone with the shipment being gone. Now, I have to tell him that Nitti's golden boy is missing and probably dead? I'm a dead man. A dead man!"

"Look, it may not be that bad," the other voice said, "just talk to Micky about buying another shipment from down south. That'll hold Capone off for a month. We can figure out what to do, and maybe get some of Micky's muscle to watch the place from now on."

"Yeah, that takes care of the hooch, but what about Nitti's guy? I'm sitting here with his car, and I left him alone to guard three truckloads of stuff. Now, he's probably in a shallow grave somewhere."

That was all O'Ryan needed to hear. If Rick was double crossing him, he was an incredible actor, especially with not knowing he was being listened to. O'Ryan looked around for a roof access to the interior of the building and saw a door at the far end of the roof. He adjusted his shirt to make sure that his dressing was completely cover, checked to make sure none of the blood had soaked through his shirt and headed over. He made sure to pull one of his guns before opening the door and pulled on the handle.

And it was locked.

From the inside.

O'Ryan cursed, but then realized it was probably the smart thing to do, since the roof was easily accessible with a simple ladder.

Still, it slowed him down, and he pulled one of his knives from a boot and jimmied the door quickly. He opened it as quietly as he could and saw that it led down a metal set of steps that went directly to the floor of the warehouse. He pulled his gun and said, "Rick, don't move."

Rick and the other man, a large bear of a man, were both standing by the door. Rick froze and the other man started to reach into his jacket when O'Ryan fired, not at him, but at the ground right in front of him.

"Don't get your gun, you moron," Rick said.

O'Ryan came down the stairs slowly, his gun trained on the big man. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't set me up, Rick."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

O'Ryan made it to the floor and walked over to the two of them, his gun still trained on them and ready to fire. "I'm not sure," O'Ryan said, "The whole thing just seems fishy to me. Someone isn't telling the truth, and until I find out who it is, I'm not going to trust anyone."

O'Ryan reached into the pocket the bigger man had been trying to pull a gun out of and pocketed his small revolver. O'Ryan then patted Rick down, making sure he wasn't packing heat before he put his gun back in its holster, being very careful not to show that his shoulder was injured by wincing or any other outward sign of pain.

Rick didn't have the smile that had seemed to be implanted on his face the previous times O'Ryan had talked to him as he was being patted down. When O'Ryan was done, Rick said, "What the hell is this? You got a lot of nerve, kid."

"I also have a gun," O'Ryan said, "so that means I get to do the talking."

O'Ryan told him about what had happened the night before, leaving out the help of John Spencer, since he didn't think it would help him very much if he told them he had been working with a cop. Rick listened carefully and when O'Ryan was done filling him in, he said, "That tears it. I'm gonna take my crew into his crappy little fake strip joint and bring the place down around his ears. That son of a bitch doesn't get away with stealing from me."

O'Ryan help up a hand as if the very act would calm Rick down and said, "No, if we do that, whoever is paying him to take your whisky will just hire someone else. We have to get to him and make him talk. I wanted to make sure that you weren't the one who hired him."

"Why in the blue hell would I hire someone to steal my own whisky?" Rick said.

"Simple," O'Ryan said, "you tell Capone it's stolen, sell it to someone else and get Capone to think you are still on his side, just like the speakeasy owners up in Chicago are starting to do."

Rick got the smile back on his face and said, "Kid, I thought you were just some goober they got because you were a great fighter, but didn't have anything upstairs. Glad I wuz wrong. What's your plan?

O'Ryan decided to let that slide as he explained what he was planning on doing, and as he explained, Rick's smile got wider and wider.

* * *

The police office in Havana was little more than a shack, and one of the good things about the fact that spring was pushing its way into town was that John Spencer could sit at his desk without wearing a coat to protect himself from the draft. OK, he thought, draft is too nice a way to put it. The office had more of a breeze during the winter, and every time he asked the city council for improvements in the office, they would go back at him about having to buy cars, guns, and hiring new officers and there was only so much money until his eyes glazed over and he waited for one of them to take a break for a massive intake of hot air so he could excuse himself.

