Bullets and Bylines

[Honey_B]

A thread for TXExpress and Honey_B....

The Untouchables, gangsters, prohibition, speakeasies…

The 1930’s in Chicago. There was one wildcard in this dangerous mix.

The newspaperman

Celeste Lord Corrigan pushed open the door of the copy room. Her blue eyes scanned the room, looking for somebody. It was a quarter past two in the morning and the place was near deserted, except for a few hardnosed reporters, including the one that Celeste had come to see.

Ms. Corrigan looked like she had slept in the elegant evening gown she now wore. If fact, Celeste felt she had lived a lifetime in that wretched beaded dress. She felt a mess. Her red hair was still swept up in her trademark French twist, but little curls sprang out everywhere. Celeste winced as she noticed the attention she drew. She prided herself on displaying an impeccable appearance at all times and this was hardly the case at present.

Ignoring the stares, she focused on the one man who hadn't glanced up. She barely knew him. Couldn't remember if she'd shared a glass of champagne with him at the Christmas party. That was the extent of their relationship and the way Celeste Lord Corrigan needed it to be. Professional. She kept to her office on the executive floor.

Until now.

She desperately needed to speak to Charlie Barnes.

Her high heels clacked crisply on the tiled floor as she walked towards his desk.

"Mr. Barnes, might I have a word with you?"

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

"No time, no time, no time."

No time for dames. Got work to do. Plenty to do. City edition's late. Breathing down my neck. They want copy. I hammer away on the typewriter keys, the sticky bastards, with each finished page yelling, "COPY!"

Now, some dame.

No ordinary dame, though. Not even I could fail to notice. More curves than a mountain road. I like that. Might use it.

My column, The Barnes Beat, keeps this hellhole of a city honest. Well, most of it. Capone, that bunch; no keeping them honest. But they keep my skids greased; know what I mean? Look the other way, concentrate on the other mugs. Tip the man off when things get out of control.

I look up — the curvy dame looks familiar. Geez-us Harry Kee-rist. Corrigan. The publisher's daughter. Gave her a beat to shut her up. Untouchable, just like they call Capone.

What the hell does she want? I think I'll ask her.

"What the hell do you want?"

 

[Honey_B]

Celeste's intake of breath was audible. She raised an elegant hand in an attempt to pat her hair back in place and fixed Charlie Barnes with a piercing gaze. Had it been steel, it would have stuck three inches out his back.

"Mr. Barnes, I will ignore the rudeness of your remark as I realize the hour is late."

Her eyes shifted to the typewriter.

"But then again, why are you here so late?"

She bent low, looking over his shoulder to read his copy, her eyes quickly scanning the words. When she spoke, her lips were right next to his ear.

"Hmm... It's a pity, Mr. Barnes, that a sharp tongue is not evidence of a keen mind in your case. Looks like you're scaping for a story and yet you fail to notice you have one standing right next to you."

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

A story? All I'm lookin' at is a nosy dame dripping perfume on my copy. Smells good, though. OK, I'll bite.

"OK, I'll bite, doll. Just what kinda story are we talkin' about here? Some bootlegger's broad drop her diamond earring in the punchbowl?"

She drew back slightly, but still kept her face close to mine. Hell, I don't let the editor-in-chief get that close to my copy. But something ... I don't know. Normally I would have had me give this broad the back of my hand minutes ago. And yet ...

"Tell me. What kind of story?"

 

[DannyBoyUK]

OOC - Good start - keep it going !

 

[Honey_B]

"Mr. Barnes, would you be so kind as to join me in my office in twenty minutes. In case you haven't noticed, I need to change. That is blood on my dress, not punch."

Celeste scanned the room.

"And this story will have to wait until there are fewer ears around. My office, twenty minutes."

When Ms. Corrigan left the room, not an eye was looking at the stain on the hem of the dress. No, they were all focused on the seductive dance Celeste created with her hips as she walked to the elevator.

In her office suite, she quickly showered and put on a long terry cloth robe. She was shaken. Had to admit that. She had just scrubbed blood from under her nails for God's sake. Her hands shook as she poured herself a scotch. She drank down the amber liquid in a fiery gulp and waited. Waited for the one man who could help her. Maybe.

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

Ah, what the hell. Story was dead, anyway. Tell the typesetters to drop in yesterday's "Katzenjammer Kids" strip; probably will get better readership.

"COPY BOY! Tell 'em the story's as dead as they are if they gripe about it."

I wad the paper up and slam in into the wastebasket. My mind is spinning. Gorgeous dame. Some kind of story. So close to me with her face that I didn't even notice the blood on her dress until those hips carried it away like the arm of a pendulum.

