Finding nothing but confusion on the other men’s faces, Vince’s frown shifted into a look of bemusement and he stepped forward. “I think you got the wrong office, kitten. Call girls are upstairs.” He laughed, then let his eyes sweep her body. “But if you’re that keen to help me out, I’ll sample your goods first, make sure Madam Trixie is getting a sweet deal for puttin’ you on the books. You got a swell herring-cookie-pusher look I could really dig. What do ya’ say, boys?”
Sydney and Travis let out a bark of laughter and the burly guard smirked. Only Jimmy and his gold-toothed sidekick stood still and silent, apprehensive at Betty’s sudden appearance.
Betty joined the laughter, walking into the room with ease. She placed her hand daintily against The Muscle’s bicep, his arms crossed over his chest. She flashed him an endearing smile, then turned back to Vince.
“Oh, yes, you like selling women, don’t you Vince? I suppose you’re rather pleased your Uncle Donny let you play the big boss here for a few years. Gives you a sense of power to go with that entitlement you’ve always carried. You always were a rather small man.”
“Hey! What do you mean by that?” said Vince, the grin sliding off his face.
“It’s just like I said, Vinnie. I rather tired of you profiting from other people’s hard work.” She stepped surreptitiously away from The Muscle, pointing to the same portrait of Donny on the wall as Frankie had had in his office at Capitol Palace. It undoubtedly hid the safe behind it, as before. “And I think Donny has rather enough money now, don’t you?”
Vince’s eyes narrowed. There was a shift in the room and she felt The Muscle sizing her up. He didn’t move though. She still, apparently, posed no real threat.
“Who are you?” Vince said. The humor was gone.
“I’m rather astonished you still don’t recognize me,” Betty feigned disappointment. “Oh well, no matter. You know, I sell something now too, Vincent.” Betty pulled an Avon Calling! card from her coat pocket. She flicked it at his face. “And I’m rather good at my job.”
Vince bent down and picked the card up.
“Cosmetics,” he stated flatly. “I’m being threatened by a fucking make-up lady.” The other men sniggered. Even Jimmy’s silent offsider, gave a fleeting gold-capped smile.
“Throw her out.”
“Not yet, Vince, we were just getting reacquainted.”
Betty leapt into the air toward the huge guard, snapping her legs shut either side of his thick neck and twisting his head hard to the right. The momentum swung them both around in a full circle, and he lost balance, crashing to the floor in a mass of limbs and confusion as the men scattered around her. Betty wrenched a knife from her garter as she landed on top of him, just for good measure. Can’t be too careful with these large fellows, she thought.
The Muscle, down.
Quick as lightning, Betty withdrew her blade from between the guards’ ribcage as she jumped up again, throwing herself across the table where the Tommy Gun lay. She smashed into Sydney Corke, who was scrambling to his feet as she slid across the desk, collecting the Tommy in her free hand. The lanky man’s fingers grappled for his Colt as they fell to the floor behind the table, out of sight. The others had finally caught on. Bullets began to fly. She ducked low as they ricocheted off the steel edges of the table above her.
Betty dropped her bloodied knife beside her. She smacked Sydney’s right hand against the concrete floor with her left, knocking the pistol from his fist and letting it spin away behind the crates.
Sitting astride his chest with one knee buried into Sydney’s throat and one gloved fist punching his face, Betty flicked the safety catch on the Tommy gun she had collected in her right hand, and locked the bolt, detaching the magazine drum from the firearm. She flung the magazine of bullets into the dark space under a heavy filing cabinet to her left. Tommy gun disarmed. She looked down, pleased with her multitasking skills.
It’s just like cooking with too many pots on the boil, she thought, and I am a rather fine cook.
Sydney was lying stupefied beneath her, blood on his face. She retrieved her already bloodied knife. A quick flick of the wrist and he’d never get up to kill again.
Sydney Corke, down.
“Stand up,” Vince shouted from beyond the desk.
Gladly, Betty did. The floor was a bloody mess and her lovely red dress was getting wrinkled. As she rose to her feet, she found herself the center of attention of four gun barrels.
