Gritten Hours
(a Jackie Skinner yarn)

Between Sutton Parkway and Clifton Square; hidden in the ruins of the old boardwalk..
Jackie remembers living around here as a kid. Back then things were a little better. In those days the boardwalk was a fun place to be and on weekends, kids and grown-ups would take turns jumping off the pier into the river. But things change. Things break down, people and places alike. That’s when the powers that be decided on building an overpass for the express way; casting a shadow over the pier. Soon shopkeepers and vendors packed up and moved out. Then the undesirables moved in.
Nowadays nobody comes to this part of town anymore; especially after dark.
It wasn’t uncommon to hear about bodies being dumped in basements, sometimes in pieces, for the rats to dispose of. The people go about their business during the day and then the neighborhood shuts down after midnight. Nothing moves. Only junkies and tricks roam freely; except at Patrick’s.
You see to the average person it’s just a rundown Irish piss & shithole But, Jackie see’s what’s really going on. To people like Jackie, this place is opportunity and real-estate populated by food. And if you were at the wrong end of his knife – you were indeed food.
[Food (n.) target of violence]
Patrick’s was secretly hosting a poker game for some of the big earners that were in the know to get a secret invitation. The whole thing was run by a local gang boss. Completely below the radar and unsanctioned by the authority or any elected wolf head. And by being unsanctioned it was fairplay for Jackie to run in and take whatever he wanted. Each person that entered the pub was just another meal flashing dirty money to be had.
He’d been watching the place for a month. He already passed up on some money going with Richard down to Sonora for a money drop. He wasn’t into that. The money wasn’t worth the hours traveling with Richie down into the desert to some cactus town. He wasn’t in the mood for the change of atmosphere; wasn’t in the mood to have to be cordial with some other bagman from some place where the locals would rather act like criminals instead of doing crime. Richard was capable enough to handle the suburban gangbangers and border jumpers by himself. Prior to all that one of the barbacks inside had tipped Jackie off and the idea sounded too good to pass up. A road trip would just have to wait for another day.
And now the guests were just arriving at Patrick’s.

The snow just started to fall when the Cadillac’s pulled up and parked along Calloway. There were no big entourages. Probably four or five actual players, each with one or two goons in tow acting as security, nothing too heavy to handle. Then the last car opened up and there was Sally Martucci in all his Gucci glory; the son of a made-guy from up east that had to relocate here to the ville after some interfamily drama and some approval by the council.
The big guy was of interest. Might be a problem but, “Nothings impossible”, thought Jackie. “When there’s a will there’s a way.”
The barback that tipped Jackie off about the goings on inside did it for a cut of the take. Apparently these mooks aren’t too generous to the staff. The barback seemed especially salty about one occasion when a waitress spilled drinks on a players shoe and got roughed up by one of their handlers. Not that Jackie needed the incentive; the profit was enough.
Tonight was a Fight Night in Boxing so there was more money for the taking inside, dirty money being spread all around. Enough to settle most of Jackie’s interests and leisure and… Well, Jackie just enjoyed stealing from shitty people regardless.
Jackie loaded his revolver with moonclips. It was a .38 caliber kind of night. The wrap on the handle felt extra snug. Sliding it into his hip holster and racking the slide of his SIG sauer felt like meditation. The air was still. His pulse was steady. His breathing controlled. The mask he brought along hung from his back pocket like a gang-rag. He could feel the nerve building up. He takes one last drag from his cigarette and flicks it into the shadows. The moment of truth was here; “Time to eat.”