It was about an hour before the end of his shift, and he'd passed on the tip that he'd heard there might be runrummers off in the woods on the land owned by Richard Wyddian, or Rick the Smiler as he was known by the locals. He'd bought up about two thousand acres of river bottom land and brush woods that were too swampy and overrun to be farmed, so he was able to get it dirt cheap. Everyone knew why, but no one did much of anything about it.

John had talked to one of Eliot Ness's men in Chicago, mostly because he knew that if he did that, they couldn't come back on his later and claim he was in on things. He was only a few years from retirement, and the last thing he needed was an investigation into if he was connected with the liquor trade. Not that any of the cops down here ever got looked into for it, but he just wanted to keep his nose clean.

He'd spent the rest of his shift going through arrest records, getting files ready for trial and doing paperwork, which didn't even exist when he started as a cop. Now it was the overriding force that drove his day.

No matter what he worked on, he couldn't get his mind off that kid from the night before. O'Ryan, the only name he had, he'd said. He'd gotten him to talk a bit on the way to Peoria, and he was sure that the only reason he said anything was because he was both tired and stressed from being shot at. He didn't say anything about Chicago, but talked a lot about where he had come from, some kind of monistery where they had learned to fight.

The thing that stuck with him though, was that O'Ryan would talk about how he had been taught not to hurt innocents, and that's why he wouldn't have hurt him. John asked him about that repeatedly because it didn't make any sense. He'd just killed five people in cold blood, one who was just lying on the ground, unable to fight back. O'Ryan explained to him that when they attacked him for simply doing his job, they were no longer innocent, and since they were trying to kill him, he had every right to use the same force on them.

It sounded like this kid was from another time, or some other country instead of New Hampshire. John didn't ask him why he was working for Capone, but he'd turned it over and over in his mind since he'd woken up that morning. Here was a kid who had been raised by monks who taught him to fight, was now completely alone in the world and working for the worst gangster in the entire Midwest. It just didn't add up.

The weird thing of it was that the kid saw him as the bad guy, the unclean one. It didn't make a lot of sense, unless the kid was so staggeringly naive that he'd been told by Nitti and Capone that all cops are evil.

John was done with all of his paperwork and had an hour left on shift when he walked around his tiny office, pacing, which he always did when he was trying to figure out something confusing. The office didn't even have a window, and was back by the furnace, which he would have thought would keep the drafts out, but since the draft came from a crappy ceiling and a lack of insulation of any kind in the walls, he may not have had a window, but he still got his share of fresh air.

There weren't any other offices, just a gaggle of desks slammed against each other in the main room. Any of the holding cells were in the country building, which was two blocks away. That's why, when he left his office, he was the only policeman in the building. The other two cops on duty were taking a suspect over to the country jail.

John grabbed his cup and filled it with the swill they called coffee and started pacing in the outer area, just walking around the desks and thinking.

After about five minutes of thinking, an idea came to him. He went for the nearest phone and called the county cops. When he finally got someone on the phone, he asked them to gather up any of the Chicago papers that Larry Gilbert had in his office, just the main sections. Larry was a huge follower of Chicago crime, since he'd been the one who stumbled onto Capone's hiding spot in Havana and was told by his supervisiors not to go there again if he wanted to keep his job.

More like if he wanted to keep his life.

Larry called back about ten minutes later and asked why John needed the papers, and John simply told him he was working on a big case. That was enough for Larry who said he'd send his whole file back with the two city cops once they got the drunk they'd brought in processed and in the hoosegow.

John thanked him and hung up the phone, thinking that if he was right, he'd be doing a far better job as a cop than he had done in a long, long time.

