A Bombshell and a Bullet

A fictional piece taking place during the Roaring Twenties.

Eli sat on a stool, leaning against the bar, observing the club. He took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed. The other club-goers were dancing wildly to the jazz music, laughing, drinking whiskey and gin in spite of the Prohibition. There were few like himself, simply onlooking.

“Hey,” said a man sitting next to him at the bar, “Any reason you’re just sitting there?”

Eli turned to face him, the slightest scowl on his face, “Any reason you feel the need to speak to me?”

The man turned in his bar stool to look him in the eyes. There was a pause before he laughed, the stink of booze on his breath.

“Name’s Gabriel, I think we’d get along well. What’s yours?”

“… Adam,” he lied. He felt no need to tell his name to this drunken stranger; he had an objective, and it wasn’t going to be hindered by this man’s invasive questions. Giving out truthful details about himself would do more harm than good.

“Well, Adam, it’s nice to meet you,” Gabriel continued on, “Do you want a drink?”

“I’m fine,” Eli said coolly.

“Do you actually follow that Prohibitilation bullshit?” he said, stumbling over his words.

“No, I’m just not thirsty,” Eli enunciated every word slowly, trying to make it simpler for the drunk.

“Here with anyone?”

Eli just stared at him, dead in the face.

“Well, do you want to be here with somebody?” Gabriel laughed heartily, proud of his joke. He pointed to a bobbed-haired blonde dressed in red, “How about her? God, what a babe. If I had her I’d--”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Eli said, cutting him off. That was her, his target. She was the Blonde Bombshell, Lola Brooks.

For too long had the seductress been evading Eli and his boys. But tonight her reign over weak-willed men was over.

Eli jumped off his bar stool and walked over to Lola. He dropped his cigarette, extinguishing it with a well-polished shoe. Before he was in her sight, he stopped, mentally preparing himself. He faked a sloppy smile, cocked his hat at an odd angle, and walked, acting intoxicated. He tapped Lola on the shoulder.

“Hey baby, wanna swing it my way?”

Lola laughed, tossing her hair back, “Honey, you’re in a whole other direction from me.”

Eli frowned, disappointed. “Do you want me to get you a drink, or a few drinks?” he said, trying to salvage a conversation.

She looked at him condescendingly. “Sure,” she replied, humouring him. She eyed his flask secured on his belt, "You got any gin in there?"

Eli nodded, his trembling fingers reaching for the canteen on his belt. He dropped the alcohol, adding to the effect of his drunkenness, and picked it up, handing it to Lola.

She twisted open the cap and swallowed a high dose of sedatives and gin.

“This stuff tastes funny, where’d you--” her eyes widened as she realised what was going on. “You b*****d!” she yelled, but was drowned out by the sound of jazz music.

Eli grinned, straightening his posture, “Come with me, Lola.” He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out of the club. She was a dead weight and hard to pull; the drug was already setting in.

He pulled her into a dark alley and dropped her to the ground. She was too sedated to scream and was defenseless. Eli pulled a handgun from his jacket and pointed it at her head.

“Now, you’re going to tell me to whom you report to,” he said, his eyes as cold as ice.

“What if I have no boss? What if this is all for fun?” she replied, mustering a sick smile.

“No woman kills men for ‘fun’. I’ve worked out your patterns, b***h, everyone you nabbed knows my boys. Who do you report to?” he said.

“What happens after I tell you? You’ll kill me?”

“If you don’t tell me who your boss is within the next 5 seconds I will!” Eli screamed, cocking his gun.

“Jonathan! Jonathan Nelson!” she sobbed, tears streaming from her cheeks.

Eli stood, an emotionless façade hiding his shock. Jonathan Nelson was a coward and a traitor. He defected from Eli’s gang, as one of their most powerful and connected members, and now he was their greatest threat.

Eli shook his head, returning to the real world. He uncocked his gun and placed it back in his jacket. He turned around, leaving Lola in the dark alley before she called out, “You might as well kill me. When Jonny finds out I snitched I’m already dead.”

Eli turned his head. “Maybe an alley cat like you should die like an alley cat: rotting in a garbage can after falling in too deep.”

Slowly he pulled his pistol out of his jacket, cocked it silently, and shot the Blonde Bombshell dead. She fell onto the ground, blood filling the cracks in the cement, forming crimson veins in the pavement.

And so began the unraveling of Jonathan Nelson’s web.