This is a short story I wrote for my American Literature class. It was a challenge for me as I have never been able to successfully write a short story that I've wanted to keep short. All the bold/italicized numbers throughout the work correspond to the endnotes, just in case any of the language or phrases aren't known to the reader. I would really appreciate any and all reviews I receive on this. If you would like a review in return, please say so and I'll read whatever you would like me to. Thanks and I hope you enjoy it.

Double-crossed1

It was the last day of May when summer should have been well on its way but it was New York, which meant that here, even now, there was an occasional thunderstorm. Today was one of those days. Pouring so hard, a man couldn’t see his face, a problem in and of itself since visibility was necessary at a time such as this. I sat in a little known joint, drinking a near-beer, and thinking on the day’s events. I had just finished working on a case, looking into a fella’s2 time spent away from his wife with a little quiff3 and decided I needed a little something with which to end the day. The small joint4 down the street from my apartment provided just what I needed. I had run in to avoid a thorough drenching, though I still found my clothes to be rather damp.

Behind the bar stood a kid in his twenties, an innocent fella who spent more time with his nose in a book than he did at parties and other drinkin’ joints. He said nothin’ to me, just tended the other few sittin’ at the bar. No one interrupted my drinking while I was there, which was even better.

A few gents walked up to the bar from the niche hidden in the back of the joint. They were dressed in suits, looking almost like they had just come from church on a Sunday. “What can I do for you gents?” asked the other fella behind the bar. He was so similar to the kid standing back there that they had to be related, brothers by the look of ‘em. The three gents that had walked to the bar were all dry, leaving me to believe they had been there for quite some time.

“You seen Holden?” one of the gents asked. The elder of the two brothers stood there, his eyes widening ever so slightly. It was obvious that he knew something about this Holden fella they were asking about but what it was that was going on, I didn’t know, though I had now resigned to find out.

“Spill it,” another one said. He moved his hand to his side and that is when I took full note of the situation.

When neither brother said anything, the third gent turned and bellowed, “All right, everyone out!” I could hear the sounds of the fellas and dames5 in the joint getting up and hurrying out. “Hey, that means you too!” This comment was directed to me.

I stood up slowly and backed away from them. “All right, pal. I don’t want any trouble.” Of all the times not to bring a gun when finished with a job! Their gaze followed me as I backed out of the joint, though I did not leave. Even despite the rain I situated myself outside, near a window where I could watch the upcoming action to get a better feel for what was occurring. The second of the three gents pulls out his .22.6 He fired off a burst, the shots popping in the air. The elder of the brothers behind the bar fell back towards the wall, gasping, his eyes wide as he began to slide to the ground. The other brother watched in horror, almost in shock from what had just happened. These gents weren’t just regular fellas; they had to be gangsters, Italian by the looks of them.

“Your turn,” the first gent said, turning to the younger brother. “You seen Holden?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Yeah, tell it to Sweeney7.”

“Carlo, the boy knows nothing,” the third gent said, looking at the second. He then turned his gaze to the younger brother. “Beat it8.” The kid turned and ran out the back, almost losing his footing a couple times as he rushed to get away from the gangsters.

As the second put his gun away he looked at the other two. “That’s the last time them Morgan’s double-cross us.” Apparently they decided that their work was done as they turned and headed for the door. Knowing they would see me as soon as they stepped out of the joint, I crept round the corner and pressed against the side wall, hiding in the shadows. As I waited for them to leave I had to admit that I wanted to know more. The juice joint9 was supported by a gang by the looks of things though which mob I had yet to deduce, though for the gangs to be able to conduct successful business with joints such as this one they needed to move as ghosts in this. That meant payin’ off the bulls.10

Once the Italian gents got in their car and drove off I left my hiding spot and headed back in to the juice joint. I had to see the damage done. I looked at the body from the other side of the bar. Yep, he was dead all right; the shots were clean and he had probably been dead before he even hit the ground. I picked up the joint’s phone and called in to the local bulls. While I waited I sat back down in my previous seat and finished off my near-beer seeing as how there really was no point into leaving a perfectly good drink that full.

When the cops arrived, they walked into the place nearly soaked thru. The storm had picked up intensity and they were lucky it wasn’t worse. The first of the two cops was of a size that bordered on intimidatin’ in both stature and build, while the other was nearer to the ground and stout. One bent down and checked for a pulse on the dead body and nodded after a moment. “Yep, he’s dead.”

The other one, the stout one walked over to me and asked me to tell him what I witnessed. Calmly I explained it all to him, about the Morgan brothers working and about the three Italian gents coming up and askin’ about Holden, then the shooting and the gents leavin’. The stout one, who I find is called Long asked for my information and when he saw it he stared at me for a good minute before saying anything. “Bradley O’Donnell; never thought I’d see a dick11 as a witness.”