* * *

Around midnight, O'Ryan drove his car over to the parking lot of Mikey Ross's building, and it was garish, even for a building that hosted a burlesque show. The building itself looked like a big movie palace, but instead of "Bijou" or "Paladium" in lights, it had a huge marquee over the entrance with a blinding number of flashing lights and in huge letters "Mikey's Cabaret And Revue". The building had a few people still waiting in line to get in, dressed to the nines. The box office was right under the center of the garish sign, and the entrance doors were to either side of the box office.

O'Ryan had looked the place over carefully as he drove past, and then he parked in the back. He knew better than to try and sneak in a gun, so he made sure he only had the two hidden knives in his boots. He wouldn't even be able to carry the sai if he was going to be patted down, and if Mikey was smart enough to try and steal from one of Capone's suppliers, he would be smart enough to pat down the men who come into his establishment.

O'Ryan felt good to be back in his own car again, and he was surprised that Rick and his men hadn't even gone through it looking for money or weapons when they brought it back. Sure, someone hot wired it so that they wouldn't have to tow it, but they even fixed the wires when they had gotten it back to Rick's warehouse. They must have either thought O'Ryan was coming back, or didn't want to mess with anything connected to Capone.

If O'Ryan had any doubts about them before looking in his car, they were gone when he realized they'd pretty much left it alone.

He told Mercy to wait for him, and she laid down on the seat and looked as if she was asleep. When he got out of his car, he looked at the back doors of the building and saw that they weren't guarded. They were in the dark, and were probably where the employees came in, but they must be locked if they weren't guarded.

O'Ryan made sure no one was around and went over to one of the back doors. He checked out the door itself and saw that it was relatively solid, but the lock was a pretty bad one. Just like the one that he been for the roof of Rick's building. It only took him a couple of quick movements with one of his knives to disable it, and he stopped to see if anyone would come out the door to see what all of the scratching sound was.

No one.

He was clear.

He adjusted his suit, replaced his knife in his boot and strolled around to the front of the building. O'Ryan had never been to a burlesque show, or really any show for that matter. Nitti once tried to get him to go to a strip club that was also one of Capone's prostitution houses, but O'Ryan had gotten out of it by saying he'd rather meet up with Nitti at the office.

He had heard that women danced and there were bad comedians and good bands, but he wasn't here to take in the entertainment value of the place. It was business. He walked around the building and when he was on the side that faced the street, he was almost blinded by the amazing number of lights blinking and flashing in the marquee sign. On the side of the building, much like move posters, were posters of different girls in skimpy costumes. Each of the posters said that the girls were amazing dancers, performers or signers, but the only thing that O'Ryan felt his eyes drawn to was the copious amounts of skin the women were showing in the pictures.

The woman at the box office didn't even look at him as she took his money and gave him a ticket that was ripped in half the second he stepped into the building by a man in a tuxedo who looked as if he could have ripped O'Ryan in half if he had a mind to. The inside of the building was still like a movie theater, except there wasn't a counter for selling popcorn and soda. They had a couple of women in bellhop outfits behind a counter taking people's coats and hats in exchange for a bit of money.

O'Ryan had to keep his coat on, which meant that when he tried to go into the theater proper, he was patted down by another big man in a tuxedo. O'Ryan was surprised to see that the crowd was mostly couples. He had expected it to be all men, but there were men and women in couples, although it was plain to see that the men were there for a vastly different reason than the women. The place was packed, and it looked like a typical speakeasy when he went in, with a large mass of tables with couples seated at them, a smattering of tables close to the stage, and the stage itself was dark, a curtain across it. The man who patted him down lead him to his seat, and as O'Ryan was being seated, he pulled out a ten spot and slipped it to the goon and said, "I'm not here for the show. I want to meet with Mikey."

The man looked a bit surprised and said, "You got business?"

O'Ryan tried to look as tough as he could, which to everyone around him was plenty tough enough, but he had a feeling that it didn't intimidate the good at all, "I will have once I meet with him. I'm looking to hire his help for a job."

