Rain and Lead

“Jimmi, you go that way around the right side of the building. I’ll swing left.” Wolf whispered as they crouched behind their sedan. He slid his pistol from its shoulder holster and gave Jimmi a nod. Together, they crept away from the car. Rain came down hard, washing filth from the sidewalk—and the blood of the two goons who had tried to ambush them minutes earlier.

The neon sign above the Red Basket Club hummed, its red and blue glow shimmering across puddles and wet pavement as they split toward opposite corners of the building. Wolf pressed against the damp brick and peeked around the edge.

The alley was clear.

He glanced over his shoulder. Jimmi stood opposite him, back to the wall. Jimmi nodded once, then disappeared around the corner. Wolf turned into the alley. Rain hammered rooftops and trash cans, drowning out the neon buzz overhead. Shadows clung to the walls. He scanned each one as he moved.

Then the night tore open. An automatic machine gun rattled, followed by the squeal of tires peeling away.

Wolf ran back out the alley. He burst back toward the front of the building in time to see the red glow of tail lights vanishing down the street.

“Jimmi!” Wolf cut toward the side Jimmi had taken. At the corner, he stopped cold.

Rainwater mixed with something darker, drifting along the sidewalk and into the gutter.

Wolf turned the corner. Jimmi lay face down, motionless, sprawled in a pool of blood.

“No—Jimmi.” Wolf dropped beside him, rolling him over. Jimmi’s eyes stared through him, glassy and unseeing.

“Come on,” Wolf whispered, gripping him. “Hang in there.” But Jimmi was already gone.

As Wolf sat there holding Jimmi in his arms, a sliver of light caught Wolf’s eye. A side door opened. A silhouette stood in the light. Wolf pointed his pistol at the figure, his hand slightly trembling.

“Now, Wolf, I hope you don't plan on shooting little ol' me?” a soft voice rang out as the figure slowly strutted out of the doorway. “You'd ruin this lovely new dress if… Is…Is that Jimmi!” the voice shouted out.

Wolf rubbed his face against the sleeve of his coat, trying to clear the constant rain from his eyes. He could see the figure a bit better. It was a woman in a long, shiny red dress, with a hood pulled over her head, a golden lock of hair swept over her right eye. He realized it was Red, Wolf lowered his gun, resting it on Jimmi's chest. Part of him wanted to push her away. Another part—older, weaker—was relieved she was here.

“Red! Call an ambulance!” Wolf cried out. “Those dirty Pigg brothers shot Jimmi!”

“I already phoned them, Wolf.” Red said as she knelt down. She placed her hand on Wolf's hand, still gripping his pistol on Jimmi's chest. She could feel the muscles in his hand tense and tighten his grasp on his gun.

“I am sorry, Wolf… I should have never called you and Jimmi down here,” she said as she lowered her head. “I just… I just needed to get out of here. Get out from under Grannie's control.” Her soft voice trembled. “I don't want to be a part of this life anymore…”

“So it was Grannie that hired the Pigg brothers and their filthy goons that ambushed me and Jimmi?” Wolf growled through his clenched teeth. “All because Grannie wants you to stay!”

“I’m sorry I got you and Jimmi involved, Wolf.” Red squeezed his hand. “They beat you here. Fifer came in through the back, said Grannie knew I was trying to leave—and he was sent to stop me.”

Wolf glared up at Red, his yellow bloodshot eyes burning with rage. “Was that Fifer in that car that sped away?”

Red couldn't take Wolf's stare any longer and turned away. “Yes. He heard the shooting and went out to see what was happening. He must have caught Jimmi by surprise when he opened the side door. That's when I heard Fifer’s Tommy gun go off then a car screeching away.”

In the distance, an ambulance wailed, its lights reflecting off the downpour. Wolf looked back at Jimmi—his partner, his moral compass, his only real family—lying cold in his arms. He knew Jimmi wouldn’t want anything rash. That truth burned, but it wouldn’t stop him. Rage and pain wouldn’t let Fifer leave breathing.

“Red, when the boys get here, make sure they take care of Jimmi,” Wolf said as he rested Jimmi’s head gently on the sidewalk. “Don't tell them who did this, you tell them you found Jimmi already dead, you tell them I went after some car that sped away and that’s all you know… You got me Red?”

Red rested her hand on Jimmi's chest. The rain couldn't hide her tears anymore as she looked up at Wolf. “I will make sure Jimmi is taken care of properly, Wolf. And I’’ll tell the boys I don't know who did it and that you ran after a car that drove away… Please, Wolf…Please come back safe, I can't lose you too.”