Going in through the front door was out of the question. This wasn’t a kamikaze mission. It was a simple withdrawal. The barback that gave him all the intel was waiting at the backdoor for him. Jackie made his move; entering through the kitchen just like he was another member of the staff and stood in position by the dry-storage. According to the barback, all players had to check their firearms with coat check; it was club policy. Jackie gathered himself and prepared; strapping the Kev-vest tighter at his ribcage. He pulled the mask over his head, tugging it down to his neck like a second skin. The mask had no openings for the eyes or the mouth. It was made from a very soft blend of cotton and hemp; micro-woven together in a way allowing the wearer to see clearly while keeping his face hidden. Around his neck was a black sniper veil. He waited patiently; he waited like a bad premonition… then he waited some more.
The party guests had all arrived and were well into throwing their money around. The big players were at the poker table. The henchmen lined up the bar to keep watch over their employers and share war stories. The fight was streaming live on the plasma TV’s along the bar’s north wall. The waitresses were busty, foreign with thick ankles. The bar manager, Dino, liked hiring foreign girls and had a fetish for Russian girls. The bartender tonight was Darren. Jackie didn’t know Darren but, the barback assured Jackie that the bartender wasn’t going to be a problem.
All bets closed at the start of Round 1. Jackie listened for both fighters to make their entrances and the Star Spangled Banner to be done. He started his breathing meditation and felt his blood starting to rush. He pulled his Sig and stood in the ready position. All sounds felt muted as he waited for the first bell. All distractions were blurred. Time itself slowed to a crawl. In his hands the details of the Semi-automatic felt weightless. The adrenaline is pumping; his breathing controlled, in through the nose and out the mouth; his thoughts are blank; only focus and concentration is on his mind, filtering all the information his senses gathered. Any moment and here it comes -

5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Now.

Jackie pulls the veil over his face and kicks open the door. One of the suits standing by the door rushes to tackle him. Jackie takes his revolver and cracks the muscle across the face with the glass breaker screwed into the butt of the handle. As the vic drops to the floor, Jackie soccer kicks him in the chin and fires two rounds from the SIG Sauer into the ceiling as a final warning to everyone.
Jackie points the pistol at a girlfriend of one of the players and takes her with him toward the betting bar.
Jackie shouts to the clerk, “Ayo, asshole!”, “Place the cash in bags and hand it over”.
All the players and their bodyguards are getting antsy; looking for the smallest mistake, any window of opportunity to charge the masked man trying make a break with their money.
Sally Martucci was one of them. “I suggest you reconsider what you’re doing. Cuz, you’re making a big mistake, my friend. You know who we are? You’re not going to enjoy that money. We can find you and make life very unbearable for you. Better you stop what you’re doing and go back out the way you came”.
Jackie curls his upper lip under his mask like a rabid animal and tightening his chokehold around the girl’s neck. Resisting the urge to let his hardware spark and air-out the room.
“What do you say, my guy?” asks Sally.
Jackie points the SIG and fires a round into the thigh of one of the security detail as a reminder of who was in charge. All in attendance sat back and gave up any initiative to react.
The clerk filled two plastic bags with cash. Jackie told the clerk to open the messenger bag tightly slung across his back and put the bags of money inside. The clerk nervously does so and Jackie and the hostage move backwards toward the fire exit. He pushes his body backwards to open the door and kicks the girl into the club as he makes for a fast getaway.
“The hard parts done”, thought Jackie.
He was always a fast runner and the money wasn’t so heavy that he would be weighed down. He ran down Calloway and behind some buildings. He knew these alleys as a kid; it was no problem navigating. He could hear the feet and shouts of the men from the bar; heavy breathing and boots making chase behind him.
Through Bristle houses and around Stapleton square, into the basement of the Carlisle and out the back gate behind the elementary school and he was gone.
“Easy work”, thought Jackie.
Jackie scales a chain-link fence and sprints across the street to the pickup spot. He could almost see the getaway car behind the Avocado & Sandwich shop when he’s struck from the side by one of those silent electric cars.
Jackie rolls off the hood and falls on his side against the curb; rattled but unbroken, he gets up and limps toward the rendezvous point just a few feet away on the other side of a narrow alley. He enters the alley but as he’s halfway through, he is blocked in by two cars bookending both ways out. One a Buick driven by two bodyguards and the other is the same electric ride that tried to run him over a few seconds before.
Jackie reaches for his burners but it seems he must’ve lost the SIG he was handling when he was pirouetting off the windshield of that car that hit him. He reaches for his revolver and can’t find it. Then he sees it under a trash dumpster. That too must’ve been knocked out during the collision.
Trying to find more of his breathe and think of what to do, Jackie grabs the side of his ribcage that hurts most. The adrenaline pumping through his veins with that loud ringing noise in his ears and his endorphins sedating most of his pain, Jackie plays the wall again and spits some blood on the ground as he takes deep breaths to control his nerves.
The two bodyguards start walking into the alley. Both men are looking at the electric car blocking the other exit. The electric car Sally is riding in.
Jackie still is seeing stars and flutters. Off balance, he fastens the bag tighter around his torso.
“You dumbfuck!” shouted Sally.
Sally standing side by side with his Gollum (his paid enforcer) is dwarfed in comparison to his bodyguard. A short little man with a five o’clock shadow for a haircut, two beady little brown eyes and that stupid look of agitation sweating down his face, still pouting like a he sucked on sour candy.
“See, I told you back at the pub. You fucked up.” Said Sally “Now give me the money and maybe you might crawl away in one piece”.
Jackie takes in one deep breathe through his nostrils, sucking down a hunk of bloody snot and spitting the crimson green glob onto Sally’s shoes.

