by Dan O'Brien
Mobsters, Monsters & Nazis
The Day After Yesterday
Written by Dan O’Brien
Illustrated by Steve Ferchaud
© 2014 Dan O’Brien
Ava had not expounded on her premonition and Derrick didn’t press the issue. The Weasel had slobbered and slurred a bit more, but none of it was worth knowing. To be fair, Derrick was more interested in her reaction to the Object’s true name. It was like she had heard it before. Tommy’s voice drifted through the fog of his introspection.
“Boss?” he called, looking into the rearview mirror.
Ava was curled up against the door. Derrick could not make out her features in the darkness of the back seat, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping.
“Waterfront again,” answered Derrick to the unspoken question.
It had been a few hours since he and Ava watched some goons toss his place.
The city passed around them in a blur of darkened buildings and occasional flashes of neon light.
Derrick’s apartment complex emerged from the other nondescript buildings that lined the part of the waterfront that had been abandoned and left for dead. Luxury condos and clubs used to line the streets, but that was before times got tough and the good people left. Now, the complex was four walls and a roof on its best day.
As they got out of the cab, Tommy continued to stare forward. The door to the building was propped open and the artificial light outside flickered.
“What’re we doing back here?” Ava asked.
Derrick pointed toward his apartment. “Have to grab a few things, and I thought you might want to change.”
“You have something that might fit me? How have you been spending our nights, Diamond?”
He scoffed and trudged up the three short steps that led into the complex.
They walked through a narrow hallway. Heads poked out and eyes watched from the darkness of the apartments they passed. The sounds of closing doors and whispered words followed them like an echo as they headed past the elevator for the stairwell. The elevator had been out of order since Derrick had moved in years ago. A handwritten sign announced the broken transport; it hung unevenly on a frayed string.
Derrick pushed open the door to the stairwell and cleared his throat.
Ava followed him, chancing a last look down the hallway at the suspicious eyes that watched from behind the comfort and security of their chain-locked doors. “Not exactly a trusting bunch, are they?” she quipped.
“Not much to trust in this part of town.”
To call the stairwell stuffy would be inaccurate. Ava felt like she was trapped in an oven.
She breathed out as they emerged from the stairwell into a narrow hallway, filled once more with wandering and suspicious eyes. Graffiti and chipped paint lined the left side as they trudged toward the door at the end of the hallway. The chaos of the apartment search loomed in the darkness as Derrick opened the door. The goons hadn’t even bothered to lock up after their unceremonious raid. He walked across the apartment in the darkness, having memorized the layout for just such an occasion.
Clicking on a lamp, light filled a small area around the shade and cast shadows on the rest of the room.
“Make yourself at home,” he grumbled.
Ava looked around. “Not much of a home….”
Derrick ignored the comment and made his way to a wall safe on the far side of the room. Quickly turning the dial and opening the safe, he reached inside to grab his revolver and a ragged journal––narrowly missing a few booby traps he had left inside for idle hands.
“You mentioned a change of clothes?” she asked in an off-handed way.
He motioned to a clothing rack on the opposite side of the room by the window. The clothes were hanging behind a dull-colored dressing screen. Ava walked over to them and touched each, lifting some from the rack and then letting them slip back. “Interesting collection, Diamond.”
“What can I say? I know a lot of strange women,” he chided.
She smiled and pulled a long trench coat from the rack, which she wrapped around herself and cinched at the waist. Ava reached into the pockets and found a dark black hair tie. She pulled her hair back and bunched it tightly, giving herself a less glamorous look. Stepping out of her formal shoes, she squatted down and looked at the base of the rack for more appropriate footwear. She located some tall, strange-looking, boots that were her size. “Nice boots,” she uttered to no one in particular.
Inspecting them, she decided they would do. After pulling them on, she zipped them up along the sides.
Stepping into the open, she turned slightly to show off the new look. “What do you think?”
Derrick turned and looked her up and down. “You won’t stand out in a crowd.”
She smirked. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
He nodded absently and placed the journal and revolver inside his long coat. “We’re still no closer to the Object,” he lamented.
No longer dressed like a songstress, her playful tone disappeared as she assumed her real demeanor. “We should pay the Fat Man a visit. You procured it at his behest, so he clearly has a vested interest, don’t you think?”
“He won’t be happy to see us.”
“I don’t see how that is our problem.”
Derrick acquiesced and motioned for her to go first.
As she walked through the door, Derrick began to hum; the nameless hymn had manifested itself as a steady rhythmic humming that he did not notice.
“What’s that tune?” Ava asked as they made their way into the hall.
Derrick looked up. “What tune?” he asked.
She grimaced. “Nevermind.”
They headed for the stairwell in silence.
A shadow watched from the darkness as Ava and Derrick emerged from the apartment complex and climbed into Tommy’s Gates cab. Though his features were obscured, the shadow’s body remained tense and ready as he observed the duo.