“What is this?” Jimmy Chan spat. His gun was shaking. “You call me down here into some kind of ambush?” He turned and redirected his gun at Vince instead. “Who is this crazy bitch?”
Vince was fuming. “How the hell am I meant to know? She’s insane!” His face was as blotchy as Betty had ever seen it. His eyes were wild. “How do I know you didn’t bring her? It’s my men she’s belted, not yours!” Vince swung his arm around, taking aim at Jimmy instead. Both men drew themselves up, fingers poised.
“I didn’t bring her!” Jimmy hissed.
“Well, neither did I!”
Outside, thunder cracked loudly, bringing a rattle to the very bones of the building. The rain was belting down.
“Oh, how delightful,” Betty laughed darkly, wiping the blade of her knife against the edge of the desk in front of her. “Please do shoot each other and save me the trouble.”
“Who are you?” Vince said, snapping his pistol back to point at Betty’s chest. He stretched his neck to the side, trying to see the man that had disappeared over the table to the floor below. Only Sydney’s ankles were visible to the men, unless they moved closer to Betty, which it seemed, Vince wasn’t willing to do. “Syd! Syd! Get up, man!”
“Oh, Sydney won’t be getting up any time soon,” Betty purred. “I think he deserves a rest after all his hard work topping GI’s down by the East River, don’t you think? Too much work is a killer, you know.”
“Tell me who you are!” Vince yelled. Beside him, Travis was disturbingly quiet. His hair stood out livid against his pale face. Something was stirring, under the surface of his mind.
Suzie Polletti. Could it be?
Betty was surprised. He was smarter than she’d given him credit for. Not a good thing.
“You still don’t recognize me, Vinnie? Have I changed so much in twelve years?” Betty smoothed her skirt passively. A small smile flit on the corner of her red lips. “I suppose it has been a long time since you made my life a living hell. I’m sad to say I had expected more from my own cousin though. Even twisted Travis has worked it out.”
Vince looked, dumbfounded at Travis.
“It’s Susie.” Travis, said quietly, not taking his eyes off her. He was still, like a ghost. “Seems she’s not dead, after all.”
“Susie. Little Susie?”
“I really do wish you’d all stop calling me that,” Betty sighed.
“But – you’re dead.”
“I’ll give you a minute to catch up then, dear. Would you like some thinking music? I heard a rather jaunty little melody on the wireless the other day.” Betty began humming a happy tune.
“I don’t get it. Why now? After all this time?”
She stopped humming. “I have my reasons, Vince. You really shouldn’t have brought children into your schemes though, you know. It just makes my job that much harder.”
“No fooling. And what job is that little not-dead Susie?” His face flashed with venom and Vince tightened the grip on his pistol. Out of the corner of her eye, Betty saw Jimmy’s man give his boss a slight nod. Apparently those two knew each other well enough that words were never needed, inside their head, or out.
“To kill you all,” Betty said simply.
Everything happened at once. Betty flicked her knife clear into Travis’s left shoulder as she leapt up onto the table once more, this time grabbing the dangling light fitting to hoist herself across the room into the fray. She swung above the men and snap-kicked the pistol from Travis’s right hand, kicking-off from his f
ace in an arc to take gold-teeth’s gun out as well.
Smash!
Strong hands pulled her down to the floor and she landed in a heap. The stretched electrical cables from the light fitting flickered above her with a strobe flash that seemed to match the crack of thunder outside. A gut-wrenching kick caught her side. Betty curled inward in agony, struggling to breathe as a row of gold smiled at her, upside down. Nothing. There were still no words in his mind. Heaving air into her lungs, Betty lashed out, throwing herself onto her back, and pulling her legs into her chest, then flipped up onto her feet, crouching, ready to strike. She spun her leg hard out behind her as she came to stand, hooking the gold man behind the knees and sending him to the floor. In an instant, Jimmy took his place. She knocked him back into the wall, to punch him square in the face, but he ducked, leaving her fist to break plaster instead. As she swung back around, Betty saw a door open at the back of the room near the crates. Vince was halfway out, heading for the stairs that led to the dark alley outside. Squeezing his bleeding shoulder, Travis ran out after him, leaving a trail of profanities in his wake.
