Boom Time

by Michelle E Lowe

  After he ate, Pierce took a much-needed shower. Soon after, Frank told him Kelly wanted to see him downstairs. He got dressed in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday and joined Kelly in the sitting room with Frank and Chester.

  “Aye?” he asked.

  “Grab your coat, son,” ordered Kelly. “We’re off to the brewery to gather more equipment.”

  Is he still going to brew? Pierce thought, astonished.

  The man really didn’t know when to toss in the towel. Pierce didn’t fancy the idea of tagging along. He wanted to clear out. Kelly, however, was adamant that he come along.

  Everyone rode in the same car. Chester drove while the rest sat in the back. No one said much during the ride, for each person had something heavy on their minds, it seemed.

  Chester parked the car in the rear of the alleyway and the small gang went to the door. Chester knocked and one of Kelly’s other goons opened the door for them from inside. The building was as cold as the outside. Just as they rounded a row of casks, Pierce’s innards turned just as cold.

  Leon Clark and about eight of his thugs were waiting.

  “Bloody hell,” Pierce uttered in alarm.

  He was reaching under his coat for his gun when Kelly grabbed his arm. “Don’t. The man only wants to talk.”

  “You knew he’d be here?” Pierce whispered angrily.

  Christ, how had a bastard with botched up lungs survived the shootout?

  “We’re here to negotiate,” Kelly promised. “Nothing more.”

  Pierce arched a suspicious eyebrow at him. “Negotiate what?”

  “The treaty. Since Romano is out of the picture, Clark and I need to establish new ground rules.”

  Pierce didn’t care for this one bit. Kelly knew all about what Leon had told him at the speakeasy and the jolly good math problem he’d given Pierce. His damn balls hurt just thinking about it. Why did Kelly have to bring him along?

  “Sit,” Leon ordered Kelly from the table he was sitting at.

  “Let’s go,” Kelly grunted to his men.

  With a deep, nervous sigh, Pierce followed. Frank was beside him, with Chester and Kelly’s other goon behind Kelly. Pierce stopped when he damn well wanted to, which still wasn’t far enough away, and watched as Kelly sat across the table from Leon.

  It still baffled him that Leon had escaped without even a scratch. Pierce reckoned that it must have been Leon behind the stairs when his goon, Carl, attacked him. They most likely fled up the ladder the same as Pierce. Carl was also with Leon, his arm in a makeshift sling. Pierce didn’t recognize anyone else.

  “You wanted to discuss Romano’s speakeasies?” Kelly asked Leon.

  “And other things,” Leon said with bile. “I’m sure by now you’re aware of what I know. About my submarine?”

  Ol’ Leon sounded none too happy, and what made matters worse was the fact that they were completely outmatched. Everyone left in Kelly’s outfit, other than George up in the cabin, was standing in that room.

  “Yes,” Kelly admitted. “It has been brought to my attention. And you also granted me parley, an agreement in our treaty.”

  Leon nodded slowly. “Doesn’t mean I won’t ice you, Irish. Now, here’s what we’re going to do about this. I’ll allow you to live in exchange for you working for me.”

  Kelly leaned forward in his chair. “Work for you?”

  “I’m taking over Romano’s speakeasies and I want you to manage them. You’re a good businessman with lots of connections. Together, we can profit greatly.”

  Kelly—clearly not expecting this—adjusted himself in the chair and rubbed his chin as if mulling it over.

  “Do this and I’ll forgive your violations,” Leon went on, leaning into his own seat. “Besides, it ain’t like you can reopen anytime soon. Not after losing another speakeasy.”

  Kelly’s ears flushed red. Leon had a point. It was a fair deal. Was Kelly wise enough to accept it, though? Kelly had been the owner of both at his legitimate and illegitimate businesses. Working under someone might not appeal to him. Pierce hoped he’d take the damn bargain. He wanted to get out of there without an incident.

  After brief consideration, Kelly thankfully replied with, “You got me by the balls, Clark. Fine. I’ll work for you . . . but as a business partner.”

  Pierce bit the inside of his cheek. Seeing how Kelly didn’t have a pot to piss in, there really wasn’t a lot of room for negotiations, much less to make demands. Surprisingly, instead of turning it down flat, Leon nodded.