Clutching a dagger in his hand, a slithering thug snuck quietly behind the shadow, waiting for the right moment to spring forward. Just as the reptilian hooligan was lowering himself and preparing to pounce on his prey’s back, the shadow turned, pulled a revolver, and shot the thug, killing him instantly.
Looking down at the corpse, he spoke roughly. “Nice boots.”
With a few shuffling steps, the shadow disappeared.
The Weasel had not been as careful as he had thought in setting up his clandestine meeting with Derrick and Ava.
As another hard fist crashed into his face, he began to accept the inevitable: he might not survive an interrogation by the Nazis. They were holding him in a dark room with a single light just above him, which swung and creaked irritably as blow after blow turned his already-soft body into jelly.
“I will ask you this again….” began Der Deutsch in clipped English. “Where is the Object?”
The Weasel tried to speak, but managed little more than a drool. “I….”
Der Deutsch leaned in slightly while adjusting the blue gloves that covered his hands. “These hands of blue will not wait much longer,” cautioned the Nazi commander.
Swallowing hard, the Weasel sighed and tried again. “I…don’t…know.”
Another first struck him across the face. Before he could utter another word, another balled-up fist crashed into his stomach. He leaned forward, wheezing, desperately searching for a comfortable breath. The light overhead wobbled and danced, adding to the pounding in his head. Lifting his head up, he stared into the light until it created spots in his vision.
Der Deutsch bent
down so he could look the Weasel in the eyes; his breath smelled like cinnamon. “If you do not know where the Object is, then what did you tell them?”
“Them?” managed the Weasel.
He received another fist across his face as an answer.
“Let us not insult each other. You are a man who has information and I am a man capable of extracting that information no matter the circumstances. I know that you met with Derrick Diamond and Ava Harpy. What did you tell them?”
The Weasel contemplated his options. Would Der Deutsch kill him regardless of what he told him? Did he owe Diamond anything such that he should keep anything from the Nazi commander? “What are my chances of getting out of this if I tell you what you want?” slurred the Weasel.
“Better than if you tell me nothing at all,” countered Der Deutsch.
The Weasel nodded. “I told them about the antikythera mechanism.”
“And?” pressed the Nazi commander.
“They know that you built a machine,” answered the Weasel, swallowing noisily.
Der Deutsch stepped out of the light. “That is most unfortunate. That is information that should not have been shared with others.”
The Weasel looked around wildly. “The Fat Man will know.”
“The Fat Man will know what?” asked Der Deutsch over his shoulder.
“Everything. Anything,” sputtered the Weasel, pleading.
Der Deutsch raised the corners of his mouth, the closest he came to a smile. He said nothing more and paced out of the light to the song of the Weasel grunting and crying as his men continued to work him over.
Ava and Derrick reached the Yellow Monarch before it opened, so they went around to the back door and broke in. The way Derrick figured it, the Fat Man could afford a new lock given the circumstances. Derrick entered with his gun drawn. Walking down the hallway that led into the main room, they soon found the Fat Man alone in the back, smoking a cigar and sitting on a massive throne with cryptic symbols painted upon it.
“Have you brought me the Object?” asked the Fat Man without concern.
Derrick looked around the room and then holstered his weapon. “No. We were hoping you might have some more information.”
The Fat Man pressed his large hands into his chair and scowled. “I’ve given you all the information I have, Diamond.” Ava walked away from them, approaching the stage. As she did so, an insect-like goon, with large antennae and enormous eyes, emerged from the darkness. Crossing his arms over his chest, he spoke. “Nice to see you again, Ava. Why don’t you join us over here?”
Ava looked at the thug and then sauntered back to the Fat Man.
A varmint the size of a small dog squeaked irritably at the mob boss’ side. A chain around its neck tethered it to the Fat Man’s throne. Derrick looked down at the thing and grimaced. “We talked to the Weasel.”
“Good for you. What of it?” challenged the Fat Man.
“What is the antikythera mechanism?” asked Derrick.
The Fat Man nodded his head toward Ava as she looked at the insect hooligan and then his weapon. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” queried Derrick, turning slowly to look at Ava.
The Fat Man adjusted his sitting position. He pulled tightly on the rope that held the small vermin, causing it to yap loudly. “She is not what she seems, Diamond.”
Derrick turned to face Ava as the sound of a car outside drew his attention.
Outside of the Yellow Monarch, Der Deutsch and a squadron of his goons arrived. The werewolf walked beside the Nazi commander. The shadow watched the men approach from atop the club, his collar drawn up to combat the cold wind. As they disappeared beneath the foyer below him, the shadow blended into the night.
As Der Deutsch’s men burst through the front doors without a formal invitation, Ava rolled across the room and drew the gun from the antennae-adorned thug to her left. Before the Fat Man could say otherwise––and certainly before Derrick could even process the fact that a lounge singer had judo-rolled across the room and disarmed the hooligan––the Nazi commander uttered a single word: “Feuer Frei!”