The good smiled, and O'Ryan assumed he must be one of the men who get paid to be "muscle" from how he lit up from that. "I'll make sure he gets your message. He's with a client right now, but he'll be free in a short time." The goon waved his hand at one of the waitresses, who were also dressed as a bellhop, and melted back into the crowd, which didn't seem to be in a hurry to get to their seats. The waitress who came over was a bit on the plump side, but she was still very attractive and had an amazing smile when she said, "What can I getcha?"

O'Ryan looked around and saw that none of the crowd had any alcohol. It looked like waters, juices and soft drinks, which was strange to him. He hadn't been in a club of any kind where drinking wasn't the entire reason for the club's existence. Sure, most of them had stages and bands, but that was m ore to keep people occupied while they drank so that they wouldn't get into arguments and fights, trashing the place. He smiled at her, watching the other patrons, and looking for anyone at all who looked familiar, since he had left one of the men from the day before still alive. When he saw the place was clear, he said, "I'd like a ginger ale, and do you have any food available?"

"We have a few things you can munch on during the show, but we quit serving meals around nine. Sorry about that, but most of the people who come here aren't really looking for dinner with their show," she said, giggling as if she'd said something naughty.

"Then just the ginger ale," O'Ryan said, and turned his attention back to the goon who had shown him to his seat. He couldn't see him anywhere in the room, so he figured he must have been talking to Mikey.

A half-hour before he could get in to see him. O'Ryan thought that he had been too cautious, since he had thought that it would take at least an hour before he was able to get a meeting with Mikey, and they had planned things accordingly.

Now, when he was taken wherever the office was, he'd have to stall.

His drink was brought by the smiling girl, and he paid her with a bill twice as big as he should have, and she thanked him repeatedly, and started to say how she was honored to be serving such an important person, since Mr. Morris had personally sat him at his seat, but as she was talking, the lights dimmed twice, meaning that the show was about to start. She tanked him again and scurried off, leaving him alone at a table toward the front of the room, but still far enough back that he wasn't in the stage lights as they came up.

When the curtain was pulled aside, the stage was barren, except for a small band of five people, a piano player, a drummer, a saxophone player, guitarist and a person with a stand up bass. They were all men, dressed impeccably and when the curtain was completely pulled aside, they started to play. They weren't the best band he had ever heard, but they played a nice little ragtime/jazz piece that quieted the crowd and got them to quit paying attention to each other and focus on the stage.

After a quick number, a woman came out in a short, glittering dress that had to be covered with some kind of fabric that reflected the light. She carried a huge microphone and slit it into the stand so that she could stand at it and have both of her hands free. She was a petite woman, just almost a sprite of a girl with a short blonde pixy bob, and O'Ryan could tell just by how she walked that she was a dancer. Her legs were incredibly toned and her dress showed about as much of them as was allowed without it being the kind of show that Capone would be in charge of. The women clapped politely as she came out, but them men were pounding their ham fists together as hard as they could, making her know that they were happy just to see her. She smiled, nodded and acknowledged them slightly before starting to speak.

"Thank you for coming out tonight!" she said, and was met with polite applause, "We've all rested from our break and are ready for the Very Adult portion of our show, the part we can only perform after Midnight," and as she said that, the men started to whoop and applaud even louder. She smiled and gave a very slight curtsey until they quieted again.

"Before I bring out Miss Torrie and Miss Rachel for their next skit, I've been told that a few of you would like to see me perform, is that true?"

More applause, and the men were stomping their feet, seemingly in unison. She reached coyly to the collar of her dress and tugged on it a bit, exposing a bare, porcelain shoulder and then started to sing.

O'Ryan had turned his eyes to his drink as she was tugging on her clothing and looking as if she would be baring her entire self on the stage, feeling enormously uncomfortable and confused as to why all of these men would want to see a women nude while there were all of these other people around. It didn't make any sense to him. He wanted to see her take her clothes off as well, but in front of all of these strangers, some of who were with their wives? It just felt uncomfortable.

He started into his ginger ale, watching the bubbles grow bigger and then burst their way up to the top of the glass, around the ice cubes and to the surface of the slightly brown liquid.