  “I think that could work out mighty nicely. This union could strengthen both our houses.”

  It shocked Pierce how reasonable Leon was being.

  Already, Kelly’s mood had lifted. With this new deal, he had the chance to rebuild for the fourth time.

  “Then I agree.” Kelly stood with his hand out to Leon. “Let’s make arrangements to meet in a more suitable place to hash out the details.”

  Leon grabbed hold but did not shake. “One more thing,” he added darkly.

  “What?”

  Still holding hands and making Kelly look ridiculous in doing so, Leon used his free hand to point to Pierce. “I want that cat, right there.”

  Bugger.

  Kelly looked over his shoulder, then back at Leon. “Chaplin? He’s a valuable asset to me.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Leon seemed reluctant to let go. “He’s the asset you sent to break into my office, remember? The boy not only helped you steal my submarine, but he also robbed me. Why do you think I specifically requested for you to bring ’im, huh?”

  It occurred to Pierce that Leon had no plans to let bygones be bygones. This whole lot was a band of killers, and in order to set things right amongst them, someone needed to die. And who better to fit the bill than good ol’ Pierce Landcross?

  “Take it or leave it,” Leon offered. “He’s coming with me either way.”

  There was a moment of more disconcerting handholding before Kelly nodded. Finally, they shook and let go.

  “Kelly,” Pierce grunted.

  Kelly Quinn turned and walked past Chester, rubbing his chin as he approached Pierce. The look on his blasted face said it all.

  “You’re joking,” Pierce seethed as Kelly stopped in front of him and held out his hand.

  “Give me your firearm, Chaplin.”

  Frank, still standing abreast of Pierce, let his jaw fall slack. “Boss,” he whispered in protest.

  “Not now, Mr. Garcia.” To Pierce, Kelly said, “It’s business, kid. Just the way it goes.”

  Pierce had been aware of the cocker’s nature, but this was pretty low!

  Seeing he wasn’t going to give in that easily, Kelly added, “Don’t make me involve Miss Neil in this.”

  Pierce’s jaw dropped. The cocker had found out about Lucy after all! Either through Frank or by some other means, it didn’t bloody well matter.

  “Yes, I know about her,” the bastard continued. “And unless you want me to turn her into one of my personal whores, you’ll do the honorable thing.”

  This wasn’t sitting well with Pierce. Handing himself over was no guarantee Kelly would leave her be. Besides, he greatly preferred to be shot dead right there than to have a meet and greet with Leon’s hedge clippers. If he was going down, he was taking Kelly Quinn with him.

  Pierce pulled his gun and jabbed it under Kelly’s chin. “I don’t think so, chum.” He grabbed Kelly by the coat collar and held him in place. “If anyone goes, you’ll be the first.”

  The sound of clicking guns from Kelly’s goons—including Leon’s own people—echoed through the room. Frank even joined in and pulled his gun.

  “Let him go, Isaac,” Chester warned.

  “No dice, wanker,” Pierce snapped, keeping himself out of Chester’s crosshairs by using Kelly as a shield. “Bloody stay where you are!”

  “Quinn,” Leon said irritably while standing.

  Apparently, the bloke didn’t fancy being held up.

  �
��I can handle this,” Kelly reassured him. “Mr. Garcia.”

  Unlike Kelly’s other goons, Frank had a clear shot. Pierce stole a sideways glance at him before turning his focus back on the others. It was hard to read his expression.

  Frank stood stiffly with his gun outstretched.

  “Dammit, Garcia, do something,” Kelly demanded.

  “I . . . I can’t, Mr. Quinn.” He lowered his pistol. “This shit has gone too far.”

  Pierce grinned wickedly at his hostage. “At least someone is loyal, eh?”

  Sweat rolled down Kelly’s face.

  “Guess you ain’t the cat I need partnering up with me, after all, Quinn,” Leon huffed. “Shoot them all.”

  Not a second after giving the order, a loud mechanical noise sounded from just outside the walls.

  What the bloody hell is that? was the last thought Pierce had before the wall exploded.