"Whew."

I start to collect my thoughts. Knockout dame. In my office. Story ... what story? OK, has to do with the blood. Has to. Whose blood, though? What is up this society dame's sleeve? Might Little Miss Perfect have a darker side? Wouldn't daddy just love to know? Maybe daddy is in on it. Hmmmm; tread lightly, Barnes. You know what they say about dames and business. OK, nothing comes to mind, but I'm sure there's something.

Barnes, get your mind off what you are thinking, boy. You will get up to that office and she will be in that same blood-stained dress and you will see what she has to say with her lips, not that body. Not that ... loaded body. Those curves. That hair the color of autumn leaves in the sun. Those eyes, baby blue but sharp as a knife. That look, all at once little-girl charming, big-girl seductive and down-to-business cold.

Snap out of it, boy.

I gather a pencil, a notepad ... and load the chambers in the snub-nose I keep holstered near my ankle. Can't be too careful in this racket. "BARNES BLASTED BY BOMBSHELL" ... not my final headline if I can help it.

Make my way up the stairs. Damned dame has an office; Barnes has a desk; where's the justice?

Knock on the door; hear something mumbled; assume it's OK to come in. I look up ... that ain't no bloodstained dress. All the rest of the picture is nicely in place, though.

"You wanted me? Better be good, doll."

 

[Honey_B]

"You wanted me? Better be good, doll."

Standing by the window, Celeste turned when she heard Charlie Barnes. Her damp curls swayed against her back.

"Yes, Mr. Barnes. Come in and sit down. Help yourself to a drink, if you like."

Celeste gestured to the bar with a languid wave of her hand. She was dead tired. She felt fatigue in a way that she hadn't since her mother died.

When they were both seated on a leather sofa, Celeste began.

"Mr. Barnes, I know you don't hold me in high regard as a reporter. And I don't blame you. Not in the least. The society pages hardly allow me to write the kind of story that demands respect."

The careful diction of her speech had been mellowed by the scotch to a husky drawl.

"This story is very different. I'm smart, Mr. Barnes. Despite what you might believe. I'm smart enough to know when I'm in over my head. You're the best crime reporter in the city and I need your help. There has been a murder in this city, tonight. The society pages would call her an inconsequential woman, but she was probably the mistress of a very powerful man. And I think that got her killed."

She paused and took another deep drink of scotch.

"Do I have enough of your interest, Mr. Barnes, to ease some of that impatience out of your voice?

 

[TXExpress]

OOC: For my selfish sake — not to mention the good of this community — I hope this is not an unanswered post.

IC:

Murder

Coming from those lips, the word hung in the air like a mist from the lake. Only someone this much of a knockout could make me want to hear the word again.

Heard it 20, 30 times a day. Damnable little word; one to which I had become hopelessly insensitive, bordering on cynical. Murders are a dime a dozen in this wasteland of a place; it's to the point where it doesn't even make Page 1 unless lots of people are involved, and even most of them are the sorts who are asking for it.

So some dame got whacked. Some skirt crossed the line and, who knows, maybe sang the wrong song to the wrong ears.

But there is something in those baby blues that tells me to listen, not judge. And there is something in my gut that says there's more of a story here than meets the eye. And what's in the plain sight of my eyes is a serious, sexy dame who wants — and needs — Charlie Barnes' help.

"OK, sweetheart. You've got my attention. But I've gotta know names here. How high up the chain are we talking here?"

 

[Honey_B]

“The woman in question would probably be called insignificant by the pages of this paper. Her name was Doris Flanagan. Not doubt, you would consider her a nobody as well. But, let me tell you Mr. Barnes, she mattered a lot to somebody. Somebody of importance actually, namely Douglass Pringle. Ah, I see you recognize the name. The 20th ward’s reform-minded alderman, the darling of the Better Government Society. Yes, I had to wonder why he walked into a speakeasy, which is where I was earlier this evening. I didn’t have to work it out for long. He had come to see her. The sexual tension between Miss Flanagan and Pringle was electric. Fire melting ice.”

Celeste stopped short. She had glanced up as she said the words and was startled. The look she saw in his eyes could have done some melting of its own.

Oh, Christ!

Maybe it was just her imagination. Didn’t matter. She had responded to something. Celeste hid her confusion by standing up.

“I’m just going to hang my dress up to dry. It’s been soaking for the last half hour.”