When she started singing, he turned his attention to her and watched. She caressed the side of the microphone with her hand, closed her eyes when she had to hit the high notes and sang as if the song had been about her life itself. The band played, but most of them didn't look very interested, easily showing that they had played this song a thousand times before. O'Ryan didn't think it was fair that they didn't care as much about the song as she did, and wondered how someone could be so jaded and indifferent when a woman was right in front of them, singing as if her very life depended on it.

When she finished her song, O'Ryan noticed that the women were applauding much more than the men and he finally understood why the women would go to a place like this.

The singer thanked the audience and then a very tall, very young man came out on the stage and whispered something in her ear. He did in it a very exaggerated way, one that made O'Ryan think that it had to be a part of the act, somehow. The tall man giggled, also very exaggeratedly and then ran off stage. The woman in the shiny dress aid, "I've been told that Miss Torrie and Miss Rachel are fighting backstage over which one of them gets to come out first. They are getting VERY angry over it, and I think we should bring them out at the same time and let you decide who is the bigger star, what do you think?"

The men whooped and applauded again, and as O'Ryan looked at the women, they all applauded, but looked as if they had just been asked to eat a huge bowl of creamed spinach.

Then, as the two other women came out, O'Ryan became very confused. They were both dressed as men, but it was very easy to tell that they were women, both by their long hair, and by their ample chests that pushed out certain areas of their suits. They both walked out and waved at the crowd, and O'Ryan thought they would start singing or something, but instead, one of the women grabbed the other one's tuxedo jacket and pulled it off of her, much to the pleasure of the men, who were whistling and applauding. The two women became engaged in a very fake fight, during which the tuxedo jacket of the second women came off.

O'Ryan could not figure out just what was going on, and had the only puzzled expression in the entire room.

It was as one of the women has having her shirt ripped open that he felt a huge hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear say, "Mikey's ready to meet you now."

O'Ryan thanked whatever celetrial being had intervened to allow him to leave, and he quickly got up, finished his ginger ale and took one last look at the stage as now both fo the owmen were wearing men's trousers, and corsets that looked as if they had pushed their chests up to their chins. He turned back to the crowd and saw that some of the women were watching with smiles on their face, others, who had another woman at their table, were just chatting with the other women there. The man, however, looked almost as if they were wild beasts, barely held in check by some unseen force. Some were standing and whistling, others were stomping and applauding. Still others sat, simply transfixed in place as if they were gazing upon the very face of God himself.

O'Ryan felt more uncomfortable than he ever had, partly for the women, who were ripping each other's clothes off in a frenzy on the stage now, or the men who were more like wild beasts than the men who had driven in nice cars, wearing nice clothes and with the women they loved.

He was led through the crowd to a door at the other end of the room, one obscured by a black curtain. O'Ryan realized that even when he cased the room, he hadn't seen that, which made him wonder what else he had missed.

Behind the curtain, there was a small hallway leading to a stairway. At the top of the stairway was another small room leading to a door, and when they reached the top, two more men came out, both wearing guns in such a way it was impossible not to see that they were packing heat, and they searched O'Ryan.

A more serious search than the one he had been subjected to when he first came into the building, but then again, he was about to meet the owner, so they had to be perfectly sure he wouldn't cause any trouble. O'Ryan allowed them to search him, and, as he'd thought, they didn't search his boots, so he still have his two knives in case the plan didn't work.

The man who had brought him up nodded, and then knocked on the door, and when it opened, O'Ryan was amazed at how plush the hallway was.

The hall was about 25 feet long, and the floor was a perfectly polished hardwood, which looked at if it didn't have a single scuff from anyone's shoes. The doors looked as if they were in a business building, wooden with frosted glass windows taking up the top half. At the end of the hallway was a door that looked out of place, wooden, of course, but with very ornate carvings and wider than the other doors. O'Ryan was led down the hall by the man from downstairs, and the two men who had searched him went back to their seats on either side of the entryway door.

