eggo

This is a story I started in Crit and will continue here. A good old fashioned Chicago gangster story. For those of you that read this in crit, look for the wavy line to start.

The train came barreling down the track on a collision course. The steady staccato of the wheels clacking with an ever-growing intensity. The over whelming sense of doom knowing that the train with its evil glowing heart had singled you out and was going to grind you back into the stuff you were made from.

I never got used to having an apartment by the L. The elevated train system here in town. The town is Chicago, the city by the lake.

I woke up in a panic the way I always do. I hated the train and its constant clicky-clack nattering like an old woman. It tortured me like a bad song that won’t leave your head or a feeling that you forgot something. Maybe that’s why I took the place next to it. To try to keep that noise in my skull, to drown out what was there. To keep myself from remembering.

I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. Before, I always hated that gritty feeling under your feet when you first wake up. Now it didn’t matter to me as I looked around my room. My feet were as dead of feeling as my brain. I’ll have to ask the cockroaches to sweep up.

My room was on Vernon St. on the south side. It was below 62cd street about three blocks away from the park.

The room’s color was as gray as my mind. Both were bland, a blackboard well scrubbed. It was a seedy, smelly dive that would curl your nose hairs just to walk by. The paper on the walls was falling off in various stages, revealing stages of ugliness. The windows were filmy, turning the day no matter how bright, to just the right shade of gray as the sun struggled through the grime.

I had been a cop. Cops in this town were supposed to take orders and follow them. I didn’t. So that made me a member of the vast unemployed.

It was all over a girl and not the type of girl you bring home to ma.

I had been walking my beat down on 47th street. That’s in the central part of town. I reached the end of my beat and started to turn back the other way when I heard a scream.

I took off like a shot and as I rounded the corner Tom O’Connor grabbed me. Tom O’Connor was an officer who walked the 48th and Drexel corner.

“ Ho there, Mike. What are you chasing, the moon?” he said with a casual smile.

“ Didn’t you hear that scream O’Connor,” I snapped.

“ Well Mickey me boy, I hear the things I am paid to hear,” he said with his lilt.

“ Let me go O’Connor,” I growled.

The smile on his face fell away like a shallow mask,” Leave it alone King“.

I took off around the corner and heard two people arguing in the alleyway. A dapper young man was yelling at a woman. I approached them.

“ What’s the problem here?” I asked

The man turned on his heel and I recognized him, Bennie “The Bull” Degrazi. Bennie ran a string of call girls for Bugsy Moran. The lady he was yelling at was a "lady of the evening" and she had a red welt on her face.

“ Beat it copper, you been paid. Now make yourself scarce,” and dismissed me to start at the girl again.

We had been paid to look the other way on occasion. I didn’t think this was one.

“ Listen….”

“ Don’t listen me cop. Beat it before you get me mad,” he snapped back

“What something like this” I said as I grabbed the back of his collar and spun him around like a 5 cent top. I stomped on his toe and pulled his gun from his waist belt. Before he could object I slammed him face first into the wall and for good measure bounced his face again off the bricks. I heard a satisfying crunch.

“ You had better go,” I said to the girl

“ Thanks Mister,” she said with a smile and melted into the night like a dream.

I left him there to pick up the pieces of his broken physiognomy and left. The girl had been found the next day beaten to death and dumped in an alley. The joke around the squad was to ask me how my girlfriend was. Two days later they canned me. They had said I was taking graft and were out to clean up the city. Wash away the dirt and there would be nothing left.

I got a job working at the docks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was grunt work mostly. Unloading ships that wandered across Lake Michigan carrying lumber, fish or pig iron. It was hard work and the men were mostly honest, but snakes can crawl into any cupboard.

One day in spring I was taking a break when one of my co-workers approached me. His name was Rollo Smith and he was a large black man with gentle eyes. He was a man of few words and had a straightforward approach to everything.

“ Mike, I have a favor to ask you, ” he looked at me.