Not caring if she sounded inane, she stepped into the bathroom gratefully. While she wrung out her dress, Celeste considered the reporter. She had never really taken notice of the man before. Certainly not the devastatingly handsome looks of the men she usually took an interest in. The playboys as her father called them. No, Charlie Barnes had a rugged look about him, in a way that made her think intensely masculine. And yes, there was something about the way he looked at her. She shivered. Celeste knew enough about herself to know that she had to be very careful. She was in a lot of danger and danger made people vulnerable.

“I’m going to get myself another drink, Mr. Barnes,” she said as she breezed out of the bathroom. “Can I get you something?”

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

That one, I will admit, got me.

No, not that Alderman Goody Two-Shoes was taking advantage of his power; hell, that's the only good thing about most politicians. They bring classy dames into any room.

But picturing Miss Publisher's Daughter here at one of those joints ... that got me.

I didn't enter the room holding her in any great regard, but this, strangely, lifted my opinion of her. Not only did it show that she knew where and how to have a good time, but it also showed that she could work a beat, even the "society" one.

"Yeah, doll, one of whatever you're having."

I am tempted to follow her ... hell, anywhere at this point. But the story, Barnes. The story comes first, no matter how much of a knockout the storyteller is. I settle for shouting slightly so she can hear me over the clink of ice hitting the glasses.

"So, tell me more. Start with you being in a place like that. Doesn't fit; too risky; you're too public. A joe like Pringle, he doesn't mind being seen, even with someone like your ... what was her name? Doris? It's like a badge of honor in some circles. But you ... what would daddy think?"

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Gabrielle Garneau

Gabrielle Garneau circulated among the tables at Gino’s, conversing politely with the patrons and fending off the straying hands of a few of the more eager clientele… but always with a smile, of course. Cochon… pig! Continually glancing at the door searching for Donnie, she was sure that he would probably disappoint her once again and miss her last song.

Moving with the natural sensual grace that all French women seemed to be born with, she knew she attracted more than her share of attention. In her low cut green dress and with her long dark hair pinned up with studied abandon, she was considered a somewhat exotic creature in Chicago. Gino often told her she was lucky he hired her as the club’s singer three months ago when she arrived in America… but she knew it was Gino who was lucky because she had brought in a lot of business.

She sighed, thinking of France. She missed the suave, debonair men she’d left back home after that rather unfortunate incident. The men in this city looked like they were suspicious of everyone, their narrow hard eyes constantly sizing up each person who walked through the doorway. Even Gino seemed like that. Must be a Chicago thing.

Except for Donnie… he wasn’t like them at all, and he showered her with attention. The only negative thing she could find about him was that he was very vague about what kind of job he had. He said he worked for Gino running the club, but the way he said it made her perfectly aware that the subject wasn’t up for discussion. She was crazy about him, but the fact that he was always running off with some thin excuse made her suspect that he had another lover.

Gino picked up the microphone and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, direct from Paris, singing ‘The Man I Love’,… Mademoiselle Gabrielle Garneau!” Mon Dieu… he makes it sound like I just got off the ship especially to come here.

Smiling at the crowd, she took the microphone and began her last song of the evening, her green eyes still fixed hopefully on the door.

Someday he’ll come along, the man I love
And he’ll be big and strong, the man I love
And when he comes my way
I’ll do my best to make him stay
He’ll look at me and smile…

 

[Swashbuckler]

Don Vitone "Donnie" Ravenese

I slammed the accelerator to the floor of my '32 rag top Caddy. Tires hissed through the rain sodden streets, wipers flapped uselessly on the windsheild, and the motor purrred. I flipped the cigarette butt out the small slit in the drivers window while I skidded around a corner, still several blocks from Gino's. Gabrielle was gong to kill me, I thought. I was late again, of course. It had taken longer than I had anticipated to get that Falnnagan woman alone. "Damnit!" I yelled at the dashboard. "Damnit!" I swore again pounding the steering wheel. "She is going to fucking kill me for sure tonight," I said to the headlights glaring through the rainstreaked windshield.

Suddenly I was so very aware of everything around me, the small bulge in my jacket pocket. The bite of the steel blue metal of the 1911 model .45 in my waistband. The absence of the switchblade from its usual resting place in my front trouser pocket. It had never been used before tonight, but it had served its purpose. I had tossed it off a nameless bridge after it had served its purpose. It had worked so wonderfully, so fast, so cleany.... My thoughts broke at that when the memory of the spray of blood belched forth from below her chin.

I shook my head vigorously, to clear it. I forced my mind away from those thoughts, thinking only of what I had to say to Gabrielle after I had talked to Frank. Well Gino, but what the hell he thought Frank was more American sounding. So that is what the guys on his crew had to call him.

