The Queen and The Viper Read online

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  He had only one thing on him which mattered to him now. Jack’s long nimble fingers crept into his jacket pocket. As his fingers felt for the small time piece Peggy had given him as a thanks for saving her, all the eon’s ago. He knew he couldn’t see the pocket watch, but holding in for that moment made him feel as if she was her with him. His fingers grasped the small chain, his cracked finger nails rasped the pockets cloth, then suddenly a sharp angry click came blurting out from the dark, a conical shaft of flame followed and lit up the room. He then felt his heart stop, and a whip of air rush past his face. It was a bullet that whispered past him, planting itself in the wall behind him. Again just on instinct alone the Liberty City detective darted low and to the side. He hated to admit it but he was impressed, that shot was almost point perfect. Half an inch more and it would have been all she wrote. These House creeps either were a tad to trigger happy to be running on all their marbles, or the practised blind shooting to any sound no matter how faint. He hunkered down, dead still. Straining to look in the direction of the muzzle flair. One thing he noted was that the gun, now had only two shots left. The only tremor her heard now, was that of his own heart. That was to close. Seconds dripped away, each second felt like an eternity in its own right. Jack guessed he must have wasted fifteen minutes in here already.

  A mere forty-five minutes was all he had left to sniff out the games other player, and make him miss two more attempts at his life. From his low stance his fingers told him that the floor was heavily carpeted, not cheap carpet either more plush, that explains not being able to hear this tool move about Jack thought, a hint of annoyance creeping through to his thought. He then began to creep back toward where he judged a wall should be. Normal men couldn’t fear death and look at it in the eye, and also love life despite its hard won peace to its maximum, but Jack Malone was that man. The war both on the streets of his beloved city Central and now Liberty told him that. He had learned the hard way, to cherish life, it’s highs, lows, successes and failings. Life was always a glass half full to him. Yet now crawling hand over fist on the floor, with death at a mere arms length, his mind was free of fear and still focused. He was more than eager to keep on living, he wanted to see his blonde angel again to hold her in his arms and not let go. But right now, in this dark moment he just wanted to get out of this room alive. He knew he had to stay focused no matter what may happen in the next forty-five minutes. He had a scrap of a plan. He planned he hoped to find the wall and slowly with luck skirt it’s edges. Hoping he’d find his assailant along his trail. Or at least that was his one and only hail-mary play!

  Stackpole Locke eyed Joseph Monroe, thoughtfully as Monroe paced the floor of the reptile importers in Portland Street. Monroe was a literal whirl of nerves and fearful excitement. As if he’d been hopped up on cheap booze and opium. “You’re a blooming kid” Locke muttered

  “do yo blame me” Monroe said “This is all cutting my tailcoats. First you scratched off Lance—”

  “Just shut your trap, don’t be yella’”

  Why! no one can hear us.” Monroe replied his fear starting to take him over “Anyway, first Lance kicked it thanks to a brass jacket. Then right outside, not thirty yards from our door, our resident killer hits the canvas permanently with one of them god forsaken darts in him. Normally I couldn't care less, if it weren’t for that Viper story, that Lance told us, right before you ventilated him!”

  “I tell you, it’s nothing but a story of a would be native with the spooks Monroe” Locke said sarcastically to his partner. “Listen lets just say this Viper is one of us?”

  “What of it” Monroe queried.

  “Well he’s outside the law just like us. So he’s a lone wolf, no back-up you get me. More importantly he’s no avenging spirit or whatever. He’s just a man—a single man. And pal he’ll have to find us first and this city is big. Plus my cowardly cohort he cant go to the police. One man I can scratch easily. So Monroe will you just bloody relax and can this Viper nonsense.” Monroe just shook his head not believing his partner for a second.

  “Not a chance, what if he knows of the next import shipment. Or Christ even the one got delivered today. You know the pythons. There here aren't they… So it won’t be long till...”

  “YEAH!” Locke growled,

  “and when you grow up, and can the jitters and find your balls again. We’ll go down and get the Dragon’s Eye.”

  “I don’t like it, Stackpole!” Monroe protested.

