Mobsters, Monsters & Nazis by O'Brien Dan

Author:O'Brien, Dan [O'Brien, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Amalgam
Published: 2014-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

The Weasel whistled, which amounted to little more than a slobbering sound. “Not quite the charmer you think you are, Diamond.”

“Weasel, you’re a ghoul. Go haunt someone else,” retorted Derrick as he watched Ava go.

There was something about the siren that he could not quite place his finger on; she had a quality about her that made him want to know more. He turned and looked back at the Fat Man, who had not yet moved––though his tentacles wobbled and wiggled. “As for the object, I will have it back soon enough. I tracked the thief here, to the Yellow Monarch.”

The Weasel skulked away, looking at the table of Nazis and then the darkened corner of the room where yellow eyes watched the exchange. The Fat Man reached forward and grabbed the thick tumbler of sickly colored liquid and took a noisy swig. “You think my men took it?”

Derrick shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t send me to retrieve it and then just lift it off me in the street. This felt like deliberate misdirection. The real question is: why did he come here after lifting the object?”

“Are you sure it’s a he?” growled the grizzled enforcer just behind His Corpulence.

Derrick ignored him. “I’m going to take a look around…if you don’t mind.”

The Fat Man waved him off and returned to the smoldering cigar in the dish in front of him. Derrick always wondered how puffing like a chimney didn’t make his tentacles dry out like barnacles left in the sun. The werewolf’s comment hadn’t escaped Derrick. The insinuation was obvious: Ava. If he had to guess, and he was most certainly prone to some deductive reasoning, he would say that Ms. Harpy was not exactly popular with the Fat Man’s goon squad. The main lounge of the Yellow Monarch funneled back into a single dark hallway, which was guarded by a gruff-looking, squid-faced, thug.

“You can’t go back there,” the grim-faced goon warned.

Derrick looked at him and then back at the Fat Man, who nodded imperceptibly.

After a moment and a grunt, Derrick stood in a red corridor with long horizontal yellow stripes that seemed to lead to Hades’ door; as if on cue, the air seemed to thicken and the smooth jazz became a cacophony of bass and up-tempo notes echoing through thick walls. He touched his coat and realized he had left his revolver behind. What little light filtered from the lounge appeared broken and still, like moonlight through the deep ocean. He could feel the music in his chest in a way he could not earlier.

His breath came quicker as he rounded a sharp corner that led to a thick door.

Taking one last look back into the club, he pushed the door open and immediately felt the cold kiss of the night air. A black wind seemed to whisper in the shadows. A small amber light, rising and falling, caught his attention: it was Ava. Leaning back against the wall with a cigarette in her hand, she looked at him with half her face hidden by the darkness of the alleyway.

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