I lit another cigarette and snapped the zippo closed with a sharp click. Rounding the last corner I jammed on the brakes and skidded through the water to a stop behind Gino's. Shutting the engine down I took a quick galnce at my black hair, in the rear view mirror. I winked at the brown eyed handsome man in the mirror. "This is your night, Donnie," I said to myself to bolster my courage. "By surise you could be a made guy, and with a little luck.." I stopped myself and grabbed my hat from the seat and got out in the alley. I knocked on the little metal door beneathe the fire escape. The tiny eyeslit clicked open, "Its Donnie," I said. The slit slammed shut and the door opened for me. I walked down the narrow hallway waving to the gaggle of longlegged dancers that are bustling out to the stage. Big Tony slaps me on the back and says, "How did it go, Donnie?" "It went," I said looking towards the stage and moving toward Gabrielle's dressing room door, "Is she still on stage?" I asked, already knowing the answer as he just laughed and shook his head turning away, "Forget about it," was all he said.

Putting the hat down over my eyes I headed out backstage and entered the club. I saw her immiediately, in her slinky emerald gown that I just loved. She was chatting with her sexy french accent to a few of the customers. Some big fat guy was trying to get her to join him for a drink, so I decided to intervene. Coming up behind her, I dropped my hat and let it roll down my arm to her left side. As she turned to look at it, I bent around her to kiss the right side of her tender neck. As she recoiled, I backed off a bit grinning, "Hi, baby, miss me?" I asked as I put my smoke out int he fat man's ashtray.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Gabrielle Garneau

Gabrielle jumped as she felt the lips touch her neck, but when she saw it was Donnie any anger she had felt immediately disappeared. And when he trailed the tips of his fingers over her bare back, she forgot why she had been annoyed in the first place. He always had that kind of effect on her… knew just which buttons to push. The only problem was that he didn’t push them often enough for her liking.

“Oui, mon cher,” she whispered, sliding her arm around his waist and pulling herself close to his side, “I did miss you. The question is whether or not you missed me.”

He is *so* handsome! Gazing up at his face, she realized that he didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he stared over the top of her head, more interested in a group of men sitting at a table in the back of the club. Turning her head, she gave a small shudder. I hope those aren’t the friends he wants me to meet.

Not used to being ignored, and certainly not for some men of dubious character, she slid her arms up around his neck, certain that this would get his attention. A long moment passed before his glanced down.

“Uh, sure, Gabrielle,” he laughed, “Of course I did.” His eyes flicked back to the group.

She cuddled against him, now clearly annoyed and more determined not to be ignored.

“Donnie, what… what is *that* in your pants?” she exclaimed, stepping back from him quickly.

He looked startled and then his expression cleared as he reached to adjust something in his waistband.

“Never mind,” he said, and the look on his face said that she really shouldn’t. “Why don’t we go and get you changed before I introduce you to the boys?”

They swung around, headed in the direction of her dressing room, but Donnie’s eyes were still on that table. Whoever they were, they were more important than she was at the moment.

Merde… shit! Gabrielle fumed with a pout, a pout that usually melted him. This just wasn’t going her way. “Oh, Donnie, why don’t you just introduce me… your mind’s a million miles away.”

 

[Swashbuckler]

Donnie

Not looking down at Gabrielle, I siad to her, "That's why I love you, baby, come on." I led her over to Fank's table. In a flurry of breif introductions I shook way too many hands. Gabrielle had her hand kissed so many times that I thoguht it might prune up. Frank, she knew, already. Some of the others too, but still the introductions went on. This was a right of passage, as much as what had brought on this moment. I was smiling so much I thought that my face might fall off, but I couldn't help it. This is one of the moments that I had dreamed about ever since I was born.

The last handshake I had was from a tall, fat, and balding jew I had never seen before. He gripped my hand tightly, pressing a roll of small green papers into my palm. "Donnie, you know, Jake Greasy Thumb, of course," Frank was saying in my ear. "Yeah, sure, pleased to meet you," I said. I almost fainted. Jake Guzik, Capone, and Torrio's before him, pay off man. The fat man looked up and down at Gabrielle like a wolf, as he pulled out a chair for her saying, "All good freinds here my dear." I was about to sit down with Gabrielle between me and Gabrielle, when Frank grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back a little. Bending down to Gabrielle, "Excuse Donnie, Gabrielle, we have some shop talk for just a minute," Rising up he looked over his shoulder and snapped. Two waiters pushed up carts of food under silver dome as and began passing out the best of Gino's kitchen. I gave Gabrielle's cheek a peck and said, "Be right back, sugar, promise." I emphasized my promise with a wink and clicking my cheek and tongue twice quickly before I followed Frank off to a corner his club away from prying ears, but we spoke in coded Itallian anyway.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Gabrielle Garneau

Gabrielle’s head was beginning to pound from being in the company of too many men with too many big cigars. She felt almost ill as another puff of smoke drifted her way.