  “This front is shot face it. With Kirby in the morgue, we got a hole in the net. Whose going to fence the jewels after we break them down? And now with Lance gone whose going to man the India end?” The factories door buzzer chimed at the loading bay door, the chime shrill noise echoing through the empty loading bay. Upstairs in the factory office, both men went silent. Both, holding their breath. Locke’s hand crept inside his coat, bringing out an ugly stolen automatic. While the unarmed Monroe walked to a small cabinet and pulled out Kirby’s murderous red metal toolbox. Taking out a blood speckled hammer, stowing in his waist band under his shirt. Monroe cut the lights as Locke went to the window. A solitary man was standing before them. A tall gaunt man, with almost deep black eyes. But he was alone, with no back-up.

  Simon poured a tumbler of water over Morgan’s head. “Take it easy, bandage will be pulling up any second.” Morgan slowly rolled to his left side. “Quit, drenching me pal I’m not a fish!” The floor kept tilting away from Morgan, making him feel dizzy and at sea. “Simon your hip flask, gimmie.” Robinson begrudgingly passed him his flask.

  “Partner, you been bleeding like a stuck pig.” Benjamin paused, with the flask to his lips. Was that a pair of legs, sticking out from behind the door? He did his best to shake off the pain and confusion “Who in God’s name is that Robbie— and where’s our man Bell? He cried. Robinson’s jaw went slack, “well partner, that’s the lad you slugged. I tell you one thing you really broke his wagon all right. He aint’ going to forget that in a hurry!”

  “Robinson, I didn’t slug anyone! Someone suckered me form behind the door. Before I could get my gun out, let alone fire off a shot.” The new police detective propped himself up against what passed for a cabinet. The man on the floor was now a strange hue of blue. Morgan’s partner nodded sympathetically “A conk on a guy’s head will do that to you, I know from experience you should meet my wife she’s quite handy with a rolling pin I tell ya’. But a whack like that makes you forget what’s happened. You’ll snap back to normal soon, unless you accidentally tell your wife she looks fat in her new dress, like I did. Then it can take a bit longer cus’ the whack is a touch harder.” Simon said with a pained smile.

  Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, as his fingers came back bloodied. His throbbing head making him feel sick. “I didn’t kill him you idiot!”

  “But Morgan, he wasn’t coming freely. You know resisting arrest. You know you could have—you know, well the rules.”

  “shut up your fool” Morgan said with a play full smile, as he crawled over to the dead man’ side. Noticing a dark blot or mark on the stiffs vest, just next to the top button of the man’s shirt. In the centre something gleamed in the poor light of the room. Whatever it was, it was a mix of yellow and red, Morgan touched the fat man’s face. It was still close to normal. He hadn’t been dead long.

  “You plugged him with your first brass jacket.” Simon pointed over to the small make-shift kitchenette. Where his gun lay an iron stove, Morgan wobbled as he got to his feet, but he couldn't, half way he fell back to the floor. The barren ramshackle furnishings of he room still seemed all oddly to far away. He bent over letting the blood try to reach his brain.

  “Where’s our man Bell? You know the one in his underwear?” Robinson squinted as if the lights rooms light hurt his eyes. “The only lug I found here was our friend here, behind the door Morgan.” Ben closed his eyes to trying to stop this from spinning “Bell let m in —— then well, anyway how’d he get pas
t you?”

  Chapter Eight

  The small utility cupboard was nothing special, more a locker built into the garage, even if it had a hidden compartment or two full of white bricks. Powder which she chose to ignore for now. She was a detective but under that mask she did things her way, not the blue way, yet drugs weren’t her concern not tonight. Hunched low keeping to the shadow as best she could Peggy found it increasingly uncomfortable in these close quarters stuck between a cupboard and sickly green Tucker Torpedo. Although she had a bit of foresight to leave the door open a few inches. It gave a small amount of relief as well as an escape route in case things went south fast. Sweat beaded down her smooth white forehead and saucily over her pert upper lip. From one beautifully shaped hand protruded the ominous snout of a small black automatic she chose to call The Queens Kiss. A gift from a cowl she met in London on a job. The rounds didn’t kill, more knocked out for a few minutes. She stowed a more deadly snout nosed gun in her garter on her right thigh. From her lips up, her face was concealed by the sleek spade mask of pure black silk. A form-fitting backless frock of black satin covered her hour glass curves. The scanty bodice caught in a crisp halter neck across a creamy expanse of her lovely pert breast. The short cape of black concealed bare, kissable shoulders and her hands were gloved to the elbow.