Wolf's face for a brief moment flinched and let a look of sadness wash over his face. “Red… I…” she muttered as he turned away from Red. “I'll see what I can do… No promises.” as he walked off, back to his bullet riddled sedan out front of the club.

Red watched as Wolf walked away, her heart torn with emotions. Heartbroken by Jimmi’s death, guilty for calling them that night, and afraid she’d never see Wolf again.

The sound of the ambulance blared from behind her, one last bellow heralding in the sad truth that Jimmi was gone. “Ma'am, we got him.” one of the paramedics said as he gently pulled Red away from Jimmi's body. The screams of patrol cars screeching to a halt around the club reverberated through the night air.

“It's Jimmi!” one of the patrolmen shouted to the other two cops standing next to their patrol cars. They ran over to Jimmi's body while the paramedic was covering his body with a tarp. “Red, it’s me—Sergeant Gus. What happened? Where is Wolf?” Sergeant Gus asked as he approached Red.

Red couldn't turn her gaze from Jimmi's body. “He went after a car that sped away after the gunshots.” she said reluctantly.

“Sarge! There are two more bodies out front here…they look like a couple of the Pigg brothers' enforcers.” shouted a patrolman near the front of the club.

Sergeant Gus, looked at Red, examining her posture. “Do you know who did this, Red? Which way did Wolf head off?” he asked, almost pleadingly. Red just stood there, gaze fixed on Jimmi's now covered body. She wanted to tell Sergeant Gus, but she didn't want to betray Wolf's right to vengeance.

Wolf's sedan's engine screamed as he floored the gas pedal, pushing harder and harder onto the pedal hoping to get to Fifer's place down in the Swallows. He could hear the chirp of his radio and the chatter of the news of Jimmi's killing. He could also hear Sergeant Gus calling to him, but Wolf knew Sarge would try and stop him. As he fishtailed on to the third street underpass he ripped out his radio and chucked it out the window.

Wolf tore through the Swallows—shanties, abandoned buildings, empty lots flashing past. The Pigg Brothers owned this part of town. He knew Fifer’s holes, and aimed down a muddy side street toward the Hay N’ Brick company. If Fifer was anywhere, it was there. A fortress: steel gate, brick walls, razor wire, forced-labor guards.

Wolf killed his headlights and rolled off the muddy road, stopping a hundred yards from the gate. He popped the trunk and lifted the false floor. Two guns waited there—war souvenirs. Jimmi used to rib him for carrying this much firepower, said their Colt 1911s were enough. Jimmi was usually right. Tonight, Wolf was glad he wasn’t.

“Jimmi, if you can hear me—this is the first time I was right about the extra irons.”

Wolf pulled a Remington Model 8 and a Springfield 1903 from the trunk, slung them over his shoulders, and slammed it shut. The rain hammered down, loud enough to hide his movements. He grabbed a stone, wedged it on the gas pedal. The engine roared. Wolf lined the wheels with the gate and threw the car into gear.

The sedan peeled out, spraying mud and stone. Wolf stood in the cold rain and watched it charge the gate. Metal screamed. The car punched through and slammed into a transport truck. Gunfire erupted. Wolf leaned against a tree, steadied his breath, raised his Springfield, and aimed at the flashes.

He steadied his aim, finger on the trigger. Bang! A guard dropped, unnoticed. Bang! Another fell on the catwalk. Wolf knew he wouldn’t get them all before they realized the car was empty. Slinging the Remington off his shoulder, he sprinted to the gate. The guards stopped shooting just as he arrived, one shouting to check the car. Wolf didn’t have time to linger; he had to get inside before they traced the empty vehicle.

His Remington, at the ready, he quickly darted through the open gate and inside the factory courtyard. He slipped behind another parked transport truck and slowly made his way to the back. He peeked around the back to the truck, he could see a guard still facing the sedan. Wolf's heart was pounding, it wasn't fear, it wasn't even rage he was feeling. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in many years, a feeling of excitement for the thrill of the hunt. The smell of burnt gunpowder, the scent of copper in the air from the blood now spilling on the ground. It felt like he was back in the war, back behind enemy lines.

Wolf set his gun down, leaning them against the side of the truck. He saw a screwdriver sitting in an open tool box a barrel next to him. He grabbed the tool, he wrapped his thick calloused hand around the handle. Slowly he slid around the back of the truck, slowly stepping one after another, methodically avoiding the puddles. This wasn’t police work anymore. He didn’t care.