“ What’s that Rollo?”

“ You know that apartment I got over on Wabash?” I nodded, I knew it.

“ Well it seems my trumpet is missing from my room. I got that trumpet from my dad and I sure would hate to lose it for good,” he said forlorn. “ With you being a cop and everything I was hoping maybe, you could ask around to a few friends…”.

Rollo loved to play the trumpet. Its what he lived for. He would play sometimes at the Blue Heaven Ballroom. His horn would cut through the sea of smoke and lower the sound of the crowd to a dull roar. The sound could lift people out of their hollow existence.

“ Sure, I’ll ask a couple of people I know”.

“ I can pay you, not much but…” he stammered

“ I am sure you will pay me a far price for my work,” I replied with a wink.

After I got out of work I headed down to see Charlie Chiseler. If anybody knew about stolen stuff, he would. That’s because he buys it. I got to Charlie’s store 5 minutes before closing. He kept a 38 caliber under the counter; the trick was to get him just as he was on the other side of the counter heading to lock the door. He had been known to shoot first and not ask any questions at all. I watched from across the street and as he started around the counter, I bolted across the street. I pulled open the door just as he reached for the knob.

“ Hi Charlie”.

“ King, what do you want? Or are you getting a ring for your girlfriend?” he said with a greasy smile.

I grabbed him by the front of the shirt and lifted him off the ground. I tossed him like week old bread. He landed among some cookery that he probably stole from some old woman with a nice crashing noise.
He rolled around on the floor the pottery snapping, before coming to the decision to try to get his gun.

He made it up and about two steps before I grabbed the back of his head and planted it on the counter. After a short rib shot, I decided to open our little forum.

“ I am looking for a trumpet…”

It was then the door opened and a pair of urchins came in. From the look on their faces I could tell they weren’t sure what they walked into. The boy looked like he was fifteen and the girl about a couple of years older. They looked like they had been living off of the street. The girl had blonde hair and brown eyes and a skittish look about her. Under the girl’s arm was the trumpet.

“ Hey, lemme see that,” I said to the girl

I held out my hand and the pretty girl handed me the trumpet. I let go of Charlie and he slumped to the floor. I turned the trumpet over and sure enough the initials LS were stamped in the bottom. This was for Larry Smith, Rollo’s father.

“ How much do want for this thing?” I asked while Charlie moaned on the floor.

“ Dunno, mate. Howz about 10 pounds?” the boy said

“ Ten pounds of what?” I asked

“ I’m sorry, my brother means five dollars,” she said with eyes downcast.

“ I’ll give you three, should be enough for a hot meal for the both of you and groceries for the week. It’s more than you deserve. I know where this thing came from”.

“ Aaa-lrright then, three it is,” the girl said.

“ This bloke is just trying to steal it, this is worth what more than that!” the boy shot off.

“ Listen young man, I could wake up that dung pile over there and he would give maybe a dollar for it or I could just take it and go. I am trying to be fair,” I said back losing patience.

The girl shushed her brother and took the money from my outstretched hand. I saw something in her pale blue eyes. Something lost and wandering, like a puppy dog left outside for too long.

“ My name is Mike King. I used to be a cop and I live over on Vernon Street. If you ever need help let me know,” I said into her watching eyes. They took the money and left.

Sure I could help them, I couldn’t even help myself. I was a shattered fragment of a man, slowly piecing myself back together. I always dreamed of being a cop and now that was gone.

Charlie took that moment to throw up his lunch. I tucked the trumpet under my arm.

“ Charlie, this place is a mess.” I walked out into the street.

SoLi

I really like this, it's concrete, flows well and is very well balanced. The characters seem very real.

Here's just a few points i came up with. Sorry if i havesaid some things that are irrelevent in the context of what is to come later

i really liked the steady staccato part that precedes this, but i think the sentence would work a lot better if rather than telling us the intensity increases, describe it so we can almost hear it for ourselves. Say something about the noise getting sharper, or do juxtapose your adjective "clacking" with a stronger adjective in the latter part of the sentence to illustrate the increase over a short amount of time. I really don't like phrases like "ever-growing".