  Peggy had been keeping watchful vigil for over half an hour now and her patience was almost gone. She was starting to wonder if she made a wrong move coming here. Raising a gloved hand, she wiped the sweat away from her forehead with a tiny ribbon of lace. Then a tight perfect curved smile appeared in the corners of her perfect mouth. He has to be here soon, he always comes back at this time like clockwork she reassured herself silently. Then I can sort this trunk load of trouble before that crook in a cheap suit can do anything There was not a hint of failure in the caped heroines mind, in fact failing wasn’t even in her vocabulary. For the last three nights she had stalked out all Dunham's haunts and residences in the foothills. He was like a machine, rigid in ritual. He always arrived home at the same hour on the dot. Always alone she didn’t think she ever saw a call girl or dame on his arm or in his bed frankly she mused. The local sheriffs office had been obliged to hunt for Jack, but to no avail, that's what spurned this queen into action. Cautious yet violent inquires on her part had been rather pointless. The House of Game’s threat in the front of her mind, that warning kept pushing her on. Was her love going to take the big sleep. Die for nothing or would he go missing like the other victims of the organization?

  Not if the Queen of Spades could help it she decided. To that end she chose to make the craziest half baked gamble of her daring career; the snatching of the unscrupulous Dunham, who she like Jack strongly convinced was one if not ‘the’ ring leader on the Houses recent affairs.

  It was nine O’clock, and was to quiet in this part of town, it was almost like the streets themselves knew the spade queen was on the prowl, and they wanted to stay out of the queens vengeful angel. Flattened against the auto-mobile, Peggy prayed for quick action, to ease the strain on her body and frantic nerves. Abruptly the pure of a more than powerful engine, came into clear view. Her trained ears picking up the whisper of rubber on concrete. A dim white glow of clear headlights cut through the night outside shining through the frosted glass panels of the garage doors. Dimly illuminating the spacious garage, even if her chosen vantage was a tad on the claustrophobic side. It was hard for Peggy to tell if it was in fact Dunham, but her instincts took over, and she let that angel take over snapping nerves taut and her slender fingers wrapped the Queens Kiss, feeling the corrugated butt in her gloved palm. Her mouth was suddenly dry. This was the pinnacle of her caped career. If she messed up now it would be over, in more ways than just a trip to a prison cell. She would have failed him, her farther and the promise she made him, when she had enough knowledge to get justice for him, finally!

  An overwhelming desire for a cigarette took her over, but she dared not risk it, Her presence must not be suspected. At least not yet she thought sarcastically. Then came a pair of footsteps outside the garage door, then the turning of a locks tumbler. The big faux cedar doors swung slowly open a moment later. Peggy instantly thought of Jack this was for him why hadn’t she told him, opened up to him about her feelings, the queen everything. But she hadn’t she wanted to be his dame more than anything, but her inner survivor told her to hold back. If she got him back maybe finally she could tell this humble brave private eye everything. But this here now was for him, then she shot a cautious glance from her vantage behind the sickly green cover.

  The district spin doctor Dunham was dressed dapper, his suited slender body was outlined in the glow of the car’s headlights as he walked back to his powerful royal blue sedan. Her Zero hour was at hand, this was her make or break moment. The bug brute of the car purred like an angry jungle cat as it rolled into it’s concrete den. Through the crack in the door Peggy, took a good hard look at Dunham. His features were refined but hardened. His steel grey were flint hard and icy. A half sneer played about his thin-lipped mouth, giving him the look of a well suited devil. In the narrow gap of her spot Peggy caught and held her breath. For the first time as the queen, she was concerned. No she was sacred. Scared that her task at hand was to big, to much of a mountain even for Liberties masked queen. Yes she was armed with her guns and other equipment, but would it be enough when the next few moves would be more than just perilous. She shook her fear off, snapping back into the moment. The D.A. slid from the drivers seat. A bulky briefcase in hand, which he carefully placed down onto the cars running board by his feet. He reached through the open window, drew the ignition key from the dash, then abruptly tensed.