Long and the tall one, Chandler examine the crime scene further then shrug off the whole thing as a drunken bar fight gone wrong. Never mind that none of them had seemed the least bit zozzled.12 It only mattered that they finished their paperwork. But somethin’ about all this just didn’t sit right with me. As I left to return home I started thinking about it all; the Italian gents had been at the juice joint for quite some time as their clothes had been perfectly dry. They had known about Holden and had approached the Morgan’s about it. Then there was the whole comment the one Italian gent made about no longer being double-crossed. Was Holden another gang in the area? Quarrels had been known to occur over the turf a gang had. Was this just about land or something else? I had to find out.

About halfway home I saw a dame walking down the sidewalk, the rain pouring down in buckets on her. I pulled the car over and reached for the passenger door, shoving it open. She looked at the open door for a moment, blue eyes questioning if I was giving her a ride or opening the door for another reason. I recognized her for what she was, a quiff, but no one should have been walking out in that downpour. She sat down in my car and closed the door. Her blonde bob was plastered to her head and her skimpy blue flapper dress clung to every curve. Not only was she a quiff, but she was the same one with whom I caught my last client’s fella.

“Thank you ever so much,” she said, looking at me gratefully as I pulled away from the curb. “However can I repay you for this?”

I glanced at her for a moment, keeping my focus mainly on the road. “How about some information?” I answered.

“What kind of information?” She crossed her legs and leaned across the seat, as if she could tempt me with her feminine charm.

“I know you spend time at that juice joint down on High Street. I want to know if you have heard anything ‘bout a person named Holden.”

She gave a secretive smile, one that let me know she did have information about Holden, but she wasn’t going to give any of it without a little persuasion. “So, what’s this information going to cost me?”

“A couple of clams.13”

I nodded. If a couple clams got me the information I was after, I could pay it. When I pulled over a few blocks later and turned off the ignition in the car, I reached for my wallet, taking it out and handing her a couple bills and watched her intently for the answer. She daintily took the bills and placed them in the small purse she carried then looked at me. “Holden is one of the gangs ‘round here, pretty big one from what I hear.” She paused for a moment and gazed around the car, glancing out of the windows as if she expected someone to be watching in the middle of the storm. “Word on the streets is that the juice joint you mentioned up on High Street was dealing with the Holden’s and the DeLuca’s and they weren’t too happy ‘bout that.”

Well that explained why the one Morgan brother was now dead. I was about to ask more when she shook her head, her blonde hair flopping around in her face. “Sorry but that is all I can give you. Thank you for the ride.” She opened the car door and stepped out, heading down the sidewalk in the rain once more. What a dame.

I grabbed my keys and stepped out of my car, making sure that it was locked before heading back to my apartment and heading upstairs. It had been a long day and though this business about the Holden’s and DeLuca’s was now on my mind I knew I needed to get some sleep or I wouldn’t be at the top of my game when I sought them out.

Life had a funny way of twisting things around, even in a matter of a few hours. Over my morning cup of joe and sinkers14 I cracked open the morning paper. The city had been busy last night. Four were dead after a shootout on the streets in what was presumed to be a gang turf war. This made me wonder if it had anything to do with the shooting at the juice joint the previous night so I made a call into the police station, where I ended up speaking with Jake Chandler. What I get from him is barely any information but it does let me know one thing and that is that the Holden’s and DeLuca’s had gotten down to shooting at each other, most likely after Holden learned about what the DeLuca’s did to the elder Morgan brother at the juice joint. I knew that place did good business. Both gangs would be hurting if they relied on the Morgan’s business.

After the phone call, I went out to my car and headed back to the juice joint, if for nothing more than to look around when I could actually see outdoors. I saw movement inside the building and burst in to find the kid, the younger Morgan brother in there, at the register and taking down figures as he pulls the dough15 out. I cleared my throat and his head jerked up, eyes darting over to look at me, widening and wondering what I was doing there. “Can I speak with you for a moment?” I asked, walking over to the bar and sitting down He said nothing, only nodded, which was good enough for me because he was at least listening.

“Did you read the paper this morning?”

“Yeah, gang fight a few blocks away,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the cash. “Some people died, I heard.”

I nodded. “That’s true; four of the gangs’ members were bumped off.16”

He still didn’t meet my gaze and I found myself beginning to piece together why. “Your brother wasn’t the one that double-crossed the DeLuca’s was he? He didn’t know anything about the Holden’s or the DeLuca’s. It was you all along.”

His green eyes finally meet my gaze. “It’s the nature of the game. The man with the best hand wins. This time I just played my cards better than the rest.”

People brushed off the events as just part of the gang war. The Morgan brother had been right; he had played his hand better.

1 To cheat, stab in the back

2 Fellow’s

3 A slut or cheap prostitute

4 Establishment

5 A female

6 A .22 caliber gun

7 Tell it to someone who will believe it

8 Scram, get lost

9 Speakeasy

10 A policeman or law-enforcement official

11 A Private Investigator

12 Drunk

13 A dollar

14 Coffee and doughnuts

15 Money

16 Killed