This throws me off a bit because it is a great contrast to your previous, ferocious imagery. It's a good image in it self but i dont think it works given what you have previously said, perhaps come up with something to the same effect but a bit more fitting. maybe somethign like "the constant dead-bone pounding of a factory"



Perhaps put this another way, because it is too similar to the previous simile about the narrators brain. it throws me off a bit.

This whole area sticks out a bit. It makes me think that perhaps the narrator has some sort of serious rage disorder because there is a lack of concrete motivation for such violent actions. Perhaps give the narrator more incentive, maybe the pimp gets very personal and belittles the cop, or pushes him first, or grabs him by his hair and pushes him away or something. Just need a bit more motivation here. (If he IS suppose to have a rage disorder then it needs to be made a bit clearer).

This doesn't flow very well, the old woman part fragments the action. Restructure it so the crashing precedes the allusion.

How does the narrator _know_ that this internal thought process has taken placei n the other character, obviously he _deducts_ it from the characters actions and his knowledge of the gun's location. I'd suggest that you simply say "the pottery snapping, before making a grab for the gun under the counter."



That's all. The dialogue and characters shine in this piece, and although the imagery is good, it just needs some tweaking.

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gohn67

Interesting. It reminds me of your Herbert Mason series. The crime Mike solved in this piece seemed similar to those ones.

I'm wondering how you are going to do this story. Is he going to get into bigger crimes. Or just small crimes.

New paragraph at "I nodded...." because it can be confusing how is talking. I thought Mike was talking at first.

The first paragraph needs rewriting, there are some fragments in there, and its not very easy to get into.

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eggo

Hey Gohn,

Thanks for the read. It's really not a mystery at all, its just a gangster story from 1930's Chicago. The local pawn broker is the first place to visit for thief and Cop.

I wrote it about a year ago (17000 words or so)and thought I would drag it out in the light of day. Sorry you didn't like it, just kick that rock right back over.

Chris Miller

Nicely written. Clear voiced and some good description.

"far price" = "fair price"

There are places where comma pauses would make the prose better and cleaner.

My primary criticism is that the piece has a somewhat cliche feel to it. Even the action and the angst, all kind of formula.

Things like that too.

I realize the genre is by its very nature cliche, there is also a lot of nice original stuff. I liked the sound of the train being compared to an old lady nattering, for example.

Perhaps the problem is that I am not a fan of formula fiction--too predictable and impersonal--but many like it for exactly that. This piece is a good example of formual fiction. Well written. Good feel for the character/charicture.

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gohn67

I think you should post a little more, at least the next section before you put it back in its hiding place. I haven't given up on the story yet. If it gets more action packed with Violence and guns, then I'm bound to at least give it a try. . Obviously this was just the beginning, but I think the action, and suspense needed to be upped. For me it's more interesting to read than him paying kids to for a trumpet. For a first scene, that works. It shows him on the downslide, that he is forced to do low class jobs, nothing high profile. That's why I want to see more, I want to see if you keep him on the track of small things, or do things get more intense. So post at least a little more. I'll read it.

I agree with Chris, that there is niche for this type of story.

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eggo

Thanks, it is an old peice and I tried to grab a little cliche' and mix it with original stuff. It was written as a serial piece on a different forum where people had a limited interest in reading. I tried to keep it formula for readibility.

Yes Gohn,
There is a 55 gallon drum of violence (not too much blood) coming at ya.
Well you asked for it! Don't say I didn't warn you! Those things will shrink if you put them in warm water! There thats out of the way...



I heard a feeble knock at my door.

I checked my gun and opened the door. In front of me was the girl who I had met in the pawnshop. She looked like she was dragged to my apartment. Her blonde hair lay straggly across her face and dirt smudged her features.

“ He’s dead,” she said.