*What* was keeping Donnie? *What* was so important? Neither Donnie nor Frank looked happy. Maybe it will be all right, she thought hopefully. Quelle domage... what a pity if he leaves me again to go running around for that man. Thinking of the plans she had made for the evening, she sighed again. Sighing seemed to be something she was doing a lot of lately. And if Frank wanted something, Donnie wouldn't give her another thought.

And *who* were these friends of Donnie’s? They all looked the same… dark, swarthy, tough, sinister, suspicious. She couldn’t imagine what Donnie had in common with them.

Frank’s raised voice drew her attention once again and, although she was some distance away, she knew that vein would be throbbing in his forehead. That happened when he was très, très annoyed. That was *not* a good sign and he was going to put Donnie in a very bad mood.

The conversation at her table was pleasant, but occasionally the men drifted into Italian for some reason. Although she did not understand the language, there was some similarity between it and French, and one word she heard repeatedly sounded like 'die'. A sliver of fear run up her back. I must be mistaken. Her green eyes appraised the ‘boys’ in the loud and boisterous group… and she suddenly noticed things that she hadn’t before. Things like missing fingers, old white scars, livid new red ones, jackets that gaped open to reveal guns.

Oooh la la, I am not liking this! She was trying to think of a polite excuse to escape to the safety of her dressing room when she heard a final angry shout and saw Donnie heading back to the table, his face dark like a thundercloud.

 

[Honey_B]

Celeste

"...what would daddy think?"

Celeste neatly sidestepped the question as she poured scotch into two glasses.

"Mr. Barnes, you really aren't asking the important questions. What is important is what happened after Alderman Pringle left the club."

She returned to the couch and tucked her long legs under her.

"I considered it fortuitous when Pringle left. Miss Flanagan really can not hold her liquor, poor dear."

Celeste took a healthy sip of her own scotch.

"It was relatively easy to strike up a conversation with her. Friendly girl, but even in her drunken state she was closed-mouth about Pringle. The conversation was desultory at best. I got two distinct impressions, however. One. She was desperately in love with the man. And two. And this seems more significant, Mr. Barnes. She was afraid. That woman was terrified of someone or something. Doris got very quiet and excused herself. She left the club immediately."

With an impatient hand, Celeste pushed her red curls out of her face. It was beginning to dry and was reverting back to its wild state.

"I thought it prudent to follow. It was my hope that she would be meeting Pringle that night. My ticket to a real story. Something beyond the glittering descriptions of sophisticated society I always do. But, I never wanted anything this real. This ugly. Outside her building, I waited. Hoping to see Pringle arrive. When he didn't, I assumed he had gone into her apartment right after leaving the club. I was so excited. The thought of catching them in a comprising position..."

Celeste finished off the remnants of her drink. When she continued there was a tremor in her voice.

"I just couldn't resist. Now, I wish that I had. When I entered her building, a man was just leaving. I pushed past him and ran inside. I found the number to Miss Flanagan's apartment easily enough by checking the mailboxes. It was on the third floor. I ran up the stairs and when I got to the third, I saw immediately that her apartment had been forced into. The door was slightly ajar and looked like a crowbar had been taken to it. Fearing the worst, I pushed it open and saw her. Lying in a pool of blood. She was on her side and I went to her, turning her over. Her throat had been cut. Slashed from ear to ear."

Tears were rolling down Celeste's cheeks and she was shaking.

"Oh God! It was horrible. I will never forget the sight of that woman, dead at my feet. Thrown away, discarded. Brutalized."

 

[Swashbuckler]

Donnie

Speaking in coded Itallian mixed with American English as was apropriate, I told Frank about the hit. "I waited in the stariwell until the black spot came up the elevator. She unlocked her door and I checked the hall. She had just closed the door and I heard her trying to attach the chain. So, Frankie, I just kicked it hard and went in. Flicked the blade out. She's all trying to run in heels and fallin' all over herself. Babblin' and Bawlin'. But I spin 'er round by the hair, see. Then flick, flick, ba da boom, she all on the floor. Red paint everywhere, Jesus. SO Ise click the knife back and run down the stairs." I say lighting a smoke. My hands were trembling a bit, so I took a deep drag to clam down.

