I abruptly broke from my sleep, jerking upright in the armchair I had placed myself in, my hand instinctively moving to the pistol wedged between my thigh and the chair, eyes scanning the room. My heart slowly climbed its way down from my throat as I began to calm.  Just another dream.  My watch lay alongside a half empty bottle of white rum, positioned atop a small table beside my chair. I checked the time and regrettably noticed it was mid-morning. A dusty ray of sunlight streaked from behind the curtained window to my left, glancing off the living room floor, sending the dull morning light gently bouncing around the grey space of my apartment. My head began to throb as the stuffy atmosphere mixed with the echoes of my dream fogged my mind. I reached for the rum before tucking my pistol into the waistband of my trousers. Shaking my head, I rubbed my eyes and pulled myself from the tight embrace of the chair.

“Where the fuck have you been?” spat the angry podgy man stood by the pool table, a wad of bills in his hand, halfway counted.

I shrugged, “Somewhere else.”  I didn’t feel like dealing with Danny’s shit today.

Danny went back to counting the money in his hand, shaking his head in obvious disgust at my lateness.

“Keep it up you limey fuck and I’ll soon forget the work you’ve put in for me.” He finished counting the bills and stuck a rubber band around them before slamming them down on the table.

I stood casually in the dimly lit back room of the dance club. Armchairs and tables were scattered throughout, all were worn and tired, the fabric rubbed and faded. A small bar flanked one of the walls with various bottles of spirits and beverages running along the length of it. The decaying smell of cigar and cigarette smoke loomed in the air and from the fabric of the tattered carpet beneath my feet. The comforting sensation of cold metal on my upper thigh allowed me to relax slightly as I subconsciously traced the outline of the Browning Hi-Power pistol that was nestled in my trouser waistband through the pocket of my overcoat.  A man with a small head sat in one of the worn armchairs, reading a newspaper.  He studied me over the top of his paper briefly before returning to the headlines.

Danny strut from the pool table towards his side office, tucked away behind the bar, “Come.” He waved at me as he walked.

I followed him into his office. The strong, ever-present waft of cognac and cigars struck me as I entered. Danny slumped himself behind his desk which was littered with papers and the remnants of cigar butts, their ashes filling the glass tray that sat close to him. He reached into a drawer and produced an envelope, tossing it across the desk towards me.

“We’re stepping it up a notch,” He began as I reached for the envelope, “no more knockin’ over betting shops.”

I looked inside and found a grainy photograph of a medium sized truck with the words ‘EMPORIUM  MEATS’ stencilled across the side. There was also a map of Chicago with a route outlined, starting from the South Side and ending somewhere in The Loop.

“The meat business is a front, run by a pair of fuckin’ Polack brothers. They usin’ it to move a shit ton of barbs across town. That truck is scheduled to make that route tonight, it always leaves their warehouse in the South Side at 11:15pm sharp, like fuckin’ clockwork. I want you to take it and bring it to me.”  Danny put his feet up on the desk as he spoke.

I wasn’t happy, stealing drugs from a pair of Polish heavies with their own trucking front that spanned the city sounded like a clever way of getting my head caved in.

I held the envelope up, “This is fucking risky, Danny.”

His fat belly jiggled as he let out of laugh, “You’ll be compensated, don’t ya worry yourself. Besides, I know ya up to it.”

I sighed. Danny was connected but not exactly well. He knew some people but wasn’t a Made guy, more of an associate. If it went wrong I wasn’t sure he had enough clout to protect me, not that he would want to anyway. He’d give me up himself if it made him some cash.  I worked for him out of necessity, not from any sense of loyalty – this man didn’t understand the meaning. He was still laughing as I turned and exited.

-more to come-

The radio hummed softly throughout the interior of the old sedan that belonged to the man with the small head. He had been waiting for me outside Danny's dance club after the meeting, he'd been instructed to come with me and act as my driver. He didn't tell me his name and I didn't ask. I'd seen him hanging around Danny's club a few times before, just another one of his goons, I thought.

We were parked along a darkened street with broken street lamps, the ambient light from the moon reflected crisply off the pavement either side of the street and glistened in the light midnight rain. The truck we were targeting would be passing along this street on it's way to The Loop. I had rolled my window down a few inches so I could listen out for the sound of an approaching engine. It also cut down on the condensation in the car, which could alert an onlooker that people might be waiting inside. I gently fingered the hammer of the browning pistol wedged under my right thigh, checking again to make sure it was down and ready to go if needed, my eyes never left the street in front of me.

I'd gone over the plan with small head twice to make sure he understood it. As the truck approached, I would step out and stand behind the car. He would then pull out in front of the truck, blocking it from moving any further. Before the driver could react, I'd make my way to the driver side door, get inside, deal with the driver and we'd both be away. I didn't want it to take any more than thirty seconds, I felt far too exposed on this street and I didn't know if they would have anyone backing them.