I pulled her into my place and made some tea. I had dealt with despondent people before and knew it was best to wait and not push her.

She sat at my table and stared at a spot in the wall. I waited until the water started to boil and made some tea. I brought her a cup and sat it in front of her. The steam from the cup spiraled up hiding and changing her face.

Suddenly she seemed to realize where she was and reached out for the cup.

“ That’s hot,” I said to remind her of the here and now.

She took the cup and sipped.

“ I have to get them…” She said

“ You have to get who?” I asked

“ The ones who did this, they killed my brother,"she stared into my eyes "I will …I will… kill them”.

“What happened?” I asked

She had come to this country with her brother as a stowaway from England. Her parents had both been killed in a railway accident. They had had enough of their caustic aunt and climbed on a ship out of Liverpool. The ship had come up the St. Lawrence Seaway and ended up on the docks here.

They had joined a gang of teenagers led by a boy called “Striker”. Sometimes in this city, the gangsters would use these wayward kids to steal things about the city, move betting slips around and sometimes carry money. Someone from her gang didn’t show up with all the receipts for Capone’s one of many gambling rings. A thousand dollars was missing. Capone’s henchmen went to the old warehouse to find it.

Things turned from threats to violence. And while she was out getting some food, the murderous bunch took care of the kids. When she got back, she found a warehouse littered with bodies of her friends and her brother. Her brother was leaning against a wall, blood pumping from his stomach like water through cheesecloth. He said that Striker told them she took the money. Her brother objected and was shot, as was everyone else for a “lesson”. This lesson would be hard for these kids to learn from. Her brother passed away in her arms.

The bodies would be gone by morning and the police would sweep the rest under the carpet. I knew how things worked. These kids wouldn’t be missed by anyone.
I would do my best to talk her out throwing away her life. This town would chew up and spit out anyone. The people that were behind the murder wouldn’t hesitate to commit another.

Even now they could be looking for her.

“ My name is Amanda”.

“ You can call me Mike. Did you talk to anybody on the way here?” I asked.
“ A couple of people,” she stared at the wall trying to recover the memory “ The man at the newspaper stand knew just where it was”. She seemed pleased with remembering.

“ The one by 60th street?” I asked.

“ Yes, that’s the one”.

The newspaper stand she talked about was one used by Capone to run numbers.

I thought that someone may be looking for Amanda. They would know that she had asked directions to my apartment. And if they wanted to bad enough, they could find her here.

I settled her down on the fold up bed against the far wall and settled into a chair against the wall.

About two o’clock in the morning I was somewhere between reality and dream world when my front door exploded.

It ripped inward with a nice hole made by a shotgun. The shock wave boomed a deafening noise in my apartment. I knew they would come, but I hoped it wasn’t this soon. My gun came to my hand unbidden.

I grabbed the fold up bed and flipped in over, slamming it and the girl into the wall while dousing the light. My doorway was down a short corridor that formed an “L” that made my living space hard to get to. I ducked below my table and aimed. Not at the doorway where some hooligan was carving through the door with his pump action, but at the window.

I waited and just as some one kicked open my door , I pumped three rounds into the figure on my fire escape with my .45. They had counted on me covering the door and then the man on the fire escape could have made my back a little more airy.

The person or people in my doorway had a choice . They could have rushed me or they could just wait until I moved. If they waited until I moved there was probably only two of them. They would only rush me if they were three or more.

I waited and they didn’t rush.

They couldn’t wait forever out in my hallway and they didn’t dare rush me in the dark with the light of the hallway lights silhouetting their figures.

“ We’ll be back King, we want the girl ” came a guttural voice from the hallway. I heard the footsteps make a hasty retreat . It then I heard the thumping on the wall.

I pulled over the bed to find Amanda staring at my like I lost my mind.

“ We had some visitors” I said and pointed to the heap on the fire escape.