Frankie, grins at me and he says, "Donnie, dats great, boy. Anything wierd?" He asks clapping me on the back. "You knows there was just one thing," I say with a nervous laugh in a cloud of smoke. I look in his face as his smile runs away from his chin and his eyes immiediately start to burn with homocidal fire. "What's that?" Frankie whispers, as cold as ice. Trying to laugh it off a bit, "Well, as I get to the bottom of the stairs, guess who's coming through the doors?" Taking a drag and seeing that Frank is not in the mood to guess I continue, "That hot little redheaded daughter of Corrigan." I whistle tryign to warm him up..., big mistake.

"What The HELL, DONNIE!!!!" Frank bellow as quiet as a thunderstorm in a tin shack. "She saw you?!?" "Well, I, uh, maybe. Look we passed right in the hall. Its not like I stopped to ask for a number er anythin'." Frank answered that with a meaty palm to my cheek sending my smoke flying to the carpet. "Donnie, you got us a problem. IF she saw you, you are in heat. I don;t want to be readin' about my boy gettin' put in first calss accomodations tomorrow mornin' over this. You silence that Irish bitch and quick. The life of our newest freind hangs on her head," Frankie states as flat and cold as a sheet of steel.

The sting of my cheek is nothign to the pain of the words spoken. I was soaring and just crashed to earth. I felt like I was already dead. I couldn't understand, really. I mean her Father was our guy, that's why I sent the message. So now I got to go and kill his little girl? But hey, Frankie never joked about stuff like this. I had seen too many guys go for rides because they didn't listen to Frankie.

He clapped me against the shoulder as he said, "Now go back and eat up. Say goodbye to your little song bird and get this cleaned up for us." I nodded dejectedly as I stomped out the smoldering cigarette on the red velvet carpet of Frank's baby. I looked up at him and said, "Right, I'm on it." I tried to smile as I went back and sat down next to Gabrielle, kissing her on the neck as I did.

I chatted absently with the goodfellas at the table and with Gabrielle, but I really didn't hear anything anyone said. Somehow I was suddenly really cold. I just played with my raviolli, my appetite had been killed off. As the desert cart was wheeled round, I started to get up. "Baby, I'm sorry, but I got to go to work," I said quickly to Gabrielle, trying to supress the fear from my voice, kissing her passionately so she could not protest. Breaking the kiss and flipping my hat on my head I headed for the backdoor. The last thing I heard when I left the table was Guzik talking to Gabrielle, "Young men just don;t know what they're missing out on, here miss, have some chocolate cake with me."

I rushed through back stage and out to my car and fired it up. I stomped on it nad spun the tires as I headed off to the paper and look for my second victim. "Better her than you, Donnie," I yelled at the rain streaked windshield as I slammed a fist on the steering wheel. "Better her than you," I whispered lighting a smoke as water sprayed hissingly from the running boards of the Caddy. The only thing I could think of was that Gabrielle was gong to kill me if Frankie didn't first as I sped through the puddled streets.

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

The dame was right. She did have a story on her hands, and it was too big for her. At that moment, I thought it might even be too big for yours truly.

What she also had on her hands was her forehead. Shaking. Bawling. I'd seen many dames crying, but over nothing. This was more than nothing. This was ... this was more than even I could take.

I walked over to the couch, taking my glass with me. I filled hers and mine with more Scotch. I sat next to her and ... the last thing I figured I'd ever do ... put my arm around her and pulled her body close. Consoling? I don't know. Even drowned in Scotch, she still smelled great.

"Doll, I am sorry. You're right ... I was paying too much attention to you and my notion of you to pay enough attention to what you were saying. You have my full attention.

"Think, sweetheart. Think hard. You see this Flanagan on the ground, no longer livin'. Block it out for a minute. Did you see anyone, anything else? Any signs?"

I paused. I honestly don't think she heard a word I said. She now lay prostrate in my lap, bawling to the point where she was having trouble breathing.

"Take your time. I ain't going anywhere."

 

[Swashbuckler]

Donnie

I sped through the rainy streets until I was within a block of the paper. I slowed to a crawl and switched off the lights. I parked the car just round the corner so as to get a good look at the half full employee parking lot. Making sure I could see the lot from my seat I got out and walked to the lot. I went up to the row closest to the building and found a space marked for C.L. Corrigan. It was filled with a brand new car. She was here, good. I thoguht to myself as I walked back to my caddy. All I had to do now was wait.