  “Reach high slime ball!”

  Peg’s cold, high pitch command knifed straight through the silence of the garage as the queen swiftly and seductively up behind the unsuspecting politician. The kisses muzzle formed an icy ring flush against the base of Dunham’s neck. “Who-who are you?” he managed, trying gain some composure, “and what in Roosevelt’s name, do want breaking into my home like this?” Dunham’s tone a heady mix of fear, astonishment and rising rage. Peggy just laughed softly, the laugh hind with an angry tone of its own. “Do you still want evidence against The House Of Games, Dunham?” she snapped quickly “so that you can actually prosecute or was it just yet another lie, told to the sheep ahead of your pre-election campaign”

  Dunham snorted.

  “Everyone knows my stance. I’m ready to bring them down when the evidence is found. But I can’t do jack with silly hearsays you follow doll. What has that got to do with you anyway, more importantly you silly girl, what did you think this gun induced appointment of my time would produce, tell me please I'm intrigued. Despite your looks and reputation, I'll happily get you a long stretch in the worst prison joint I can find, think of that honey just for a second”

  For the second time Peggy mocked back with laughter “I don’t bluff, you over indulged fop” she gritted “so you might as well save yourself the damn effort. So listen up, and listen good I’m going to see to it that you get all the dirt you need. I promise you’ll wish you had never heard of The House of Games before the light of another day shines upon you and this city, my friend!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t think I understand” began Dunham weakly “cut the crap, your in bed with the House have been from the start I’d wager to, and you know it” snapped Peggy boldly.

  He just laughed “your taking a big gamble here, taking a lot for granted doll” he said. “I wouldn’t exactly relish the job of proving such ridiculous claims in court, well would you?”

  “Well that’s exactly what I’m gunning to do buddy” she returned coldly trying to add a bit of Jacks patter for effect. “Not only prove it, but see to it your put where you belong, you limp wrist pencil dick. Your a grade A traitor to the honest John’s and Jane’s who put you into that pretty office of yours.” It felt good to add a threat using Jack’s words, made her feel she was doing it
for him a little more, even if it was by proxy. Dunham, edged slowly forward. His cold steely eyes glue fast on Peggy’s kiss.

  “The Queen of Spades, however illustrious and famous, depending how the public saw it from exploit to the next, is my dear still very much wanted by a great many men not just in Liberty but in industrial Hub City as well” He sneered.

  “I’d advise you to leave now with no hard feelings and go back to sorting your own business.”

  Then suddenly he lunged. His had outstretched grasping, for a moment it looked like he may have gotten the better of her. Her gun hand grasped firm, in his own strong angered grip, suddenly

  He catapulted with her to the garage floor. It was the only time she was going to let herself be taken off guard. In the uncertain light she had failed to notice his forward motion in time. In that single moment he leaped, she fired off the kiss, the sleeper round going as she thought. Wild, she had scarce time to aim in that split second. Jumping softly to her feet in one swift move, Peggy stared at the form of Ross P Dunham on the stone floor. He lay inert, strangely still...dead. Briefly panic seized hold of her entire being. Taking the big sleep to someone, even a crook was beyond wrong. Murder was always something she steered well clear of. A vision of the dreaded gallows flitted across her remorseful mind. It was then she noticed a trickle of blood seep from his temple into the pale stone floor. A feeling of serious sickness swept over her, she reeled back quickly if it hadn’t been for her will to save Jack she to could’ve possibly taken the long goodbye. A harsh breath escaped the prone figure. Peggy took a knee, her hand retrieving her lost weapon stowing it away in her right garter holster. One little manicured hand slid between his shirt front. He lived!