Small head drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, “Where did you say you were from?”, his thick southern drawl spilled over every word.

“I didn't.” I muttered unenthusiastically.

He shrugged, glancing at me. “Well you don't talk like no 'merican I ever hear,” I could see him out of the corner of my eye squinting hard, applying what little brainpower he probably had, “you some kind of Alstralan or some'in'?”

I tried not to roll me eyes, “No, I'm not Australian. I'm from England.”

He slowly nodded, turning back to the street, processing this new piece of information.

“England, huh...see I always thought-” I waved a hand to cut him off.

I turned off the radio and strained my ears against the soft patter of raindrops, the low rumble of a slowly approaching engine was barely audible through the darkness. I pulled the pistol from under my thigh, gripping it firmly in my right hand and pushed the car door open, stepping into the drizzle.

“Be ready.” I said over my shoulder as I closed the door behind me.

As I made my way to the back of the car, I pulled the slide of the Browning back about half an inch, looking inside for the glint of brass that would confirm a round was in the chamber. The street was dark so I had to angle the weapon to catch light from the moon. I saw a round positioned correctly in the chamber of the pistol and I let the slide jump forward, lowering my hand down to my side.

The sound of the approaching engine was much louder now and shadows dance along the street, soft streaks of light bouncing between the buildings, presumably from the headlights of the oncoming truck. I started to take long, deliberate breaths. I hoped I wouldn't have to fight but if I did I wanted to be ready. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, a mix of nervousness and adrenaline surging through my body. A single rain drop dribbled slowly down the back of my neck, between my skin and overcoat, sending a shudder down my spine. My eyes worked overtime, scanning the buildings in front of me and down the sides of the street, checking for any movement. My ears stayed on the approaching engine, straining to hear if there was more than one. I didn't think so.

The engine became much louder and light flooded down the street, I could see two headlights about a hundred meters away, turning onto the road where we had laid our ambush. The headlights blocked the full truck from view and I couldn't be sure it was the one we wanted. Fuck it, we'd just have to get on with it now and let the chips fall where they might. The truck was fifty meters away now, travelling at a steady speed. I focussed entirely on it, my left hand hovering next to the back of small head's car, ready to give him the signal.

twenty-five meters. I gave the car two firm taps quickly to let small head know to get going. There was a brief pause before I heard him turning the engine over. Then nothing. He tried again, nothing. Fuck! What a time for the car to stop working. I could hear him cursing inside the cab of the vehicle.

“Fuck, come on man, come on!” He kept turning the ignition, trying to start the car.

The truck was ten meters away, it was now or never. I muttered a silent prayer under my breath. He turned the key again and the engine spurted into life. Small head hit the revs and the car jumped forward into the road, stopping abruptly in front of the truck. As the driver of the truck came to notice this new obstacle, he sharply applied the brakes and truck tyres screeched, piercing the otherwise peaceful night and reverberating off the walls of the buildings around us. The truck came to a rest mere inches from the side of the car.

I set off quickly, running under control towards the driver's door. Speed and surprise was going to be the key to success here. I crossed the ten or so yards between my hiding spot and the stationary truck in a couple of seconds, reaching the driver door and grabbing firmly onto the handle with my left hand, right hand raised with my pistol pointing forwards at the door, finger on the trigger. I pulled the handle and swung the door open, looking inside, straining at the dark outline of a figure sat in the seat.

I pointed my pistol directly at him, commanding him at just below a shout, “Out of the fucking truck, now!”

His hands fumbled around his lap and my eyes darted down, checking them. It was then I noticed the shotgun pointing in my general direction, it must have been resting on him as he drove. I dove off to the side of the open door as an eruption of shotgun pellets shredded through the empty space I had occupied a moment earlier, the tarmac road and pavement taking the brunt of the shotgun blast. I landed next to the box of the truck, rapidly rolling underneath it and out the other side. My pistol was still in my right hand and I held it aloft as I scrambled to my feet, heading for the passenger door and tearing it open. I hoped to catch him before he could act, coming behind him. It took me a moment to realise the cab of the truck was empty, the driver had gotten out.

Another shotgun blast shrieked through the night, this time accompanied by breaking glass and scraping metal. A reply of two pistol shots followed it before another volley from the driver's shotgun silenced them, glass from the front of the car's windscreen sprayed past me onto the road. I stood next to the engine block of the truck and peeked around the front of it, looking through the small gap between the shredded car and the truck, pistol pointing out in front of me, both hands on the weapon. I immediately caught the figure of the truck driver, stood in the open behind the car, shotgun pointing from his hip towards the car where I stood off to the side. I brought the pistol up to his centre of mass, exhaling and gently squeezing the trigger back. I couldn't see the sights of the pistol because of the low light but I was confident I had an accurate shot on him.

The driver must have seen movement from the other side of the truck and turned his head, swinging the shotgun around towards me.