“ Were they after you?” she asked

“ Nope, you,” I answered

“ What did they want?” She asked

“ They are after the money ,” I said while scratching my head.

I climbed out onto the fire escape and rolled the corpse over. It was Needles Porter, a very minor street thug who worked for Capone doing odd jobs. I took his piece, a 38 caliber and his wallet and rolled him off the escape . He spin a lazy circle before he thunked against the asphalt in the alley.

“ I hope they clean up that mess , it won’t smell pretty come spring”.

“ Should we leave here?” she asked

“ Naw, they won’t be back here tonight” I said

“ What about the neighbors, won’t they get the police?” she asked

“ Nope, most of the people in this building work at the factory on the grave yard shift. That’s why I picked the place…quiet”
We were quiet for a few minutes.

“ We have to figure out how to stop these guys,” I said

“ Why are you helping me?” she asked

“ Bored mostly. Tomorrow we can start shaking a few trees. Better get some sleep”

I moved a bureau in front of the door and found a nice comfy chair.

We made our way down 59th street. The cars had taken over the road. Down the crush of the midway the metal behemoths shouldered and pushed the tide of humanity out of the way.

Passing the news hawks and street vendors we walked along the causeway and down to the docks on Lake Michigan.

We found the warehouse were the young gang had been hiding out. The place had been cleaned up and there was very little evidence that an altercation had taken place.

“ There were a couple of cots over there and there was a table of sorts here,” Amanda said trying to will them into existence.

I nodded and looked a bit more.

I looked around the floor and saw where dirt had filled the cracks in between the floorboards. There was one place where the cracks were clear. I used my penknife and pried a bit at the boards. They lifted up and in the hole were four packages. I pulled one out and discovered cash. It was bound and wrapped in neat little piles.

Striker had been running a skim game on his pals and someone found out. Amanda’s eye’s lit up on seeing the money and then focused when realization hit her.

“ Striker….”

I took some of the money for expenses and replaced the boards. I sprinkled dirt over the floorboards and hid the opening as well as I could.

We headed out of the warehouse.

“ We know why those guys we angry,” I said.

“ My brother and I had nothing to do with that, it was Stricker” Amanda said

“ They don’t know that. Giving them the money back won’t do anything. These guys won’t stop till they get everyone involved, meaning you,” I said

“ They had no reason to do what they did, I’ll get em. I’ll make them pay” she seethed

“ We are going to have to figure a way to get em back their money and make you a porcupine that no one wants to touch” I said as we headed back out into the day.
We made our way through the grind. The cars churning out fumes as if they had a little piece of hell under the hood. I always expected to lift the hood on one of them and find Satan standing under there saying, “ close the hood, it’s cold”. We crossed Washington Park and cut down E 51st ave.

“ There’s a guy we want to see,” I said while I yawned. Not much sleep last night.

We ducked down a side alley and went into a basement shop. Dan was working on something behind the counter. I walked in with the girl just behind me. He looked up and he fought to focus on me.

“Mmmike, hhow are ya” Dan said standing up.

“ Stuttering Dan, I thought you might use some business” I replied

“ Alwwayss, ggglad to help a former off-off-officer” He sputtered

“ I see you speech has gotten better” I said

“ Well, I-I try” He spat out. Dan always stuttered accept when he talked about guns. I think that’s why he owned a gun shop.

“ We need something for the lady” I said

He came out around the counter and looked her over like a side of beef. He looked at her arm.

“ You ever shoot?” he asked with the alacrity of a surgeon. “ Back home I used to shoot a shotgun, I could nail a bird at 20 paces,” she said.

“ That won’t do, that won’t do. Can’t be carrying a shot gun in your pocket can you miss?”

She shook her head no.

“ I got this 22 Derringer that is quite easy to handle,” he looked at me.

“ Not enough firepower,” I shook my head.

He went behind the counter and pulled out another candidate in the world of lead.

“ How about this .32 cal snub nose revolver?” he handed it to Amanda.

