Charlie's hand curled around the grip of Claudette's pistol, a little Beretta tucked away in her waistband. What was it, a .22 caliber? But you'd be amazed at what a tiny bullet can do when it's launched a millimeter away from your neck.

The barrel snagged in the fabric of Claudette's clothes. That's nice, thought Charlie. Old lady underwear is going to be listed as my official cause of death.

"Have a piece of pie, you little bitch," snarled Claudette, and bit down hard on her shoulder.

The move was designed to shock, to sneak underneath the thrumming wire of Charlie's reflexes.  Charlie grunted but kept her grip on the gun.

Claudette bit harder.

"Oh, fuck off!" screamed Charlie. She tore the gun from Claudette's waistband and shot her twice in the stomach.

Claudette stepped sideways and dipped her hand into a pocket of her sweater, as if looking for something.  Then a leg buckled and she went down.

"Ah shit," she whispered. "I'd tell you to shoot me in the head but that fucking gun is out of bullets".

"Don't worry. I could kill you with one good kick".

Claudette wheezed out a laugh. "Of course you can, baby girl. Ah shit. This one hurts".

"Don't bite me next time". Charlie sneezed violently. "I hate that gunpowder smell. I think I'm allergic".

"When I get better we're going to have some words".

Then the room was suddenly full of people, men with flashlights and weapons cutting through the pistol smoke and the amber fug of the bar, pouring in as if the contents of a great slop bucket had been hurled across the threshold.  Blades of blue and red light swiped at the walls.

I died after all, thought Slick. Died and went straight to SWAT team heaven.

Charlie spun around and dropped down over Slick's body.  Her hands circled around his chest, her lips filled his ear. She whispered something urgent and quick.

"Claudette Sestina! Lana Horowitz! You are under arrest! Ah Christ, that one's shot, let's get the EMTs in. And get that one off the floor".

Hands pulled Charlie up and away, into the mass of uniformed men.  SWAT team heaven is not for the likes of us, Charlie. And it's crap.

A man in a beige suit stepped over Slick, looked down and snorted. "Of course you're still alive".

Slick grinned in his patented Slick way, but his teeth were bloody and the effect was grotesque, like a corpse on a game show. "Doug.  You're alive too".

Doug nodded, then snapped his finger at Slick. "Got another one here! Get him on the pro-verb-i-al stretcher!"

Men in jumpsuits wheeled the stretcher over, weaving around chairs and bodies.  Someone pushed an IV needle into the crook of his elbow.  Hell yes.

"What do you know," said Doug. "I ask for a proverbial stretcher and they bring a real one.  You lucky shithead".

The EMTs wheeled him out on the stretcher.  The last thing Slick saw as the morphine rolled over his nerves was Doug crouched over Euri's prone and taped body.

---

"Wake up," said Doug.  He gave Slick a light cuff on the cheek.

"Wake up," he repeated. "You've earned it".

"What have I earned?" Slick said.  The lights in the room twinkled at a nice distance, like stars.

Doug thought about it for a moment. "I don't know.  Free medical care?  Good drugs?  Not getting arrested?  Take your pick, kino winner".

"Where's Charlie?"

"Who?"

"Charlie".

"Oh her," Doug nodded. "I wish you could smoke in here.  She called herself Charlie?"

Slick said nothing, waited him out.

"A smoke would be good". Doug scratched his chin.  "Yeah, you're in love with her.  Who can blame you?  She was perfect.  And she's not yours, Slick.  She's a ghost".

"If you close the door and open the window," Slick said, "you can have a smoke.  We can split one".

Doug fished in his jacket pocket for a smoke.  "Witness protection, Slick.  She was supposed to stay on the other side of the country.  She came back for something.  Money, I think.  And maybe family".

"She shot her family in the stomach".

"Claudette?" Doug pushed the door shut with his foot and lit up.  "She's her family like I'm the king of shitsville". He passed the cigarette to Slick and tucked it into the corner of his mouth.  "There you go, you look like a fucking warning ad now".  He took the smoke back.  "That girl you're panting after is named Lana Horowitz.  She and Claudette have been pulling crap ever since Lana was ten.  Together they've got a jacket that would fit Marlon Brando and leave room for two Pacinos.  I think Lana's parents actually sold her to Claudette as a child, can you fucking believe that?"

Doug took another puff and pointed to a little kidney-shaped receptacle on a tray by the bed. "They probably want you to puke or take a dump in that or something," he said.  He took out his pack of smokes and placed them on the nightstand.

"Thanks," Slick said.  "Thanks for all this".

Doug folded his coat over his arm. "Don't bother," he said. "This comes courtesy of your Charlie.  She's providing us with more information on Aloysius, Euri, the whole lot of them.  Even Charlotte. In exchange, we're saving your life. And burying her in a hole so deep she'll never find daylight again".

"What about the Laughing Whore?" said Slick.

"The what?"

"Never mind".

"Hey," said Doug.  "You remember what you said to me when we met in the diner?"

Slick tried to lift the blanket of opioids that lay over his thoughts. "Nope," he finally said.

"Me neither.  You threw a fucking napkin dispenser at my head, dickwad".  Doug grabbed the smokes from the table and strode out, leaving a smell of burnt tobacco.

Slick closed his eyes and waited until he was sure Doug had left.  In the drawer of his nightstand hid the thing that Charlie had given him when the police had burst in, when her hands had touched his flesh again and her mouth had whispered fiercely into his ear, I love you.  Find me.

He pulled the photo out of the nightstand and studied it.  There was a clue buried in that photo somewhere. He just had to find it.

Find me.

Slick smiled.  Just give me time.

Comments

[ms picket to you]

shivers, in a good way.

and the photo coming back? um yeah.

loves it goat. love.

[Susan (Trout Towers)]

Dang, that was a good read.

[TwoBusy]

I'm supposed to follow that?

Damn you.