Bugsy’s Revenge – Flash Pulp

pulp, noir, hardboiled, detective, crime, fiction

I was tailing the unfaithful husband of a neurotic client down a dark alley on the outskirts of Rush City when someone slipped behind me and put a gun to my neck. I heard Bugsy’s voice and knew I had a problem.

“Frank Danger, P.I.!” he said with a delighted baritone that rumbled like a dump truck.

“Bugsy.”

He laid a heavy mitt on my back and sent me staggering. Bugsy was a great guy. I thought the world of him. “Hands up!” he said, “Turn around slow.”

I came around to the barrel of a pistol pointed at my chest. I tried not to look at it. “Bugs!” I said. “Long time no see.”

He told me to shut it and waggled the gun around in a careless way I wasn’t thrilled with. “Eight years, Frankie,” he said. “Eight! Do you have any idea how long that is in the joint?”

“Well,” I said. “If I had to guess, I’d say eight years.”

He didn’t think I was cute. His meaty hand brought the gun up to my face and thumbed back the hammer.

“Easy, Bugs,” I said. “I’m not the guy who sold you out.”

He growled and his gold tooth glinted in the electroliers. He said: “I know it was you, Danger. Know why? ‘Cause I paid good money to find out, that’s why.”  He puffed his chest, smiled, and showed the gold tooth. “Some of those cops you run with are dirty as me.”

I shook my head. “Bugsy my friend, you’ve been had. However, as luck would have it, I may know a way I can help you recoup some of your losses.”

“Losses?” He laughed. “You gonna give me back eight years of my life? Nah, we’re gonna make this right another way, Frankie. We’re gonna square things right here.”

“Thirty grand!” I said. A drop of sweat slid cold down my back.

Doubt flickered in his eyes. He tilted his head, tried to think. It looked painful.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked, going inside my jacket. He frowned but didn’t stop me. I opened a cigarette case and took one, tapped it on my lighter and lit it.

Bugsy was skeptical. “What are you talking about?”

“Just a courtesy, Bugs, some people don’t care for smoke.”

“Before that,” he snarled. “The part about thirty grand.”

I snapped the case shut and blew smoke into the fog. “Thirty grand,” I said. “I have a line on it. We could take it, you and me. It’s just sitting there but I can’t do the job alone. Look Bugs, you mind lowering the gun? You make me nervous.”

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and eyeballed me suspiciously. The gun came down slowly and hung by his side but his finger stayed on the trigger. “Let’s have it,” he said.

I jammed a thumb over my shoulder. “That shop back there, the one with all the lights.”

He looked past me. “Do-jo?”

“That’s it.”

He looked like I told him I could fly. “That’s one of them karate outfits!”

I shook my head. “Do you see the word ‘Karate’ anywhere?”

He gawked over my shoulder. “What’s J-Jiyoo…”

“Jiu Jitsu,” I said. “It’s a Japanese dance. You’ve seen it. The guys tiptoe around barefoot in silk pajamas and wave their arms just so. They all wear ponytails. It’s a lost art. Monks invented it three thousand years ago.”

Bugsy stared over my shoulder. He really wanted that thirty grand. He looked back to me and asked: “What’s the play?”

“Simple,” I said. “We go in the front. You handle the Japanese guy while I go back and get the loot. It’s in an office safe but he never locks it.”

“How did this guy come by that much money?”

I winked. “Opium den.”

“Bugsy’s eyes narrowed. “How come you know so much?”

“I’ve been on this one a long time, Bugsy,” I told him. “Just waiting for the right opportunity.”

He suddenly shook his head. “I never knew you to pull no heists. You’re supposed to be a good guy.”

I shrugged. “Good guys gotta eat.”

Bugsy pondered that and asked: “What about masks?”

I waved it off. “Cops won’t put resources on this. That guy probably can’t even ID us in English.”

Bugsy nodded as though he found that reasonable. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t get cute or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

“Understood,” I said, and we walked over. Once inside the dojo, I nodded to the instructor and spoke Japanese. “Evening, Phil. This guy’s got me hostage. He thinks we’re going to rob you.”

Phil’s eyes twinkled. He put his arms straight up, turned a frightened face to Bugsy.

“What did you say?” Bugsy demanded. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him this was a holdup. I said you were dangerous and you’d shoot him dead if he did anything stupid.”

Bugsy waggled the gun. “I will, old man. I’ll shoot you dead.” He looked at me. “Don’t just stand there. Get the money!”

The phone was on a desk. I had an operator send an ambulance and clattered out the back into the alley. I heard Bugsy say: “I mean it old man, not another step!” Then there was a scuffle. The gun went off and there came a dry, snapping sound. Bugsy began to scream.

“Danger!” he wailed from the floor. “Danger!”

I went down the alley and around the side of the dojo to the sidewalk. A lone set of headlights bounced towards me through the fog. I held up a hand on a hunch and the lights bounced over and stopped at the curb. “Riverside Casino, my good man,” I told the cabbie. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

Author: FredRock

Pulp fiction. Noir. Hardboiled.

3 thoughts on “Bugsy’s Revenge – Flash Pulp”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s