I climbed in and watched the lot, I could feel myself begin to sweat despite the cold as I waited.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Gabrielle

I am going to kill him, was the first thought that ran through Gabrielle’s mind. Donnie moved from the table so quickly that she didn’t realize at first that he was leaving the club. Jumping up from her chair to go after him, she managed to bump that oily character Guzik and earned herself a frightening look from Frank. Well, that’s probably the end of my job. Suddenly it didn’t matter… she had to find out where Donnie was going. A French woman does *not* take rejection kindly.

She rushed out the back door of the club just in time to see his Caddy tearing off into the night. Glancing around in panic, she saw the cab poised, engine running and driver scanning the wet streets for fares. She dove into the back seat, pointing.

“Follow that car… there… that Caddy… now!” The driver, who had turned to admire the feisty drenched bundle in the back seat, decided to humor her. Around corners, dodging pedestrians, careening through intersections… he humored her all right. Her stomach lurched as he took a corner at a distinct lean. He cocked a questioning eyebrow in the rear-view mirror at the bursts of temperament in some foreign language. He suspected it was *not* something nice.

Gabrielle knew Donnie would not be pleased that she had followed him, and she practiced a dozen excuses in her mind. None seemed fitting for the occasion.

“How close do you want me to get, lady?” The question dragged her back to reality.

“Not too close, I just want to see where he’s stopping.”

“He’s stopped, lady. How close?!”

“Stop… stop… maintenant… NOW!” Brakes screeched and the back tires of the cab lifted and then settled with a sickening thump.

“This close enough for ya, lady?”

Imbecile, Gabrielle fumed as she threw some bills at him. The rain pelted down on her, muffling the sound of her heels clattering on the pavement and when she flung open the passenger side door of Donnie’s car he lurched sideways, hitting his shoulder against his door. All Gabrielle saw was the gun he was pointing at her.

“Fucking hell, Gabrielle,” he screamed, “are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

She stood stunned and dripping in the open doorway. Then the look of terror cleared on Donnie’s face and he tossed the gun down onto the floor and pulled her inside, reaching around to close the door behind her. All Gabrielle could do was fling her arms around him and press herself against him… burrowing inside his jacket. She knew his clothes were getting damp, but she didn’t care. The fear and the adrenaline rush were a heady combination, and she pulled his head down so that she could kiss him the way she had wanted to all night.

 

[Honey_B]

Celeste Lord Corrigan

A Corrigan would never do anything as weak-minded as sprawling in someone's laps while bawling their eyes out, yet that was exactly what Celeste was doing. The realization caught her by surprise. She put a stranglehold on the waterworks.

"Mr. Barnes, I am terribly sorry. Both for the outburst and for drenching your trousers."

But for some reason she wasn't really sorry. Not quite. She had liked being close to him. Liked it even more when he had stroked her hair. She could still feel the warmth of his arm where he had laid it across her shoulder.

She lifted a monogramed handkerchief to her face, ostensibly to regain her compusure.

Didn't work because as soon as she looked into his eyes, she felt something deep in the pit of her stomach. An attraction. Christ! It must be the scotch.

She stood up abruptly. Too abruptly. The world spun a little and she reached out into nothingness to steady herself.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Donnie

I wrapped one arm around Gabrielle as she fell into my jacket. The other hand ran over my face in frustration. This was just fucking perfect, I thought to myself. She shouldn't be here. What was she thinking?!?

Then, it was suddenly crystal clear wht she was thinking. She was pulling my face down. Her rogued lips seaking mine. My lips meeing hers, softly...then powerfully. I broke it off and feigned a scowl at her, "What the hell are you doin' here?" I asked, my scowl turning into a sly half grin by the time I finished scolding Gabrielle. She opened her mouth to speak and I dove into it with my tongue, cutting her off.

I pulled her chilled frame closer to me with my arm across her shoulders, burying her in my jacket. Her damp chest pressing tight to my shirt. I brushed her cheek with my free hand. Slipping it beneathe her dark hair, my fingers barely grazing the skin of the back of her neck as I held her tight to my lips with my other arm. God she was beautiful, I thought as my tongue ravished her mouth.

My liberal fingers gingerly tipped along the edge of her shoulder and beneathe the strap of her gown, lifitng it clear of her shoulder. The strap rolled over and pushed a small army of rain drops ahead of it down her arm. Could feel her low cut gown reacting and opening against my chest. My fingers dove beneathe the gown and swooped down her spine, as I broke our kiss. My mouth slid across her cheek enroute to her deliscious ear, trailing tiny hot kisses over her skin. Reaching her ear, my tongue flicks out over her lobe, in one qick darting movement.

 

[TXExpress]

Charlie Barnes

"Whoa!"

