Two Tone Shoes, Walking the Blues

Distopia, Post-apocalyptic, ganster, sci-fi story

Two-Tone Shoes Walking the Blues

Written by

Steven Childress

“Just as heart is a fountain of unspoken words,

the universe is a womb of wonder weird worlds.”

― Toba Beta

Empty ‘shine bottles clanged together; the sharp din shattered an ominous silence like an insidious rock through crystal clear glass. Tommy Waters sat upon his bed; he felt his eyes burn and beg for a return into slumber, but his head surged with the harsh pain of a new mornings hangover brought on by the devil’s own rye. Tommy picked up one of the empty shine bottles and looked upon it with disdain. “Damn you Hopper Barley…” he sighed as a tumultuous grin formed upon his chapped lips. Tommy stood up from his bed, and it creaked loudly as if to protest his departure. His aching body longed for its coziness. He stumbled over his white and black two-toned shoes as his befuddled steps led towards his dimly lit bathroom. Tommy turned on the shower; the sound of the rushing water brought silence to its knees and demanded its surrender. He turned and rested on the basin and looked into the mirror. His baby face was riddled with stubble, and lined with reminders of the bed’s comforts abandoned. With a heavy sigh Tommy splashed his face. Pure, refreshing, and comforting cool water cascaded down his face like rain as he ran his wet hands through his black muddled hair. The steam from the shower began to fill the room, and in that moment he stared into the mirror and wondered just what a killer looked like.

*          *          *

Tommy stepped out of his dwelling, a derelict hotel that spired above an expansive sea of shanties. This reality was some bad joke, like a Mad Max reference with no comedic relief of a clever punch line to ease the seriousness of it all. Tommy lived in a bad part of town, and only the stench of the processing plant rivaled the violence of this sector. The scent of rotten eggs and death filled his nostrils as he took slow hesitant steps. Tommy descended the staircase, the tool of ascension that took him from the dismal and decayed streets below. The madness was like it always was; everyone scurrying around hunting for that next object of desire or survival. Tommy straightened his tie and cocked his fedora to the side. He had business to conduct, dark and abysmal business that would taint his soul forevermore. Tommy walked along the decrepit street; he was walking the blues. There was no joy to be found in the slums of post apocalypse where the bottle was king, a king that was banned from serving his people.

Tommy pulled a flask from his jackets inside pocket; taking a nip he felt the good shine burn warmly down his throat and warm his uneasy belly, a little hair of the dog was all he would need to see him through. He rambled on, closer now to the speakeasy and his first order of business on the day. Tommy walked the same route he always had, a route that was sure to take him by faded words on a brick wall of ruin. These words always seemed to lift his spirits with its positive message ‘The future is unwritten’ Tommy felt a stirring in his soul from those words and it always sparked just a little hope. Tommy continued down the derelict asphalt roads, and as he rounded a corner into a shady alley, Tommy was greeted by his friends engaging in a little game of chance. Amongst this motley crew, was Jimmy Patricio, a tall Italian adorning a black suit, he was clean shaven, and his black hair was always slicked back.

“Hey, if it isn’t Tommy Two-tone out for a stroll.” came a friendly voice. Tommy turned and saw his favorite gambler Jimmy Patricio aka Jimmy the Spade.

 “ ‘lo Jimmy.” Jimmy and Tommy shared an exclusive shaking of hands “what’s the rumpus?” Tommy replied with a cool cat tone.

 Jimmy pulled a comb out and ran it through his slicked back hair while a cigarette danced between his moving lips “I got a game going tonight at Mickey Four Finger’s joint…and a fresh case of Hopper Barley giggle juice.” Jimmy lit his cigarette and it flared before releasing a burst of vapor “you game?” Jimmy grinned as he thought of the night before and the scratch he took from Tommy’s cave.

Tommy nodded as he stuck a snipe in his mouth and lit it; he drew on it and the hot smoke fill his lungs and he paused before exhaling as he spoke “What the butter and egg man didn’t get enough folding green off me last night, eh?” Jimmy just chuckled as he was handed the dice by a very grimy street urchin “Your role Jimmy.” He said in a scratchy voice that reflected his rough looks.

 “You wanna roll?” Jimmy asked with a sheepish grin. Tommy shook his head and grimaced at the thought of losing any more of his lettuce to his scoundrel of a friend. “Suit yourself beat, I can dig it.” Jimmy voiced with an amused laugh.

“You know, I’m uh, getting made, right?” Tommy asked with a proud grin as he flirted with his cigarette but didn’t commit to a drag.