  Bricks and broken glass flew everywhere, and a cloud of dust and debris enveloped every person and hid them from sight. Pierce and everyone else hit the ground. An overpowering ringing shook his eardrums. He raised his dizzy head and brushed off the layers of dust capping his hair. Something had punched a car-sized hole in the wall, and beyond that gap, was a tank with dozens of coppers rallying around it.

  “Bugger me,” Pierce gasped, staggering to his feet.

  It appeared everyone had the same idea. All stood, and that’s when the gunfire erupted. A lucky few took cover and fired at the advancing police. Pierce again dropped to the floor before he was shot, but the others weren’t so fortunate. Kelly thrashed as an array of ammo tore into him. The same went for Chester, and all of Leon’s crew—including the mist-breather himself—took direct hits. Frank was struck in the stomach and stumbled for the door.

  “Frank!” Pierce called.

  Pierce stayed very low as he hurried over to his friend. Frank leaned against the wall, clutching his wound. Pierce holstered his gun, wrapped his arm behind Frank, and began leading him out the back way. Frank leaned heavily against Pierce, making it difficult to support him on a hurt ankle.

  Thanks to the distraction of the surviving gangsters who were still shooting at the cops, Pierce and Frank made it outside. Pierce led Frank towards the car.

  The automobile was close, but lugging Frank along made it feel miles off. Pierce only hoped he could drive the damn thing better than the last time he was behind the wheel. Then Frank’s heavy weight became heavier still as he slumped to the ground. Pierce fell to his knees beside him. There was so much blood that it got all over the sleeves of Pierce’s coat.

  “Frank,” Pierce cried out desperately. “C’mon, we’re near the car, mate.”

  Faint air flowed past Frank’s lips. His eyes were closed and he rolled his head sideways. He moved no more.

  “Frank?”

  “Hold it,” commanded a voice from the back door.

  Pierce, still on his knees beside Frank, looked over at the officer who was aiming a shotgun at him. Pierce recognized the bloke as the older officer who had been standing in front of the speakeasy yesterday, shouting orders into the megaphone.

  The officer approached. “Stand up and put your damn hands behind your head, boy.”

  Pierce rose and linked his fingers behind his head as ordered. As the officer got closer, Pierce spied the name on the badge pinned to his coat. Sergeant Hawk Geo.

  “Go over to the car,” Hawk demanded.

  After the brutality the police had displayed inside the brewery, Pierce expected to be executed on the spot. He reached the grill of the car and stood there with his hands behind his head. He flinched when the end of the shotgun barrel rested on his shoulder.

  “And here I thought all you gangster thugs were a bunch of selfish cowards,” Hawk said. “I caught sight of you helping your departed friend over there. Guess there’s some loyalty among the wicked.”

  The rifle left his shoulder but didn’t stray far.

  “No good deed goes unpunished, though, does it?” Hawk taunted, aiming the rifle at the side of Pierce’s head. “You’re going to spend a lot of time up in Sing Sing.”

  The cold touch of iron pressed against the skin underneath Pierce’s chin. The shotgun forced him to raise his head. Apparently, this officer enjoyed torturing his collars even as he arrested them.

  “You’ll enjoy it up there. A pretty young thing like yourself . . . you’ll make plenty of friends.”

  Pierce swallowed thickly and shifted his eyes over to the policeman. He’d been in prison before and couldn’t imagine it being any different in the twentieth century. The Trickster did say he would come for him, but he never specified when. For all Pierce knew, he could be locked in a cage for years.

  Hawk’s grin dropped and he snapped his head around. He started redirecting his rifle to where Frank was but never got the chance to fire before blood burst from his chest. He tried grabbing at the car to remain standing, but death snatched his soul away and he fell over. Pierce jumped and turned to see Frank sitting up, holding his handgun in an outstretched hand. He looked at Pierce a moment before collapsing backward, a final heavy fog of breath escaping his lips.

  “Frank,” Pierce said, taking a step toward him before the yelling from other officers inside the building nailed him in place.

  Before he missed his chance to escape, Pierce bolted down the alleyway and vanished behind another building.