No!
Betty grabbed a knife from her garter and flung it hard toward Travis as he disappeared up the steps. She heard him cry out. But his footsteps kept on. Inside, Betty cursed herself for not thinking to lock the back door when she’d had the chance. She had to go after them, but Jimmy Chan and his silent companion had other ideas.
Punch!
Betty ducked under the fist flying toward her and Jimmy’s hand caught his offsider instead. She bounced back up between them and smashed her own forehead into Jimmy’s. He stumbled back. A roundhouse kick landed in gold-tooth’s gut and she jumped up onto his chest, sending him crashing to the floor. Jimmy’s body landed on top of them both. These two were good, better than any she’d fought.
Rip!
Betty grabbed the back of Jimmy’s white zoot suit, shredding it up the middle and looped each piece around his neck from behind. She wrenched them tight together, choking the life out of him as he fell forward onto the floor. Scrambling to his feet behind her, gold-tooth lifted Betty clean off the floor, and threw her against the wall.
Crash!
A cut above her eyebrow trickled warm blood down her face. Betty froze. A mark. One that George could see. Blind rage exploded, and Betty threw herself across the room, striking out wildly as she went. She grabbed gold-tooth’s hair and pulled down his head, smashing it into Jimmy’s as he came at her from the other direction.
“You’re wasting my time!” Betty growled. She jumped across the table, landing on Sydney’s dead body. Grabbing the desk chair that had been knocked to the side, Betty flung it, hard at the men. The steel-framed legs caught them in the gut side-by-side, straight through. They stopped, pinned to the spot, like macabrely connected twins.
Then they fell.
Betty was out the back door before they hit the floor.
She belted up the stairs two at a time, her Avon bag forgotten against the closed door on the other side of the bloodied room. She burst through the outer door into the alley beyond, emerging into a deluge of rain. Two dark shapes were disappearing on foot up the opposite side of the main street, turning into a dim alley on the corner of a junkyard nearby. The hood of Vince’s shiny beige coupe was now bent around the concrete pillar of a street lamp twenty meters in the same direction. So much for sparing the paintwork. Betty was pleased she’d thought to slash his tires on her way in.
Betty raced after the men, her heels clicking against the pavement at unnatural speed. Her red dress and beige jacket billowed behind her in the dark, becoming more sodden with each step. Within seconds, she turned down the street the men had run into. Vince spun around and his face dropped in horror as she pounded toward them.
“The fence!” He yelled.
Vince took a running leap toward the paled wooden fence, scrambling up and over the top. He fell into the junkyard with a screech of pain. Betty stopped and laughed out loud. Fool. There was no way out, other than the way he’d come. The junkyard was surrounded by the high brick walls of buildings on two sides, to keep junkies and looters at bay. The only way in was the high fence, and a chained-up gate near the road. Inside, Vince was a sitting duck.
Travis clambered up the fence behind him, falling short. His fingers splintered back down the soaked wood.
“You’re done, Travis,” Betty said, quietly, behind him, hugging the derelict wall on the opposite side of the alley. “No more nasty tricks for you. No more hurting people. You were always a hopeless case, even from the beginning.”
Travis turned around slowly. A cold, vindictive smile ghosted his lips. “And you always were a dark horse, little Susie. Weren’t you? Little goody-two-shoes, always skulking around, watching and listening to everyone from the shadows. Pretending to be such a good girl and keeping your nose clean. I always knew there was more to you. Filthy, little whore. That’s what you are. Secrets and lies.” Travis’ eyes gleamed and he spat rain as he spoke. “But you’re just like the rest of us, aren’t you? Out in the dark, killing. It’s in your blood. It’s in your soul, Susie. You’re a murderer, just like the rest of us.”
Betty took a step toward him, slipping away from the shadow of the wall. Her face looked hallowed and her dress sanguine in relief against the watery light of a streetlamp. Water ran down her face, unhindered. She drew closer, slowly, taking in the shock of hair and freckles that now stood livid against his skin from the exertion of the chase. Travis was a dead man walking.