“I heard dat, I also heard.” Jimmy paused and threw the dice “I heard that Starla Andrews was lookin for ya’s…that muffin is one sweet patootie.” Jimmy voiced energetically. Jimmy  grimaced as he saw his dice roll come up with zilch, a six and a two were staring straight up at him.

 Tommy rolled his eyes as he exhaled a billow of smoke “Starla Andrews?...da canary from Mickey’s joint?” He took a long drag from his cigarette, and his words flowed out with the coming smoke “You know I am f*****g dizzy for that dame…What does she want wit’ me?” Tommy voiced with a curious excitement.

The sounds of dice on the pavement followed by moans and groans served as ambient noise behind Tommy and Jimmy. They tried to hand Jimmy the dice again, but he waved them off. Jimmy shrugged at Tommy’s curiosity “S**t Tommy, you think I’m some wise guy, I don’t know, go talk ta her genius.” Jimmy voiced sarcastically.

Tommy shook his head and tossed his butt “Can’t, got to fit some grifter for a Chicago overcoat…I’ll see ya at Mickey’s, I gotta dangle.” Tommy walked off down the alley leaving the gamblers to their chance, and pondered his own chances with the ever approaching future.

Tommy rounded the corner and left the shade of the alley, and was back on the dirty streets. Tommy found himself in the commerce district, large carts lined the edges of the street, and bigger tents sat behind those and all were filled with people peddling their wares and those who wanted them. He walked along kicking rocks as he sometimes did, maybe it was a way of reclaiming some innocence, or it was just something to distract from all the poverty and pain around him. Two of the sector’s less than fortunate children ran out across his path. They carried old toy guns that showed age and use, and were as filthy with dirt and grime as the kids were. They turned and looked at Tommy and pointed their toy guns at him, and they shook them as if they were recoiling

“Bang, Bang! You’re dead mister.” The kids voiced with childish excitement.

Tommy grasped his chest and playfully stumbled with labored steps “Oh…you got me…” Tommy voiced weakly as he fictionally strained to speak.

The boys laughed and ran off, and left Tommy with a feeling of pity for them. This world was still so new to them and death had no meaning in their innocence, and Tommy longed for that ignorance to return, but he knew it never could.  It suddenly didn’t matter though, as he heard an angel’s voice from behind. Tommy turned around and wore a boyish grin upon his face. “Starla.” Tommy was pleasantly surprised. Tommy felt his heart race and his thoughts scattered as he looked her over, and marveled how the sunlight lit up her golden hair, and kissed her movie starlet face, and he was entranced by the way her green dress hugged her body.

“Hi Tommy, I was hoping I would run into you.” Starla voiced with an ambiguous tone, but she hinted at her intentions in her emerald green eyes.

“Whats your story, morning glory?” Nervous curiosity was apparent in Tommy’s tone as confusion set in, but he tried his best to keep his tough guy persona.

“Just shopping, Bruno is in the car waiting for me.” She held a purple vase and lifted it a little as if to show it off to Tommy. “Are you going to come by Mickey’s tonight?” Starla’s voice trembled onto the air as she almost lost the grip on her new purple vase that was chipped and scuffed, but was a piece of the world and how it used to be.

Tommy picked up on a subtle apprehension in her tone and smiled as he struggled to respond “I…well…only if you jolly up with me a bit.” Tommy stuttered foolishly.

Starla smiled sweetly; her eyes beamed as her eyes shifted downward. She slowly raised her eyes back up again, and found her gaze metting Tommy’s directly. “Of course, I will save you a dance.” Her voice floated on the air to Tommy’s ears like notes of a sweet song.

 The encounter was clumsy and excited, but had a glimmer of good things to come. The horn of Bruno’s car car broke the comfortable silence that had found its way between Tommy and Starla. She looked back at the car, and then to Tommy.

“That’s for me. See you tonight…Tommy.” Starla flirtatiously waved at him as she turned and walked to the car where her bodyguard Bruno was waiting for her.

Tommy watched Bruno roll away with the girl of his dreams. He started off towards the speakeasy once again, and out of nowhere an old black model 18 Ford pulled up, and its rumbling engine went silent, just before two goons got out. Tommy turned his attention to the two gee’s that had just pulled up.

“What’s the rumpus fellas?” he voiced in a friendly manner upon recognizing the two men. The men were both dressed in a similar manner to Tommy, and both worked for the same boss.

Blackjack Bennie and Machine Gun Morris stood idly by the old classic “The boss sent us, figured you might need a couple choppers.” Bennie spoke as he chewed on his toothpick.

