Ray’s

Jerry held out a rolled newspaper, something concealed inside it. The print was smudged and bled from some earlier dampness. “Do you remember the details of your task?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “but—”

“Ray’s. Happy hour when it’s crowded.”

“Right,” I said. “Knock over some tables, break some glasses.”

“There has to be a message sent.” He wiggled the rolled newspaper. I took it and immediately felt its heft. I unrolled it and found a .38 automatic.

“What’s this for?” I asked. His eyebrows arched, and his stare was flat.

“You may need it.”

“You think Ray might shoot me?”

“Look, Jim,” He glanced at a sandy coup trudging up the avenue slow enough to catch our attention. “Broken furniture and glassware at a place like Ray’s happen often enough.” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “Send a message.”

“Jessica…” I started.

“Ray needs to understand what his choices are. Jessica’s daddy is occupied in Sing Sing for the foreseeable future. She has no protection. Wouldn’t you like to take her somewhere far away? Safe?”

“After this, you won’t go after her? I asked.

“Sure as hell, Jim.” He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, his grip too firm. “I get Ray’s. Your girl and her daddy go away. Right?”

“Right.” 

***

Ray’s was right off Tremont. The neighborhood fit. I wore a large wool duster and a large dark wash towel tied over my face. My wool hat was pulled low. I hoped the boxy coat and mask would prevent anyone from recognizing me. Jerry would make sure to claim responsibility later. The automatic was in the jacket pocket. I ran out of the alley and walked right in. The few who saw the mask stopped their conversation. A man slid back from his table and ran away. I walked to the bar, pulled out the automatic, and pointed it at the liquor shelf. There was a scream. I fired into the assortment of liquor bottles. They shattered, crystalline shards rained down with drops of whiskey and vodka. Everyone was fleeing the bar. I pulled the trigger until the magazine was empty. The blasts deadened my hearing. Paper drifted in an unseen current. A few patrons were huddled on the ground. The scene was frozen as I panted through my mask.

I heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun slide being cocked. Less than a foot away, the bar top exploded. Wood splinters sailed into me. I staggered back, falling. Another blast sent shards of wine glasses flying. More rain. Red rain. I crawled toward the back of the bar.

“Jerry sent you, didn’t he?” The voice was dusky and melodic, but with a hard edge. I gasped.

It was Jessica. 

What was she doing here? “You can tell Jerry that this is my club now!” Her club? Did she arrange something with Ray?

I panicked. I stuck to the bar, fumbling with the automatic. What if I shot her? What was I doing? A man was urging a woman to get up and run. She cradled her head in her arms and sobbed. Pearls of liquor beaded on her lips. This had to stop. I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I sure as hell didn’t want to be the reason Jessica shot anyone, especially me. I loaded another magazine and fired three shots into the ceiling. She might take cover long enough for me to get out. I popped my head just above the bar. I didn’t see her. I ran to a door behind the bar. I reached for the knob.

It flew open. Jessica stood in the doorway, her silky black hair strewn about her face. She pointed a 12-gauge shotgun at my chest. That barrel was a foot wide if it was an inch. I put my hands up, still holding the .38. She was determined and enraged. Even that didn’t sully her beautiful face. I would have to tell her it was me and why I did this. I opened my mouth. Even with the threat of being shot by the woman I loved, I couldn’t bear to tell her that I just shot up, apparently her bar, because I was in with Jerry. I had told her that was all behind me, and I intended it to be. I wanted to take her away. Her father, Jerry, Ray. The whole racket.

“Je—” I started, but she broke in.

“I’m not paying Jerry.” Her eyes softened, glassy and tired. She raised the shotgun.

“Wait!”

***

I was on the floor, numb, ears ringing. The room was red. Jessica leaned down and pulled off my mask.

“Jim!”

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I did it for you.”

Red, crimson. Then black.

END