“You think you know me, Travis?” she grinned, her eyes alight with the irony of it. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”
Travis snarled. “You’re nothing but a liar, Susie. A self-righteous little killer, who thinks she’s got the dibs on morality because she had a tough start. Well, guess what? We all did.”
There was a moment of silence.
When Betty spoke again, the words she used were not her own. They were memories. His memories, stolen from his mind, whispered from another time, and another place.
“Take ‘em to the river, Vince, I wanna watch ‘em squirm when they drown.”
“Who you gonna tell, Levi? You gonna cry to your momma? No one’s gonna listen to a little kid. Your word against mine – and if you think about telling, I’ll do worse.”
“Ajay had it coming to ‘im. No one steals my shit.”
“Done. He’ll be rotten before anyone finds him. You can tell Donny that Mike Conway won’t be fishin’ in our lake again.”
“Nine GI’s in a single night. Reckon’ that’s gotta be a record, hey Vince? How ‘bout you?”
“Trevor’s done for. You tell ‘im he’s about to wake up dead.”
“There’s a bullet hole where Lenny’s brain used to be. Now he really can see out the back of his head.”
Betty paused. “You now, I’m beginning to think you aren’t a very nice person, Travis. And I don’t think your pop running away to the ‘sip with a hooker is where it all began.” Betty smiled, a little too wide. “I think maybe, somewhere along the line, you made a choice.”
There was a gray pallor to Travis now. His mouth was hanging open and fear flickered behind his eyes.
“How do you know?” he breathed. “No one knew about Mike. Only me and Vince.”
“I’ve got a little surprise for you, Travis. I know everything about you.”
She stepped forward, close enough to let him feel her breath against his neck.
“I can read your mind.”
Smash!
Travis struck out, his fist catching Betty in the shoulder. She spun around and slammed him into the wooden fence.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
She threw him back against the palings. The fence rattled all the way up the street. He tried to dash sideways, but quick-as-a-flash, Betty caught his arm and yanked it backward, dislocating his shoulder. He screamed in pain as he swung around, punching wildly and thrashing about. He kicked his legs, drag
ging her down to the pavement and grabbed her throat, squeezing. Betty gasped, rolling him over and smacking his head against the wet pavement, pushing his face into a watery pothole. She pried his fingers from her neck one by one as he gasped for air, then grabbed his wrist, twisting it away. She heard the snap of bone.
Betty got to her feet, straightening her dress.
“You’re a killer! No better than the rest of us!” He spat up at her, choking on mud.
Betty leaned forward and tore a paling of wood off the fence with one hand.
“I know,” she said, with gritted teeth. “I never said I was doing this for myself.”
Crack!
Travis Colby, dead.
Betty stood for a moment, just breathing. The fat raindrops found their way down the neck of her coat, into her heels, underneath her sodden pinned hat. Somewhere in the junkyard beyond her, Vince was hiding, waiting for her. By now it must be past midnight. She couldn’t bear to imagine what George might say if he ever saw the state of her. She thought of him sleeping at home, warm in his bed, the children safe and sound.
Travis had been right. She was a liar. Betty shifted uncomfortably. But sometimes, lies are necessary. Sometimes they save lives.
With a leap, Betty swung up and launched herself over the palings. She let go and landed on the other side with a thump, one foot buried in a pile of metal. As she stepped away, the heel of her shoe snapped clean off.
Bother! Betty pulled off her patent black pump. It was done for. Seething, she pulled off her second shoe, and tore off the heel to match and threw it away, then put the flats back on again. This evening just wouldn’t end.
The dark rain swallowed every crack and crevice of the junkyard. The area was about the size of half a city block, piled high with rusting car bodies and bric-a-brac, not two steps clear of rubbish in any direction. The acrid smell of rotting fish wafted over from the far corner.
He was here, Betty could feel him. His mind was quiet but agitated. Like a child trying to fight his brain into sleep when it was wide awake.
Avon Calling! Season One Page 13
