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I leaned over and gave her a big passionate kiss, resisting the urge to roll over onto her warm, naked body.
I jumped out of bed before I lost the small amount of willpower I was channeling to leave her. I glanced back, smiling and waving goodbye as I headed toward the stairs to retrieve my clothes and be on my way. They were still on the kitchen floor where we’d left them last night.
“Remember, any trouble you call me. And you gotta make a decision about testifying. I’ll speak to the Lieutenant if you decide to do it. I’ll get it arranged by next week. Promise.” She was nodding back at me, eyes on my naked body as I stood in the doorway. I remained there for a second, stretching my arms out and flexing my muscles. Her eyes widened.
I laughed as I ran down the steps to get dressed quickly, feeling like a naughty teenager as I left through the back door, effortlessly vaulting the back wall into the alleyway behind Eden’s backyard.
A little while later I’d returned back to my apartment, took a quick shower, and dressed into clean clothes. A quick donut and coffee was all I had time for before I headed out to my car, mind racing with ideas.
How do I get hold of that scumbag, Goldie?
I could cruise the streets but last time I’d done so I had seen no sign of him. I’d already guessed that he’d had a word with Conall and taken a step or two up the ladder.
Just as easy to slip as it is to climb, Johnny boy. Unfortunately for you, you’re gonna find that out the hard way.
An idea popped into my head suddenly. There was an old biker’s bar on the other side of town, Freddie’s. It had been the headquarters of the old O’Rourke gang. They’d been brazen enough to run their drug operation from the bar.
I didn’t think Conall would be as stupid, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if he’d taken his uncle's old bar back. Somewhere they could stay away from prying eyes, make deals with dirty cops and associates, organize distribution…
That’s where I’d find Goldie, if my assumption was correct.
That’s the thing with gangsters. Most of the time they have no imagination. Too predictable. Trying to be what someone else was, trying to be like people who are dead or in jail.
I shuddered to think what we’d be up against if we ever came up against an intelligent, original, subtle gangster with a decent imagination. I prayed that day never came.
I checked my guns as I headed to my car, ensuring both were fully loaded. The weight of them against my body comforted me. I could draw and shoot a headshot in a second or so and was deadly accurate. I’d taken plenty of hard men by surprise, disbelief on their faces as they dropped to the floor.
Lightning reflexes, and years of nurturing an almost superhuman natural talent with handguns. Sometimes I wondered if I took after my namesake gunslinger more than I thought.
I drove casually over to Frankie’s bar, focusing on remaining calm. My sharp eyes surveyed the road as I approached the bar, looking for any sign of activity. I couldn’t see anyone leaving or arriving as it was and took a position back down the road from the bar. Far enough away to avoid too much suspicion, but near enough to keep an eye on the bar.
There was no sign of much, other than some big mean looking bikes arrayed out the front of the bar. A few big, skin headed figures emerged every now and again to smoke by the door. Black, sleeveless jackets. Some had bandanas. The biker uniform. Everyone who walked past the bar looked the other way. Most crossed the road well before getting near Freddie’s.
A long time passed before I saw anything useful. Then someone caught my eye.
A smaller, squatter figure emerged from the bar with two other massive bikers. Gold teeth flashed in the early afternoon sun as he lit up a cigarette. A large beer was in his hand, and he drank it greedily, gut extending as he took big chugs.
I frowned, nodding as I saw him.
Got ya.
It was a good few hours still until Goldie left the bar, staggering slightly. Drunk at 3pm. I figured it would make my job all the easier.
He walked drunkenly over to his car which was parked near the bar, struggling with his keys as he opened the driver’s door. He set off, swerving only slightly as he drove, hopefully back to his place. I smiled ironically at his surprisingly good driving.
You’ve done this before, ain’t ya. Still, driving a little too slow. It’ll be easy to keep up, at least.
I followed behind his car, surprised by the direct route he took back to his bungalow near the middle of town. Money and power had made him overconfident, it seemed. Decent sized, immaculate garden. Pool by the side of the house. Drug money extravagantly spent already without regard of suspicion.
What a moron.
I gave him a minute to get out of his car and stagger to his front door. I ran my hand over my short hair, watching as he approached his house.
I quickly jumped out of my car, which I’d parked a way down the road from his house. He looked round in surprise as I vaulted his picket fence, his jaw slack, hand still on the open door in front of him.
He raised his arms in attempted defence, turning to face me as I rushed across his lawn. I was too quick for him. Anger surged through me, turning into raw power as I swung a right fist at his face, solid knuckles crunching against his cheekbone. He staggered back, head cracking against the doorframe as he half fell through his doorway.
“You can’t come in here, Jack. You ain’t got a warrant. Fuck off!” He had recovered slightly and stood, hands raised in defence. He’d adopted a rough fighter’s stance.
