The Blue Olive's neon sign was the only source of light on the dim street, giving the surrounding area an eerie blue hue. The jazz club was closed tonight, so there wouldn't be any foot traffic that might disturb the meeting. Oliver Knight steered the beat up '41 De Soto into the alleyway to the left of the club and put the car in park. He left the vehicle on as he exited, letting the headlights bathe the alley in a yellow glow so they wouldn't be sitting in the dark. He leaned on the hood of the car taking the weight off his bad leg and lit himself a cigarette to calm his nerves. Slackjaw, who had gotten out of the back seat, didn't reflect Oliver's unease. In fact he seemed bored, as if there were a million things he'd rather be doing. James however was nervously rubbing his hands together, but he refused when Oliver offered him a smoke. Oliver checked his watch: 12:08; Skeever was late.
Finally at 12:23, just when Oliver had almost completely lost hope in the dealer, a grey 1932 Torquay Saloon entered the other end of the alley, momentarily blinding the group. The car's ignition switched off and four men exited. The man who got out of the passenger seat Oliver recognized as his informant, the drug dealer Skeever. He was easily identifiable on account of his short stature. Skeever's entourage was comprised of rough working-class men, whose physical prowess was achieved from a lifetime of hard labor and beating their wives. They didn't seem armed, but Oliver didn't dare for a second assume they weren't carrying hidden weaponry.
"I'm glad you finally decided to show up, Skeever," said Oliver as the small man approached them.
"Yeah, well, I got yer intel, and it wasn't easy."
"Really. What happened?"
"Let's just say that dirtbag wasn't one to be easily persuaded, so I had to call in some back up to help me negotiate."
Slackjaw chuckled, drawing Skeever's attention.
"And who might this big lug be?" the dealer asked, smiling.
"I'm their... escort. Make sure they don't get into any trouble."
Skeever's smiled widened further. "Is that so? Anyways, I got you guys an address." He handed Oliver a piece of paper. "You might want to hurry though. No telling how long they're planning on staying. If I had a couple of guys like you on my tail I know I wouldn't stick around."
Oliver slipped the paper into his coat pocket. "Thanks, Skeever. Your debt is almost paid." He motioned to James and they both headed back to their car. Slackjaw turned to follow, but suddenly a firm hand gripped his shoulder.
"What the-" One of Skeever's men had grabbed him, and the others were slowly closing in.
"You're not going anywheres, bub," said the worker in a gruff voice.
Slackjaw looked nervously at the other men but smiled. "Ya don't say? I'm not sure you know who you're missin' with."
Oliver started the ignition of the DeSoto, and Slackjaw shot a fierce glare in their direction, his piercing gaze practically burrowing a hole through Oliver's forehead. "And just where the hell do you think you two are going?" he yelled and moved towards them, but he was grabbed by another of Skeever's men. Oliver noticed this one was carrying a switch blade in his other hand. Slackjaw turned angrily towards the man, but before he could even look his attacker in the eye the knife plunged into his side. Slackjaw let out a howl of pain and shoved the man away into the nearest wall before wrenching the switch blade out of his ribs, the wound erupting in a cascade of crimson blood.
Slackjaw pulled a revolver out of the holster on his hip, but before he could aim it the other two men were on him, each wielding their own switch blade. Each knife hit its mark, and all Slackjaw could do was fire his revolver blindly, the high caliber bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the Blue Olive's brick walls. Finally, Slackjaw ditched the handgun and attempted to fight the men off with his bare hands. He grabbed one by the head and slammed him into the side of a nearby trash bin where Skeever had been idly watching, but the other two came from behind and kicked him in the back of the legs, causing him to fall to his knees. Slackjaw kneeling there defeated was the last Oliver and James saw before backing out of the alley and driving away.
Oliver and James remained silent as they drove down the almost deserted streets. He could only imagine what Skeever's men would do to Slackjaw, but that was all he needed.
The hideout was about a mile outside of town. Finally James pointed to the left side of the road and said, "There."
Oliver turned to his partner "Listen James, things could get ugly. Stephanie trusts us, but Joseph might see us as a threat so you need to be careful and keep quiet." Oliver stopped the car in the driveway abandoned shack. He noticed the curtains move indicating someone was watching them. James nodded and got out of the car prepared for the worst.
They both removed pistols from their jackets as they approached the small inconspicuous house, Oliver taking cover to the left of the door and James taking cover to the right so that neither were directly in front of it. He slammed his fist against the door and yelled "Joseph? Stephanie? This is Oliver Knight, I'm here to help you!"
His call was met with silence until suddenly two shotgun rounds tore through the door's wooden framework. When Oliver heard the sounds of someone hurriedly reloading the gun on the other side, he kicked open what remained of the door with as much strength as he could muster with his good leg. The door went flying backwards colliding with the person on the other side and knocking them to the ground. Oliver and James charged in, pistols pointed and ready in case anybody else was waiting for them.
Seeing no one, Oliver looked down expecting to see Joseph on the ground, but to his surprise it was Stephanie. He kicked the double-barreled shotgun away from her as she glared back at him.
"Watch her James," he said as he left to search the rest of the small building. He entered the bedroom just as Joseph was quickly exiting the bathroom, still zipping up his fly.
"I heard gun shots! What's going-" he started to say, but he stopped short when he saw Oliver pointed the gun at him. Joseph slowly raised his hands in a sign of surrender.
Oliver and James gathered the two siblings in the living room, sitting them on a couch, all the while still pointing the guns on them.
"Are those really necessary?" said Stephanie heatedly.
"You just tried to fill us with buckshot a few seconds ago!" James exclaimed.
"And it would have served you right," muttered the sickly-looking woman.
Oliver stared disconcertingly at their old client. This was clearly not the same Stephanie they had met a few nights before, and Oliver was getting the feeling that he and his partner had been duped from the very beginning by this broad. Studying the brother Joseph closely, he didn't nearly seem smart enough to fake his own death, and Oliver could picture Stephanie calling him the night before and telling him how to do it.
"I'll admit it Stephanie, you had me fooled with that sweet sister act," said Oliver, taking a seat.
"Why, I don't know what you're talking about!" said Stephanie innocently before quickly giving up the charade. She smiled. "All right, you got me."
"So what, you and your brothers are just a gang of small time thieves that got in over your heads?"
Stephanie let out a long sigh and after a short pause said,"We were hired to take out a couple of dealers and steal their inventory, not realizing they were in the employment of the biggest crime boss this city has ever seen. When Eddie died we went tried to contact the people who hired us, but they disappeared off the face of the planet. Now we're stuck with more drugs than we can deal with and an entire army of mafia goons on our tails"
"So where do we come in?" asked Oliver.
"To be honest detective, you have a... reputation of putting your nose where it doesn't belong. I hate to devalue your services, but you were merely a desperate attempt to distract Sisney and his henchmen long enough for us to get the hell out of Dodge."
Oliver was still trying to process this information when he abruptly heard the slam of car doors outside.