Since a shootout ensued, Derrick didn’t exactly have to speak fluent German to grasp the meaning.
Pulling a table in front of him to shield the spray of bullets, Derrick was too preoccupied to notice the Fat Man escape out the back.
As the Nazis ducked behind the wall near the entrance, Derrick pulled Ava down behind the table.
His voice masked the surprise he felt. “What’re you doing standing out in the open like that?”
She looked at him and then down at her weapon.
“Where did you learn to move like that?” he pressed.
“Is this really the time?” she countered with a huff.
Derrick thought about calling her out then and there, but thought better of it. Looking toward the Fat Man’s throne, he saw the lights of the hallway just beyond it. “We need to get out of here, now.”
Ava looked over the table as the Nazis crept into the main room. “I’m open to suggestions.”
He grabbed her hand and dashed toward the hallway just as a hail of bullets impacted the table behind which they had been hiding. Pushing through the door to the alleyway behind the club, Ava and Derrick rushed breathlessly into the night. As they made their way to the end of the slime-covered alley, Tommy and the familiar Gates cab stopped with a screech.
“Just in time. You can always count on Tommy,” called Derrick as he ran to the vehicle and pulled open the door.
Ava didn’t argue and jumped in; Derrick soon followed and the cab rocketed forward.
For the briefest of moments, they thought they might have gotten away.
Ava turned to Derrick, her eyebrows knitted stormily. “How did Tommy know to pick us up near the alleyway?”
Derrick smirked. “Tommy knows.”
The respite was short-lived as a few cars appeared behind them, swerving around on the road as Nazi soldiers leaned out the windows with their guns drawn. Bullets punctured the cab. Tommy wove the cab through the streets and continued to stare straight ahead as Ava climbed over Derrick and started to crawl out the window.
“Are you crazy?” he quipped.
She smirked and gripped the gun. Pulling her torso out of the window, she hung onto the window frame to steady herself. With an irritated groan, Derrick pulled himself out of the window next to him. The cold wind slapped him in the face. He pulled his hat off and threw it into the cab. As Tommy swerved to avoid a pothole, Derrick reached across and grabbed Ava’s free hand for balance.
Looking at Derrick, she smiled and held tighter––and then aimed her weapon at the trailing cars.
The cab twisted and turned through the streets as Derrick and Ava gave up their assault, having run out of ammunition.
Ducking back into the cab, Derrick barked orders at Tommy. “Take us through the Narrows.”
Tommy nodded and turned the wheel suddenly, putting the cab between two parked cars and into a narrow alleyway that wound through a series of tall, rundown, apartment buildings. Bright lights appeared in the distance as the pursuing car followed them into the alley. Tommy jerked the wheel, turning the cab down another street, before ducking into a smaller alley of the road. Before Ava had time to speak, Derrick had the door open and was pulling her out.
As they stood in the darkness, Derrick leaned against Tommy’s door. “Let them follow you around town for a while.”
“Yes boss,” Tommy answered quickly.
Derrick stepped away and placed an arm across Ava as Tommy backed the cab out of the darkened corner and into the alleyway. Its front bumper scraped the wall, dislodging some of the old mortar and brick. Derrick watched his friend for a moment more, and then the duo disappeared into the night.
The shadow observed Ava and Derrick, their footfalls fading into the night. He walked from one end of the roof of the building to the other.
A few streets over Der Deut
sch talked to his men and issued orders in irritated tones. “They were not in the abandoned cab we found. Find the Fräulein and Diamond. They know where the Object is,” he commanded.
The soldiers nodded and then marched in different directions. The werewolf held up a lighter as Der Deutsch took a long, filtered, cigarette from his pocket. He did not lean forward, instead waiting for the werewolf to extend his hand to light it.
He pointed the cigarette at the werewolf and the other reptilian hooligan. “Where is your boss?”
“The Fat Man?” croaked the serpentine thug.
“Yes, we had an agreement, but he escaped before I could have a proper conversation with him. Do you know where he went?” asked Der Deutsch with as little venom as he could manage.
The werewolf shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think he is hiding the Object?”
“I think that he does not keep his people in line. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The two thugs looked at each other and nodded.
“Very well. Bring me the Fat Man. Convince him. Lie to him. I don’t care. All that matters is the result.”
Der Deutsch turned and left the thugs standing alone.
It did not take long for Derrick to break into an old building that had long ago been used as a packaging factory. Tall stacks of confections that would never spoil lined the walls of a wide open hangar. Ava walked ahead of him with her arms across her chest.
“I’m guessing you want some answers….” she said without turning to him.
Derrick looked back in the direction they came and then grimaced. “You might say that.”
“What would you like to know?” she countered as she turned and faced him.
Light filtered in from outside, casting shadows in the open area of the building.
“Let’s start with the death wish.”
She smirked. “You don’t like strong women?”