“ Not enough lead, She needs something with a clip,” I eyed him.

“ I think I have just the thing,” as he opened a drawer.

“ This is something I just got in, European it is. A Walther ppk. It has a 7 round clip,” he said showing it like he was selling a toaster “ 38 cal and has a delivery like a brick through a plate glass window” he offered it to Amanda.

She held it in her hand and it fit like a glove.

After firing a few rounds in the basement gallery, we had a winner.

“ Aanything e-e-else?” Dan asked

“ Yeah I need two .45 Caliber Broom handle Auto-Pistols, a sawed-off over-under 12 gauge and a little something to stir the pot” I flashed some green.

“ You mad at someone?” he asked

“ Not yet, but the day is just starting”

gohn67

Hey Eggo,
I liked this section, the fast pace was good, and we're getting into some more dangerous event, which I like.
Definitely pretty cliche, but I like it, the formula works.

I'm not sure if you plan to revise this or not, but I'll just point out a few things that could make it better.

There were some minor spelling and grammar errors. Like you forgot to a letter on a word, or a forgot a word. Just minor stuff that you can easily find.

I like the fast pace, it works well, but sometimes it's going too fast.

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The Frowning Dog Blog

Chris Miller

I like it too eggo. Not my genre, but still sharp enough to keep me going.

"They had had..."

Nice, I like this.

This feels awkward. How about:
"The ones who did this." She stared into my eyes. "They killed my brother."
Letting the threat be implicit makes it stronger in my opinion.

"out of"

"but I had hoped not so soon."

Lose the "I quipped." It's much funnier if you don't try to tell me it's funny. "I said" is funnier.

When describing calibres, either do or don't include the leading decimal. Don't mix it up.

In my opinion, any story that can be made into a better movie, is not a good story. I think you should try to get into your characters' heads a bit more.

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Barcelona Review story: http://www.barcelonareview.com/64/e_cm.html

eggo

Hey gohn,

Yea Man. This thing rips along at break neck speed. I tried to overcome the formula by hitting the gas pedal and blowing right by. It barely works as it is. I'll throw a few introspective thoughts in the story to slow down the pace.
And to answer your question, it is fun to play with, but i doubt this story would be a marketable entity.
Never having been to Chicago (other than going over at 30,000 feet) I did have to do some research.
Hey Chris,


As usual an excellent critique. I fixed and pacthed at your suggestions. The "quip" part was overdone and I had put in "had had" in the sentence but my word proccessor and me had an argument and it won(damn you Bill Gates).There is a two dimensional quality to this work, the characters are missing an emotion angst. A certain real quality.

But a lot of gangsters get shot, fryed and blugeoned so it has it's redeeming qualitys as well.

If you guys are up for a bit more i'll post it.

Chris Miller

I grew up in Chicago.

It is called "The Windy City"

It is also considered one of the most racial cities in North America. You almost need a map to show you were you can go (depending on your race) if you want to stay alive.

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gohn67

I wouldn't mind reading more. Won't critque or anything, or I'll do a half-assed one, kind of burned out from that stuff. But post it alittle more. I'll read it.

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The Frowning Dog Blog

eggo

Well Gohn man , you asked for it. Don't blame me if you burn out your retina. I cleaned it up a bit, hadn't realized how rough it was.

After walking through the city we went into Della’s restaurant. I left her at the booth and went to use the phone. I would need some backup and Charlie might be over at his usual pool hall.

I returned to the table and saw Amanda shivering and wild eyed. She had overheard two men the next booth over talking about recovering a certain girl for the boss. The whole city’s underworld was looking for the girl. I rubbed my forehead when the bell of the café sounded. O’Connor the beat cop walked into the smoky restaurant and focused on me. He walked over to the table with a smirk on his face.

“ Well Mickey, me boy, looks like you got yourself a new girlfriend. And a pretty lass she is,” he said with a lilt.

“ Beat it O’Connor,” I said with steel in my voice.