  The past couple of days had produced some of the most terrifying experiences Pierce had had in a long while. It amazed him to no end that he, alone, had escaped. It was as though he had some sort of force keeping him alive—some kind of destiny. He didn’t know how he felt about Kelly’s death. The man had spared his life, but in the end, he was willing to trade it for his own needs. Frank’s death stung greatly. He had gone against his boss’s orders for his friend. Frank Garcia was a loyal mate and Pierce would never forget him despite what Foster had told him in the forest.

  “You’ll most likely have no memory of being here when you do return. The mind cannot contain future events, only past and present ones, even if you have lived through it. Your mind will simply clear it out as if it never happened because, in hindsight, it hasn’t. Not in your time, anyway.”

  Pierce didn’t buy it. After everything he’d gone through, it was hard to believe that all of it would be washed from his memory.

  Pierce had no money on him and the bank was clear across town. Instead, he walked to Jerry’s Diner, where he asked if Ashley was working. He hoped he could get a cup of tea and reimburse her once he could collect his cash at the bank.

  “Well, hello, Isaac,” Ashley greeted him, coming out of the kitchen.

  It was good to see a friendly face.

  “’Ello, love,” he beamed.

  She approached him from behind the counter. “I’m glad you stopped by. Lucy called this morning lookin’ for you.”

  Pierce didn’t expect to hear that.

  “She wants you to come over to her place straightaway,” Ashley informed him. “She mentioned it was important.”

  Pierce forgot about the tea and rushed over to her flat on foot. His toes had gone numb inside his two-tone shoes. He wished he had his suit jacket to help warm him. The fact that Lucy had called was a good sign, he thought. It’d be best to have a chat, and if all went well, he’d have his loot and they could flee the city that very day. He honestly didn’t care where anymore. California or France, as long as it was many miles from bootleggers. Even though Kelly and Leon were both worms’ meat, it didn’t mean the cops hadn’t seen his mug in the brewery. New York City was no longer safe for him—if ever it was in the first place.

  Walking through Lucy’s apartment corridor, Pierce removed his coat and folded it over his arm to hide the bloodstains on his sleeves. He knocked and the unlocked door moved inward a tad.

  Curious.

  “’Ello?” he announced while entering. “Luce?”

  “Isaac,” she called, her voice jittery.

 
; Jazz music played on the phonograph. He stepped in and spied her standing near the changing screen, holding her arm.

  “Hey,” he said, closing the door and tossing his bloodstained coat onto a nearby chair in the kitchen. He approached her. “Are you all right? Ashley told me you called and . . .”

  “Isaac, I’m sorry,” she blurted, tears gushing from her eyes.

  The wild elf stepped from behind the screen, armed with a very large knife.

  Pierce stopped short. “Kayden,” he gasped, the heat of his terror filling him.

  “Hello, little fox.” She stationed herself beside Lucy.

  Lucy was crying, but fear alone hadn’t caused her tears. Her wrist, which she was holding, was swollen, her beautiful fingers rigid and locked into a claw-like state.

  “Your woman refused to cooperate,” Kayden admitted with a vicious grin, showing off those spiky teeth of hers. “I needed to break some bones to force her to obey.”

  “You cunt!” Pierce yelled, forgetting his fear.

  He grabbed his gun and took a step forward when Kayden’s blade touched Lucy’s throat.

  “Don’t,” warned the elf. “I’ll cut her head off.”

  The threat froze him in place.

  Lucy shut her eyes and more tears escaped down her already drenched cheeks. She opened them and looked at Pierce, her bottom lip quivering.

  “Isaac,” she whispered fretfully. “I’m so sorry . . . about everything.”

  She was acting as though she expected to die and wanted to let him know that she had misjudged him before she did. It disarmed Pierce greatly.

  “It’s not your fault, Luce,” he assured her. “None of this is. It’s going to be all right, eh?”

  “Is it, Pierce Landcross?” Kayden challenged him, taking Lucy by the arm and holding her in front of her. “You still have your weapon, after all.”

  Again, Pierce didn’t fancy surrendering himself over like this, but unlike while in the brewery, Lucy’s life was literally balanced on the edge of a knife. There was no chance to save her unless he did what the elf woman wanted. He raised his free hand and slowly removed the gun from its holster.