Morris walked back had opened the backdoor of the bucket, and produced two Thompson machine guns with drum clips. The trigger man expressed a boyish grin as he held them both by their wooden grips. Tommy felt a rush of ease come over him, as he was sure this was going to be a suicide run, and the faded words on the wall came back to him once more. Tommy grinned and felt invincible in the moment.

 “Well, let’s get this done.” He spoke dutifully as he tilted his fedora and started off one two-tone shoe after the other.

 Tommy and his entourage arrived at the destination, a small hole in the wall, a new startup, a speakeasy and house of ill repute. Tommy had no desire for competition, and neither did his boss, so this was going to leave a lasting impression on anyone else with delusions of grandeur. The mark was a grifter, and associates were few, but even one bullet could have Tommy’s name on it and that fact was most prevalent on Tommy’s mind.  Outside the rustic door stood two sharply dressed thugs, they were guarding the door . Tommy approached them, and his trigger men hung back with choppers at the ready.

“I think you boys better make tracks.” Tommy voiced confidently as he gave them a single offer of mercy. Morris and Bennie took that as their cue, and they pulled the actions back on their Thompsons. The two goons looked at one another, and then at Tommy and his trigger men, and without a word split from the scene. Tommy stepped back in line with Morris and Bennie “Strike up da band, boys.” Tommy felt such power wash over him as he spoke.

Without a word from either trigger man; they raised their choppers and squeezed the triggers. Both Choppers sounded off like dueling banjos making music of sweet chaos and destruction. The guns jumped and thundered, and Tommy watched with satisfaction as the bullets riddled the face of the building. Breaking glass and screams came from inside, and Tommy found entertainment value in the symphony of chaos and destruction. The guns sounded off until dry clicks were the only sounds from the thirsty guns.

  The door creaked as Tommy stepped into the dimly lit room. Smoke danced on the air like spirits, and all he could smell was cigars, blood, and hooch on the stale air. Tommy stepped in further; creaking boards sounded his approach as he made his way to a table across the room. Tommy stepped over lifeless bodies and he walked through puddles of blood. Sitting at the furthest table, was his mark, an older man, dressed to the nines, he was a tourist from another town if he remembered correctly.

The old man was fidgeting with an old six shooter under the table as Tommy stood before him. “I think you are in the wrong dive boy, no need to come in here and give me the high hat, we can come to an understanding…yes?” the old man’s raspy voice cut through the air and landed confidently upon Tommy’s ears.

Tommy looked scornfully upon the older gentleman, a white haired man with the showing of age upon his face. This old man, Seamus O’Donnell was trying to move in on the action. Seamus wielded his cigar like a conductor as he offered propositions to Tommy.

“I’ll…give your boss thirty percent, no forty percent. I can make you rich…I’ve got money, lots of money.” Tommy watched Seamus flap his gums, but he heard only weakness. Tommy flashed a confident wise guy grin just before Seamus pulled a six shooter from under the table. Click…Click…Click the gun sounded off Seamus pulled the trigger. Tommy had flinched, but upon realizing the gun was as faulty as the old man was Tommy laughed. He wasn’t going to waste any more words; he was ready to make his play. Without another word Tommy pulled his old Colt 1911, it was old and beat up but it was reliable and accurate. Morris and Bennie stepped inside behind Tommy; their pistols drawn and ready for a shootout.

 The older gentleman set his cigar down and lowered his useless relic. Seamus put out his hands as if to beg “You don’t have to do this…I can just leave…I will leave never to return.” Seamus sobbed and begged as he lowered his head and sighed “I promise never to return, please.”

“It is too late for that; you had your chance, now it’s the kiss off.” Tommy voiced as he stared down the barrel through the sights.

Tommy felt such power over life and death surge through his damned soul, and he felt all was right with the world as he squeezed the trigger. Two thunder claps sounded as fire raged from the barrel. Blood exploded from each fresh wound as the bullets pierced the old man’s chest “Arrrrhg!” Seamus cried out as he fell backward in his chair. A resounding thud echoed as smoke danced upward like an escaping spirit from the barrel. Tommy looked down at his prey; he saw the old man spit up blood and gurgle on his own crimson fluids. Tommy felt a little remorse though as he watched the life leave Seamus’s eyes. Tommy shook off the feelings of dread and reveled in the power of it all. He tossed two coins down onto the empty shell that once breathed life “Give those to the ferry man….tell him Tommy Two-Tone sent ya.” No laugh followed this quip, just a silent turn and departure. Tommy stopped on his way out and looked at the mirror behind the old rustic bar; he saw the cold death in his own eyes “That’s what a killer looks like.” Tommy whispered in horror and wonderment.

Author's Note

This is getting published in my College's literary magazine :)