“ I can see that you don’t want anything happening to you new girlfriend, like what happened to the old one.”

“ Listen to me O’Connor, you can kiss that scum’s butt all you want. I would never turn my back on a fellow officer. Get outta here your making the milk turn sour,” I seethed.

“ I am here to tell you King that that young lady is hot. Hot like pavement in August. With the price on her head, everybody in town is looking for her. Take some advice, clear out while you can. The next person who sees you is gonna give you a greeting card filled with lead”

He adjusted his cap and headed out the door without a backwards look, his obligation fulfilled.

I looked back over at Amanda, her face white as she played with the gun in her pocket.

“ Don’t worry, we got some visiting to do after breakfast. Time to let these guys know that they might not want catch us,” I said

“ Why are you doing this? You could leave me and be done with this,” she asked.

“ A man is nothing if he lives without honor,” I said

“ Where did you read that?” she asked

“ A few minutes ago on the bathroom wall,” I said

It was the first time I heard her laugh.

“ What are we going to do?” she asked.

“ Finish breakfast,” I said.

After breakfast we were going over to Laughlin’s Pool Hall. We needed an extra set of muscles to watch our backs. I knew just the guy for the job.


Laughlin’s Pool Hall is a place where hard men make a living carving green felt. Each man trying to steal the other’s last nickel through a game some call skill. I saw Charlie sitting at his usual table waiting for someone new to take money from.

Charlie was a big man, with dark European features. His nose jutted out of his face at an ugly angle. His eyes slanted down from the bridge of his nose. He seemed a dark man who possessed a warm smile.
I met him when he was a bouncer at one of the local dives. A patron was getting ready to part my hair with a bottle, and with a quick yell Charlie had saved me.

“ Hey Charlie,” I said

“ Hey, King. This wouldn’t happen to be a lady who is as hot Ma Parker’s Stove is it?”

“ Hello, Charlie,” she took his hand “ My name is Amanda.”

“ Very nice to meet you Ma’am.”

“ You looking for work Charlie?”

“ Yeah.”

I laid a stack of green in front of him.

“ What ever you say boss man,” he answered, “ When do I start?”

“ Right now, big man. We are heading over Calucci’s,” I said.

Charlie froze. “ Man, you aren’t messing around, are you?”

“Lets go,” I said.

We left and started walking down Drexel on our way to Calucci’s Diner. Calucci’s was a front for Al Capone. Buzzy Cerento ran it for him. It was one of the gambling storefronts around the city.

The city was at war. Bugsy Malone and Al Capone were fighting for the underworld prize. Two men without a shred of remorse, they would mow each other down at a drop of a hat. The police were content to let them wipe each other off the face off the earth as long as civilians were kept out of it, mostly.

Calucci’s was a small outlet for running numbers. People would place illegal bets on baseball, horseracing, boxing and everything else you could name. Gambling never interested me. I don’t like handing control to chance. Especially when chance was controlled.

“ Charlie, you get the alley,” I said and the big man nodded and walked with a newspaper towards the building.

“ Keep your hand on your piece and keep it in your pocket” I said to the girl.

It was time to find out if she was any good with that thing. I walked in the front door with her right behind me.

I kept my head down and walked right to the bar. It was slow at 9:00 in the morning. The one rummy in the place wouldn’t move with an earthquake.

“ Howz about a beer, Lou” I asked the man behind the bar. As he looked up at me, I took a sap out and hit him right in the temple. He crumpled down behind the counter. I jumped over the counter and pulled the wires out of the warning buzzer for the back.

The next trick would be getting out back. I whispered to Mandy and she walked up the door. It was a steel door with a peephole slide. I had her jiggle the handle and the slide flew back.

“ Yeah“
“ Is this the bathroom?” she asked.
“ No lady, whadda ya stupid?”
“ Where is it?” she asked.
“ Ask Lou!”
“ He told me it was here,” she said.
“ I am gonna pound him,” the disembodied voice said as the latch drew back.