The door opened and inside was a very large office, even larger than the one Nitti had in Chicago. The desk inside was just as ornate as the door, and the man behind it was obviously Mikey. He was a tall, thin man, nattily dressed with a huge mouth. It was so big that O'Ryan wondered if it would be rude to comment on it, since he might actually be self-conscious about it. His hair was slicked back, showing a pronounced widow's peak, and was as dark as his inky black eyes.

His chair was huge as well, almost dwarfed him, even though he was obviously over six feet tall. He stood up and looked even more intimidating as he reached over his desk to shake O'Ryan's hand. The room itself was large, and behind the desk was a large window that looked out over the marquee and gave an incredible view of the street below.

His grip was firm, and he squeezed more than he should have, showing O'Ryan that this was a man who wanted everyone around him to know that he was the top dog. He offered O'Ryan a seat, silently, and the goon who had shown him up to the room stayed inside as he shut the door. It was just the three of them, but O'Ryan still felt horribly overwhelmed by Mikey. He was a genuinely intimidating man, even when sitting and staring at him.

Which he did.

And he kept staring at O'Ryan until O'Ryan was made so uncomfortable by the silence that he finally broke it by saying, "I have heard that you might have a job in this area for someone with my background and skills. I wanted to see how much you were paying."

Mikey leaned back in his chair, and O'Ryan was impressed by the creaking sound the leather made. It wasn't just an impressive chair, but with leather that good, it had to be very expensive. Having women pretend to fight and show off their underwear seemed to be a business that made a lot of money. Enough to waste on silly thinks like leather chairs and carved wooden desks. "I don't normally hire people off the street," Mikey said, "Most of my clients are looking for confidentiality, and I give that to them. It's one of the reasons I can charge so much. As nice as the show downstairs is, it doesn't pay nearly enough for me to live in the manner to which I want to be accustomed to."

He reached into his desk and pulled out a cigar and, without even acknowledging if it was all right with O'Ryan, snipped off the end with a silver cigar cutter and lit it with a large lighter that also functioned as an ornamental paperweight on his desk. He drew on the ciagr a number of times until he was sure it was lit and then held it between his fingers and tapped the end of it with his thumb, as if to knock the ashes off, but there weren't enough to be knocked off yet. "As I was saying," he continued, "I usually recruit my own talent. It's better that way. That way I know that they haven't got any hidden agenda or harbor any delusions of greatness. It's not like those Chicago bastards who are always trying to see who's top dog. In my organization, I am the top fo the ladder, and below me doesn't really matter, since everyon answers to me and me alone. Understand?"

O'Ryan nodded and Mikey took another long draw off of his cigar and said, "Good. Because I don't want there to be any misunderstandings or confusion. I don't have lieutenants, or henchmen. There's me and then there are people who work for me. So, I don't want you thinking that if I do bring you on, and I'm not saying I will, that there are ranks to move up through. I'm the boss, you do what I say, and if you don't, you don't get fired. You go away. Understand?"

O'Ryan nodded, not concentrating so much on what Mikey said, or even how he said it, but more for if there were any sounds in the building that didn't seem like they belonged. The music was still playing, and he could hear the muffled applause and catcalls from the main room where the show must still be going on. Mikey smiled at him and said, "So, why should I hire you instead of telling Warren over there to shoot you in the back of the head and dump your body in the river?"

"Because I could be good muscle for you. I worked for someone out East, and he got in a bit of trouble with the law," O'Ryan started.

Mikey interrupted him and said, "And why didn't you go down with him?"

"Because I was out on a job. When I got back, he was in prison and told me to go find work elsewhere. As long as I didn't say anything about what he was up to, he said he had no problem with me looking for another job," O'Ryan said quickly. He kept listening for anything unusual, but hadn't heard anything yet. He glanced at his watch while Mikey was taking another puff of his cigar and saw that he had been in the building for a little over forty five minutes. He just had to stall for a few more.

