- Polite Fictions

Slick cradled Charlie's body with his own, pressing wherever he could to find a pulse, a breath, any one of the thousand signs a living body routinely flashes. He found the wound instead, hiccuping blood. He pressed the base of his palm over the wound and whispered into her ear. He couldn't tell if he was whispering out loud.

You're not dead. Not yet. Your body's still pumping blood, so you're still alive. You're just in shock. You're in shock. Blood squeezed its way around his palm. Slick pressed harder and prayed.

Aloysius stared in disbelief at the crumpled bodies, then at Claudette, collapsed on the floor in the same crumpled attitude as her daughter. A little pistol lay cradled in her hand.

"Euri," Aloysius said, "please see to Mrs. LaCroix and take her weapons. Check her thoroughly. Get her a drink. And cut Roman from his chair".

"Claudette," he began. Something passed over his face then, a weather system sweeping across his forehead. "You should have used the shotgun. You would have gotten me for sure".

Euri kicked the pistol away and picked up the shotgun. Claudette submitted to a quick pat-down, squeezing her eyes shut and sobbing.

"I couldn't take the chance of hitting my baby, ah shit ah shit ah shit".

Aloysius nodded.

"Just save her, please. Call a doc. Let me call a doc".

"Claudette, I have longstanding business to attend to here".

"Bastard".

"What about those two?" Euri asked.

Aloysius harrumphed and sat down on a chair.

"Maybe this one can help us," Aloysius mused, nudging Slick with one white leather shoe.

Slick shook his head. "No". He spat some blood and started again. "Not unless you call a doctor in. I don't give a shit about me. I've been dead for the last few hours, I figure. But you save Charlie. You save Charlie and I give you what you want".

"But young man, I want what I want, right now. Do you see? I am not involving doctors until you give me that thing I want. Maybe then. After you tell me what's hiding inside that sad-clown letter she wrote you. After you tell me where my fucking money is".

Slick blinked some liquid out of his eye. "Goddamnit," he said. " Goddamn you too".

Aloysius shrugged. Yes, the shrug said, goddamn me. What else is new?

"Alright," Slick said. "I'll do it. Maybe you'll help her, maybe you won't. I guess it's worth a shot. But I need a fucking cigarette for this".

"Euri," Aloysius gestured. "A smoke for the helpful young man".

"Christ," Slick said, "have you seen those black things he smokes? I've been breathing in that Russian tar crap of his for the last two hours. Not to impugn your employee's taste, but I need a real smoke".

Aloysius reached into his jacket and plucked out a pack of Marlboros between two sausage fingers. "You're a funny young man," he said, drawing out a smoke and inserting it between Slick's lips.

"Light?"

"Of course". Aloysius snapped out a tiny chrome lighter and leaned forward. Slick took a grateful, lung-searing drag.

"Thank you," he said, and slipped a blade into Aloysius' larynx.