I started running at the door from ten feet away. As the door opened an inch, I hit it going flat out. The steel door flew back like a truck hit it. With my gun in my hand and a right cross that started on my left, I caught the guard right at the bridge of the nose. It made a sickening crunch at his eyes looking into mine, lost focus. I cracked him on the back of the skull for good measure.

I spun and the girl already had her gun out pointed at a couple of counting weasels busy at their desks. And one character stood at the back. He stood in the shadow chewing on a toothpick.

“ Whadda want, King?” he drawled

“ Just a social visit Buzzy”.
“ You don’t seem that social” he said

“ Nope, You guys chasing the girl. Is there a way out of this thing?” I asked.

“ Boss says its bad for business. He’s not gonna back down a bit”

“ I can get him the money,” I said

“ It ain’t about the money now”.

“ Yep, I figured. Gonna get messy.” I said “ Any chance of you throwing iron?”

“ Naw, I lie down my gun now, Boss will have my head.” Buzzy said

“ I understand, I‘m working for Bugsy Malone myself,” I said

The whole time Amanda had her gun trained on him. We stood quietly for a minute or so and then he went for his gun. The girl nailed him as he tried to jump right and pull. The smell of gunpowder filled the room.

I told the counting weasels to throw all their receipts into a trashcan and threw a burning match in the can. The slips were bets that Capone could collect money on and now they were gone. He was going to get really mad and that’s what I was hoping for.

We tied the accountants up and went out the back door where Charlie was waiting. There were two unconscious men on the ground.

“ Took care of the cleanup crew,” Charlie said.

“ Where to now? And what was that working for Malone thing you said?” Mandy asked.

“ You did good in there. We find a place to lie low and Let the Capone thing boil. The Accountants didn’t know who I was. For all they know I work for Malone.”

“ And Capone is going after Malone, not us.”

“ You got it. Lets get out of here.”

gohn67

Hey Eggo, this was the best section yet, by far. I really enjoyed this section, it defnitly looks like you cleaned it up.

If you don't mind post a little more, now I'm starting to need to find out how this ends....

comma I think after advice
Here is a place where you can try to show her expression of being shaken. Instead of just saying it

Found this part funny
Very very minor but slightly out of POV.

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Chris Miller

Hey eggo,

As I said before, this isn't my preferred genre, but it is a popular one. Your narrator has the standard two-dimensional, dry, no nonsense way about him.

Some literary and edit crits.

I think you could peruse it carefully, and find a lot on your own.

I can hear the lilt, no need to tell.

I can hear the steel too. I mean I kind of figured he wasn't whining.

Not sure how he sees this. Also the period goes inside the quotes. Won't bother pointing this out everytime.

here, you're
Also, no need for the "I seethed" Again, it's apparent. And it's telling.

A little too cliche/easy of a simile. Also has more of a western than a gangster feel. How about "like the barel of a Tommy after spitting out a ninety round drum."

With the price on her head, everyone in town...

worry, we got
There are a fair number of missing commas in your dialogue. Not sure if this is intentional though. I won't point it out any more.

Remove the part in bold. It is not a question. And it is unnecessary and weakening.

I will disagree with gohn67 on this. I think it is a little cliche and weak, double use of "wall" aside.

Not a sentence.
Each trying to steal the other's...

Lose the first "a" and the "He seemed"

bottle,
Unless patron was trying to part his hair with a quick yell as well as a bottle.

Parker's or Parkers'
stove, would it? or just leave off "is it"

A lot of your sentences are missing periods at the end.

Extremely awkward. At least lose one "hit it"

Even "as" would be wrong here. I assume his eyes would lose focus after the crunch.

Let's

Everything seems to come just a bit too easy to this guy. Like he is rock and everone else is scissor. Reduces the suspense for me a bit, but again, maybe that's a genre thing.

I hope I havn't pissed you off with these crits eggo. I break easy. I'd really hate for you to have to come after me...

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