As he got within arms reach, Wolf attacked. He plunged the screwdriver into the guard’s neck with one hand and the other covered the guard's mouth and pulled him into Wolf's chest. Dragging the gurgling guard back behind the truck, Wolf squeezed the guard's head deeper into his chest, muffling any noise. He could feel the guard’s life drain from him, the guard's hands no longer clawed at the tool lodged in his neck, they just slowly slid off to the side then splashed into a small pool of blood and rain.

Wolf rolled the guard's lifeless body under the truck, and listened. The rain drops are still pummeling the world, thudding on the mud and banging off the metal. No one saw Wolf take down the guard, a moment for him to regain his composure. He looked up at the lit office on the fourth floor of the factory, there he was. Fifer, that bloated scum. Wolf could see him standing there, could make out that disgusting smelly cigar he was always gnawing on sticking out of his mouth.

Wolf grabbed the guards shotgun he dropped, he decided he was going to handle Fifer face to face. He wanted to look Fifer in the eyes before dispensing his judgement. Wolf checked again from around the back of the truck towards his destroyed car, the guards figured it out. No one was in it, they all were scurrying to the smashed gate. This was his chance, he could see the office buildings' front doors. He dashed through the mud, his shoes thudding against the muddy road, he didn't care if the guards heard him, they were too far to stop him now.

As he made it to the office building's doors, he heard the sounds of sirens. “I knew she would eventually tell the boys where I am, she held out longer than I thought she would.” he muttered as he kicked in the office doors. Wolf sprinted through the lobby, towards the elevators, the sounds of gunshots and shouting echoing from the courtyard.

“Locked! Fifer locked the elevators!” Wolf roared as he smashed his fist into the elevator's call button, shattering it and causing it to shoot out the button. He glared at the door to the stairs, reluctantly he charged the stairs. His shoes thuds reverberated in the stairwell, sounding the rage fueled executioner approach. Just as he reached the fourth floor, he could hear Fifer shouting from his office. Wolf slowly opened the stairwell door, peeking left and right, checking for more guards. None. Fifer was alone.

“I don't care how much you have to pay, Practice, I didn't know he was a cop’er. He had a gun in his hand! What was I supposed to do!” Fifier shouted into the phone, while pacing back and forth then slamming the receiver down.

Wolf kicked in Fifer's office door. Racked the shotgun while pointing at Fifer. “Wait a minute… Wait now one damn minute. You're a cop, you can't just shoot me while I am unarmed!” Fifer shouted as he threw his hands up a greasy smirk spread across his bloated face.

“You have it wrong Fifer… I am not a cop, not tonight,” Wolf said in a deep raspy voice as he slowly walked closer to Fifer. “You see, tonight some fat, greasy, low life decided to kill my partner…” Wolf went on as he crept closer and closer to Fifer.

Fifer's hand trembled as they floated in the air above his head. A bead of sweat raced down the side of his slicked back hairline. Wolf was now standing dead in front of Fifer, he pointed the barrel of the shotgun right up against Fifer's chunky right cheek. Wolf stared into Fifer's eyes, death and fear stared back at him. “I best step back a step… wouldn't want to ruin my coat with your face.” Wolf grunted as he took a step back, still holding the shotgun to Fifer’s face. “Ready to meet your maker you rat?” He said as he slowly squeezed the shotgun's trigger.

“No! Please!” pleaded Fifer as he closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face.

Wolf caught a glimpse of his reflection on Fifer's office window. His eyes were dark, the man in the reflection a man he swore he never wanted to see again. Then, a slightly obscured figure appeared in the reflection, it placed a hand on Wolf's shoulder. The mist surrounding it began to lift, and a familiar face began to become clear. Jimmi, he saw Jimmi standing next to him, gave Wolf a smile and faded away. Wolf knew Jimmi would never forgive him if he executed Fifer.

He pulled the trigger as the barrel just slid past Fifer’s ear. The blast blew out the office window and disoriented Fifer, and made his ears ring. Wolf grabbed Fifer by the collar of his coat, pulled him close to him. “You best thank Jimmi for saving your slimy hide Fifer!” Wolf whispered in Fifer's ear. Turned him towards the open window and with all his might, tossed Fifer out the window.

The commotion below had come to a silent stand still with the office window exploding. Sergeant Gus looked up to see Fifer in the window and Wolf tossing him out. Fifer screamed and flailed his arms and legs as he fell from the sky. Fifer's heart raced, his eyes closed tight, bracing for what he only could imagine as a pain like getting hit by a truck. Just then, he came crashing down into a hay truck that had just been loaded that night.

“Hey Sarge, you think Wolf knew that truck was there?” a cop asked Gus. Gus looked up at Wolf in the window, then the cop and started to walk back to his squad car. “Best to not ask him… but for the report I am going to say he knew.”