He bellowed profanity as the shotgun swung around, “Fuckin' assholes think you can fuck with-”

Before he could finish, I pulled back the trigger of my Browning twice in quick succession, firing a double-tap at him. I didn't see where the rounds landed but he immediately dropped to the floor, shotgun clattering against the tarmac of the road. I jumped from my position, darting around the front of the car, glass crunching underfoot as I moved. Where was small head? I rounded to the rear of the vehicle, the mass of the driver laid out on the floor, arms stretched out in front of him and legs bent up to his chest. I wasted no time and fired another two rounds at close range into his head, finishing the engagement.

I straightened up, holding the pistol close to my chest, still pointing forwards. I took stock and mentally checked myself over, making sure I hadn't caught a stray round. My head swivelled, checking for any movement or reaction, trying to get my breathing under control. It was all quiet again, except for a dog barking its head off a block or so away. I peered into the car from the back window.

“Hey,” I called out to small head, “you alright?” No answer.

I stepped around to the driver door and looked through the window. Small head's limp body was slumped in the seat, the front of his face was covered in blood and parts of his skull and large clumps of what looked like brain matter dripped from the steering wheel and dashboard, his pistol sat loosely in the palm of his right hand. He must have fired those two shots at the driver through the rear windscreen before taking a shotgun blast to head. Shit, this was going to be an easy link back to Danny. I opened his door and carefully reached inside small head's jacket pocket, issuing a silent apology. I pulled out a wallet and checked it for his ID stuffing it into my own jacket before stepping away, closing the door again.

The engine of the truck was still rumbling, the driver hadn't switched it off. Fuck it, I thought, nothing else I can do here now. I jumped into it, stepping over the driver's lifeless body, blood still oozing from the two holes in the back of his head, a pool of blood around his chest was forming, glistening in the ambient light of the moon. Slamming the door shut, I threw the truck into reverse and manoeuvred it back to give me room to drive around the car. I'd drop the truck off as planned but I had a feeling this wasn't going to be the last I heard of this. The dog continued going berserk as I drove away into the night.

Spit foamed around Danny’s mouth and sprayed in my general direction as he waved his big floppy arms expressively, profanity piercing every other word he spoke. His face had turned a dark shade of red, fists clenched tightly together turning his knuckles white. His round belly jiggled from side to side as he made his less-than-imposing gestures and a crack scarred his dusty wooden desk. He had not taken well to the news that two men were dead, one of them belonging to the people I had just robbed on his behalf.

“You have really fucked me you fuckin’ limey prick!” A volley of saliva spurted from his mouth, projected by rage.

I stood with my back to his office door, both hands in my pockets. I wasn’t afraid on this moron, so I allowed myself to relax - but only slightly. I had dropped the truck off at Danny’s warehouse, just a few streets away from the dance club and made my way here. The thump of music being played in the room behind us did little to drown out Danny’s bellows.

I replied to his onslaught firmly, attempting to conceal my contempt, “I told you there was a risk. Besides, we weren’t to know the driver kept a shotgun ready on his lap in case someone came knocking. Their crew clearly doesn’t fuck around.”

He shook his fists and turned a shade of red darker, bringing his complexion dangerously close to purple, “Why the fuck didn’t you- fuckin’- I don’t know! Take the shotgun off the shithead and just- fuck!”

He slammed his fist down onto his desk, adding another crack in the wood. I was starting to worry he was going to burst a blood vessel. As he looked up, ready to release another verbal assault on me, the phone on his desk began to ring. He stopped and looked at it. It rang a second time. I looked between the pair – I could see dread starting to replace the anger on Danny’s face. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Three rings. He reached out a hand towards the phone, pausing momentarily to wave his other hand at me in a get-out gesture. I turned and opened his office door. I was met by a blast of music and a collection of voices. Stepping out into the noise, I closed his door behind me as he answered on the fourth ring.

I had balanced myself on one of the empty stools at the bar, ordering a drink from the barman. The back room of the club was filled with people, enjoying a night out. Rowdy party-goers – a mix of smartly dressed, working men and their cheap girls sat and stood either side of me, chatting and laughing away. Loud music and jeers filled the next room where the main club was. Half a scotch later, Danny emerged from his office behind the bar clutching an envelope. He waddled to the other side of the bar where I was sat and threw the envelope down on the table, a few dollar bills spilling out. He turned without saying anything and started back to his office. The barman ignored our exchange and continued serving drinks to other customers.

I watched him as he went, “That’s it?” I asked mildly annoyed.

He ignored me and slammed his door behind him, disappearing once again into his office. I shook my head, picking up the envelope and checking inside. About $2k I estimated. I closed it up and finished off my scotch, getting to my feet. I picked up my coat from the bar and placed the envelope in the inside breast pocket, before throwing it on over my shoulders and making for the exit. I couldn’t wait to get back to my apartment and take a long shower.