"That won't be a problem with me," Mikey said, obviously proud of himself, "Since the cops here don't have any need to hassle me. My business downstairs is legit, and I keep everything within local community standards. I don't sell hooch, I don't let the women take off their pasties, and most fo the broads sing, making it artistic. I even let some crappy comedians tell a few jokes, so that we can be classified a public artistic performance.

"The muscle I sell to people don't technically work for me, either. I get paid for letting them know where they can find people, and then you, if you work for me, pay me for giving you the job. That way, I am covered and immune. And if anyone tries to give me up, and gets to a cop who I don't have a special relationship with, he can't prove I had anything to do with it." He swept his hand over his mostly empty desk, "It's a paperless office and nothing gets back to me but the cash. Got it?"

O'Ryan nodded.

"Now, how did you hear about me? My men are told to keep their mouths shut."

O'Ryan heard something downstairs in the pause between Mikey's question and when he started his answer. Not a lot, just a thump of some kind. It could have been someone bumping into the door in the hallway, it could have been anything. But for O'Ryan, it was enough.

Showtime.

"Rick the Smiler sent me to you. He said that you needed a guy like me. Now, if you don't need my muscle, that's fine, since I could just as easily head to Chicago and work for Nitti. Who knows, it might pay better than working in this one horse town..."

Mikey stood up and said, "Hey, kid, don't get all bent out of shape. I'm not sending you off. I just need to know if you are worth my time. A ten spot can impress the help, but I waste that much money on cigars every week."

O'Ryan stood up and started to take off his jacket. Before Mikey could react, he said, "Then why not call in your two men from outside, and I'll show you why you want to listen to what I have to say."

Mikey laughed and motioned to Warren to let them in, and Warren opened the door and said, "Hey, get in here." O'Ryan was listening carefully, and noticed that the music and noise had stopped.

Good, he thought to himself, I probably only have a few minutes to pull off my end of it.

When the two men were in the room, Mikey said, "All right, I've got them in here. Now, what are you going to show me?"

O'Ryan smiled, a evil looking grin that made him look all the more dangerous. "Tell them to shoot me."

Mikey put his cigar down and said, "Are you sure? If I tell them to shoot you, they'll do it, no question."

O'Ryan made sure he was ready and said, "You say they can do it? I say they can try, but they won't succeed."

"Fine," Mikey said, "Drill him." With that, he sat back down, and grinned a huge cheshire grin, as if he was about to see one of his most beautiful redheaded dancers downstairs put on a private show for him without any community standards.

Warren was the only one with a gun already out, so he raised it quickly to aim at O'Ryan, who had moved between the three of the men. O'Ryan was facing Warren, and had the other two men at right angels to himself when he stopped moving. The three men were startled by how fast he moved, and O'Ryan used it to his advantage by grabbing the wrist of the hand that Warren had his gun in. O'Ryan gave it a quick twist, making it impossible for him to fire, then took his other hand and knocked the gun into the air.

It was almost as if the gun was suspended in air as O'Ryan let go of Warren's wrist, and brought one of his feet around in a arc, kicking the gun. It was hit with such force that it flew through the air and hit the goon on O'Ryan's right side in the head, knocking him to the ground. O'Ryan continued to move in the circular motion, but dropped his body close to the ground, and with the outstretched foot, swept Warren's feet out from under him, knocking him to the ground, backwards.

There was now only one person standing, and he was able to pull his gun free from its holster as O'Ryan was dealing with the other two, neither of whom were completely knocked out, just down for the moment. O'Ryan pulled both hands back and then pushed forward with both hands, hitting the man in the chest with bottom of his palms, knocking him backward into the wall. He hit the wall hard, but before he could collapse, O'Ryan had moved close enough that he was able to bring one foot up on a sidekick and repeatedly kick him in the side of the head, rapidly.

Four short, sharp kicks later, the man fell to the ground, knocked out. One down, two to go.

