Johnny Blue and the Suits

Gun smoke are the only clouds that float in Los Angeles. Johnny Blue and the Suits filled the almost empty club with the sound of their day routine. They practiced their less popular stuff and took long breaks in between songs to talk and tune, so every few minutes the big hall would go silent. That was to be expected, it was late afternoon and only the few people that stopped by for an early drink were spread out over the mass of round tables miles apart.

In the corner, cigar smoke rose from a table close to the bar. But not too close. He wanted to be able to get the bartender’s attention without taking his feet of the table and going over. Charlie sat with a fresh, smug smile plastered onto his face, a glass of scotch warming in his hand and a new pressed suit wrapped around his slim frame. All of these things made him feel invincible and he had these things because he felt immortal.

The smug smile didn’t stray from his face as he watched too familiar men walk across the room and glare at him over the table. Both of them were wearing nicer suits than he was and without seeing, Charlie knew they both had the one thing he didn’t have strapped to their belts. “Take your feet off the f*****g table.” The larger of the two commanded. Charlie did as he said and sat up straight to face them both.

“Now,” he continued, “What happened after calling us after the job went down?”

“The plan obviously changed, I didn’t need to give you a call. The guy even payed me there.” Charlie’s grin stayed carved on his face. He didn’t see why they needed this conversation, they should be here offering him his next job. The first went off greater than perfect. He was to deliver a Cadillac to an associate of theirs. Charlie found a real stunner. ’47 Cobalt blue. They plan went off like a charm; he picked it up from the shipping place before it had been sent to a lot and got plates of a guy he knew. Charlie had a blast driving it to the drop off in the suburbs and that’s when things got way better.

Upon entering the house, sitting across from the new owner of the Cadillac was the right hand man of the Don himself. This guy pretty much had the same power as the Don only he did actual work. The PowerShark himself in the same room as young, lucky Charlie. Once he set eyes upon him, Charlie felt out of place. He was just going to place the keys on the table and leave. Playing it cool. The PowerShark though, wanted to congratulate him and tell him he looks forward to seeing him pull off more jobs for their organization.

As far as Charlie could see, he had done enough to impress and did not need to wait around and keep being treated like a recruit. He was in. They couldn’t push him around. The other two at the table could not quite see this. “Well that’s just dandy.” Started the gangster who hadn’t spoken yet, “You’ve been payed and hopefully you actually have some left. We still have more business to discuss. Follow us into the kitchen.”

The three of them left the table and walked into the kitchen where the staff then all filed out. Once they were alone in the room the larger of the two threw Charlie up against the wall hitting his head hard against the tiles. “No matter what you do, this is a game of respect.” He fired a hard right into Charlie’s gut, making him wince in pain. “You’re not a big shot, you’re just some wise guy who got lucky.”

Charlie was leaning on the wall clutching his stomach. The other of the two started talking, “Isn’t it obvious? The PowerShark doesn’t give a s**t about you or what you’ve done. You delivered a f*****g car for Christ’s sake. You aren’t special and you sure as hell aren’t on the same level as us.” Charlie looked up at them both. He had a sudden realization of what an idiot he had been. The PowerShark would have said that to any pair of hands that walked in to make sure they stayed with the family. He just wanted Charlie to feel special and appreciated. But he wasn’t. He was replacable.

“You’re going to do another job for us now.” The big one took out his pistol and shoved it onto Charlie’s heart. “One of our guys was seen shooting some f****t from O’Neil’s. You’re going to kill the witness and we’re going to take the pay.”

Charlie took the gun and looked it over. “You want me to kill him now?”

“Kill him by tonight or I’m painting the street with your two cent brain.”

Charlie stuffed the pistol in his pants and got out of there quickly, heading for the address they told him. He had only stolen a car and now he had to kill somebody just to get more jobs in the future. This somebody wasn’t even a gangster, just a guy who was there at the wrong time. Poor sucker. Charlie was going to do it too. His life was still worth more than somebody he had never met. He was going to live and learn from this experience. He wouldn’t f**k up again and after this they’ll know he has the balls to put someone down so he’ll go even further. This was a good thing. Charlie’s smug smile returned as he pulled up outside the house of the soon to be deceased.

Charlie walked up the path and knocked three times. He heard somebody shout “Coming!” and after a moment the door was open. He was wearing a nice polo shirt and dress pants with polished shoes to match. “Hello, sir.” Charlie began, “Are you Mr. Webster?” The name read straight from the mailbox. “Yeah… That’s me. How can I help?”

“I’m Daniel Bowen from the department of Tax Payment and Records. Recently your name has been dug up from missing tax payments a few years ago in ’43. I don’t mean to imply that Tax fraud has gone on so we just need to clear this mess up.”

“Right….”

“If you have records of your taxes, would I be able to come in and take a look?”

“Sure.” Mr. Webster seemed very confused but he led Charlie into the dining room anyway. “I keep all my paperwork in these drawers. What year did you say it was? 43? Do you want a drink while I look?” He had is head in the drawers searching for the documents. Charlie slowly reached for his gun. “Yeah, 43. No, I’m fine thank you.” The barrel of the gun was inching out of his pants. This man was spending the last moment of his life looking for his tax records. Charlie could think of a worse way to go. The gun felt heavier than it did when it was pressed against his own heart and it shook in his hand as he raised it.

“Put it on the table, Mr. Bowen.” A low voice echoed from the hallway. Charlie turned to see a large bald man pointing a gun straight at him. Mr. Webster stood up, “Assassin of the f*****g year you are. I was thinking they would send somebody we had at least heard of to kill but now we only have you. How lucky we are.” His voice was full of sarcasm and spite. Charlie wasn’t sure of what was going on. Surely these guys were from a different family, from the one who got shot. They must have been here waiting for one of us to show up and pop he thought. “Where’s the witness?” Charlie asked. He had to complete this job, his life depended on it. If these guys didn’t end it right now anyway. “There is no f*****g witness, dipshit.” Webster said. “We were going to kill the guys who showed up, but killing you isn’t even worth it. We know all the top players and the footmen. We’re gonna have to do something different.” The room went silent. Webster grunted. He walked over and took the gun from Charlie. “Kick his a*s.” He said to the bald guy.

The back of bald guy’s gun hit Charlie hard across the side of his head and he stumbled backwards. An even faster fist connected with the bridge of his nose and Charlie heard his nose break before the sound of searing pain. Charlie had never felt that much pain in his life. The sound of his nose breaking actually felt hot enough to burn the inside of his face. He was followed to the ground by consecutive, heavy stomps to his ribs and legs.

Charlie lay there in a ball, trying to protect his body with his arms and legs. Both men were kicking the crap out of him. He felt blood in the wrong places on the inside and outside of him. They were beating him so much his body started to go numb, he could feel the impact but not the pain any more. There was too much pain covering his entire body to have feel any more. “Alright, alright.” Webster said and the beating ended. “This should be enough for them to get it and actually send someone worth killing after us.” The two men looked at the message they had painted on some cheap guy’s body. No one would ever be able to get the blood stains out. His body was painted in bruises and bones were reaching for places they shouldn’t.

The bald guy carried his broken body into the garage and Webster opened the trunk. It was slammed shut and Charlie was enclosed in darkness. He could feel the car start and noises from outside but his mind was in no place to process the sounds. Webster parked the car in the carpark of the club where Johnny Blue and the suits were playing. They both got out of the car, placed the keys on top of the trunk and left Charlie locked in, laying in a mess of his own blood and mangled body.

“Hopefully he’s alive enough to scream for help.”