I wasted a few drops of damned fine Scotch in my haste to catch the tipsy dame as she headed toward the floor. Classy broad, but I haven't found one yet who could hold her hooch.

She's still talkin'. She's still breathin'. And she says: "There are some things I need to tell you that you need to know, Mr. Barnes. I trust you remember how to take notes."

Quick reminder of who I was and where I was. I felt like dropping her on that hardwood floor, but instead set her on the couch and grabbed pencil and notepad.

"Shoot."

She took a deep breath, then began to tell more details of her rough night. I found myself writing: saw Flanagan on floor ... walking down hallway ... shadowy figure ... looked mob (Capone bunch? ck) ... couldn't make out ... handsome (yeah, that helps) ... not sure if he saw me ... turned to look ... he was gone ...

It was a hit, plain and simple. But who? And why? Skirts like Flanagan were a dime a dozen, even cheaper in some parts of town. Check Pringle, I thought. Speakeasy ... which one? There are hundreds. My mind is spinning, but jolted by the sight of this knockout now beginning to slump down on the couch.

I hear her mumble something like, "Take me home." I wonder if she even knows now where she is, or what she's doing or what she's just said. The look in her eyes tells me she knows at least one thing she's doing ... and I gotta admit, I like the signals she's sending.

I daydream for a second, of walking into some swank joint with her, of tossing her down on some antique brass bed, ripping off that robe and burying myself in what's underneath, of breathing in that scent and carrying it around ...

Geez, snap out of it, Barnes. You've got a drunk dame in your arms, and even though her office is better equipped than 90 percent of the homes in this hellhole, she wants you to drive her home. So drive her home.

I gotta admit ... I sneaked a peek down that robe, to at least make sure there was some underwear in case of ... aw, hell, I was sneaking a peek. Sue me.

The elevator takes us to the ground floor, and we head toward the back entrance, to my car, a timeworn, weatherbeaten relic off Henry Ford's assembly line. Served me well.

As we walk through the shadows, she looks up briefly and mumbles, quietly but forcefully: "My car ..."

I look over. There are two cars. One, which by the looks of it has to be hers — sporty Duesenberg, cream-colored with gold trim — sits silently. The other, a new-looking Caddy, is moving ... and the windows are fogging up.

"Let's go. Now."

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Gabrielle

The hot and heavy breathing had fogged up the Caddy’s windows, and a little voice in the back of Gabrielle’s mind… what was left of it… told her to stop. She was angry with Donnie, she wanted to punish him… because… oh, some reason. She felt the strap slide off one shoulder and tried to keep a grip on both it and her sanity as she felt the dress loosen in the front, but Donnie’s fingers trailed over her bare back and slipped under the edge of the material, making her shiver again. Something hard and unforgiving pressed against her… but not where she expected it… and when she opened her eyes she realized that it was the steering wheel. She swore softly in French… something she did increasingly more often these days… and moved away.

Donnie blinked at the sudden change in atmosphere and noticed Gabrielle rubbing her right hip. Then he swore too, not softly in French, and opened his door and looked around. Seeming satisfied about something, he went around to the passenger side and helped Gabrielle out. ‘Come on, baby,’ he whispered, ‘there’s more room in the back.’ She didn’t have the willpower to protest.

Settled once again with doors locked, Donnie removed his jacket and flipped it over the front seat. ‘Now, where were we?’

Gabrielle noticed that the back windows weren’t nearly as fogged up as she would have hoped. Donnie sprawled on the seat with a grin on his smug, handsome face, and she wanted to slap him. Sometime. Maybe. Cursing her long slinky dress, she pulled it up to her hips, moved one long leg over him and settled down onto his lap, rubbing with a contented purr against him. She then slipped the other strap down and the dress slid to her waist, along with Donnie’s eyes. The latter two then slid back up to her breasts, patterned with the reflection of the raindrops on the back window. Moving onto her knees, she leaned over him with her hands digging into the leather beside his head. Her hair fell like a curtain around them and she rubbed one round breast against his face, the erect nipple teasing his lips.

Donnie’s mouth latched onto it, gently at first and then with an intensity that almost toppled Gabrielle. She gave an involuntary moan which intensified when he brought his hand up to her other breast and squeezed it gently, tugging on the nipple. Dropping back down onto his lap again, she started quickly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing every square inch of skin as it was revealed. Her task completed, she peeled back the edges of the shirt and trailed her nails down his chest, followed by her tongue to wetly ease the slight sting. Grinning down at him, she stopped at the waistband of his pants. She could feel his hands sliding up under her dress and over the silky French lingerie he had bought… but still had not seen on her.