Before he could turn, he was slammed in the ribs by the fist of one of the two he hadn't knocked out. He was able to turn and see that it was Warren, and the man he'd hit in the head with the kicked gun was still hsaking out the cobwebs. Warren was drawing back to punch again, but this time O'Ryan was able to counter it, and use his own arm to knock the blow aside. He did that for the next flurry of blows, and Warren looked at him, his face a red mask of anger as he yelled, "Quit knocking my punches away, you son of a bitch!"

O'Ryan took an aggressive stance, legs apart, one arm outstretched and the other behind, balancing the pose and said, "But how else would I be able to do this?"

And with that, He lept into the air, one foot outstretched and hit Warren in the middle of the chest. Warren went down as O'Ryan came down right next to him. Before Warren could react, O'Ryan punched him twice in the chest, knocking the air out of him.

O'Ryan stopped to see what the last man standing was doing, and rather than continue the fight, He was sitting in the floor, holding his hands up in a motion of surrender, and said, "I'm done, you win, buddy!"

O'Ryan looked over at Mikey, who was watching the whole thing, the cigar clenched firmly in his teeth, laughing. O'Ryan slyly glanced around on the floor and saw the gun he'd knocked from Warren's hand next to the cowering man on the floor. He caught the man's eye and said, "Toss that here."

The man tentatively reach out and picked up the gun, doing so in such a way that there was no way it could be interpreted as trying to aim the gun at O'Ryan. He looked at O'Ryan pleadingly, holding the gun up as if it was covered in poison. O'Ryan said, "Toss it in the air."

The man looked at him again, confused, and O'Ryan pointed to a space in the air ebtween himself and the desk the Mikey was behind. The man tossed the gun in the air, and O'Ryan took two steps and did a forward leap, rolling through a somersault in the air and grabbing the gun as he went by. He landed perfectly on the desk, and crouched, making sure he was close enough to Mikey, who was sitting in his chair, stunned.

O'Ryan used the gun to knock the cigar out of his mouth and onto the floor, and then said, "You and I need to talk."

Mikey, who was still a bit stunned, grabbed one of the arm rests on his chair and squeezed, but O'Ryan pulled back the hammer on the gun and pushed it forward a bit more.

Mikey, still shaken, said, "That's a bad idea, kid. I've still got a whole building full of men, and I've just let them know I need help. You may shoot me, but you won't get out of here alive."

"So," O'Ryan said calmly, "There's some sort of button in your chair to let people know to get up here because you are in trouble?"

"Yes," Mikey said, starting to lose the fear, "And if I'm dead, they'll have no problem taking care of you."

"Then, I guess we'll have to wait for them together, won't we?" O'Ryan said, the gun still less than an inch from Mikey's face.

Mikey's smug expression started to fade when he realized that his threat hadn't changed O'Ryan's demeanor at all. "Look kid, you're good when it's just three guys in a closed room and you're trying to impress someone. But when it comes to twenty guys with Tommy Guns, all the kicks and flips in the world won't change a damn thing."

"I'd agree with that," O'Ryan said.

At that moment, they could both hear people walking in the hallway, coming toward the door. Mikey started to smile a bit, knowing that any second now, a bunch of his men would be showing up to rescue him from this crazy fighting machine.

The door burst open, and five men came into the room with Tommy guns, ready to fire.

Mikey said, "Don't shoot! You'll hit me! Somebody get this crazy son of a bitch out of my god damn office!"

The men parted, and the fear returned to Mikey face as he saw who was stepping through the crowd. O'Ryan didn't turn, didn't move, but simply keep the gun in Mikey's face, and his eyes locked on Mikey's. He saw what little hope there was in them fade as he heard a familiar voice behind him say, "Look you worthless bastard, if you don't want O'Ryan there to ventilate your face, you'll tell me where the ever loving blue fuck my whisky is."

O'Ryan smiled his cruel smile again and said, "I'd tell him if I were you. I hear he has some crazy bastard working for him who can beat the ever loving blue fuck out of three men with his bare hands and still be good enough to snatch a gun out of the air and blow a man away."

©Solitaire Rose Productions 2003

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