“Fuck you!” said Jackie “Tell Fuckhead and Assface to come get it and see what happens to ‘em”.
“Boss, he’s barely standing up straight. Let me go get the purse and we can go back to the games” said Sally’s bodyguard.
“Shut the fuck up” Sally said to his man. “I got this.”
Sally removes his sports jacket and rolls up his sleeves and fastens his belt tighter around his waist. Then he begins to warm up with a series of stretches and kicks; getting his blood up and his muscles loose, moving his hands around shadow kicking the air like he’s the next Street Fighter.
Sally would always brag to everyone about kicking some guy through a window or the time he fought three members of the Hatchet boys down by the promenade when he was fifteen. Those were the only two times he was seen actually fighting in public. All other times he’s been cocooned behind hired muscle and his family’s reputation. Another pampered mob kid with delusions of invincibility is what Jackie always thought of him.
“Third-degree black belt, Shotokan, motherfucker. You ready to get lit up?” said Sally “Maybe you’re too stupid to be afraid”.
The three bodyguards stand and watch.
Jackie can feel his skin itch under his mask. The sweat and heat from his body make it almost unbearable to wear. He wipes the sweat from his eyes and lifts the mask up to just below his nose and gets himself centered. He’s still holding the side where his ribs hurt with his left hand and carefully unsheathes a small keramin or kerambit from his belt.
“Let’s just do this already” said Jackie.
Sally slowly approaches him and engages with a hard low kick to the outside of Jackie’s thigh; a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his legs – nearly buckling him. Then Sally follows with a kick to Jackie’s ribcage that’s blocked but, opens Jackie up to three hard punches to Jackie’s face. The punches feel like bricks, burning as much as they are hurt under the mask. Sally continues to unload punch after punch, kick after kick until Jackie falls down to one knee; looking like he’s done for. Sally now standing over him, taunting him, “Told you, I’d fuck you up!”
Jackie looks up from his vulnerable position and sees Sally lifting his front leg straight up into the air like an antenna, ready to axe kick Jackie as hard as he can and put an end to this thieving inconvenience once and for all.
Sally brings down the kick with a loud, “Ki-YA!”, Jackie springs up and catches Sally’s leg and slashes him from groin to kneecap, slicing the femoral artery; and biting Sally’s face like a rabid animal; rough bristly tissue become chunks of warm plasma in seconds when Jackie rips a chunk of cheek off and spits it into the air like chewing gum. His teeth are crimson and his eyes as black as they’ve ever been. He headbutts Sally with all his weight crushing the bridge of his nose with a loud crunching sound between them.
Sally chokes with pain. Jackie throws the bleeding mafioso with whatever he has left at the approaching henchmen then, makes a mad dash towards the dumpster to reach for his revolver. His arm lunges desperately for the tsukamaki wrapped grip of his pistol.
The bodyguards rush toward Jackie for some payback. One of them grabs at Jackie’s ankle and pulls him from the dumpster and the other one gives a hard kick to his bruised ribs and grabs the backpack. Jackie grunts with blood still on his teeth yet, still reaches for the revolver until, at last, that feeling of incorruptible fury is within his grasp. Jackie turns over and fires off three rounds at the goon squad; laying them all out. Precise and controlled the bullets tear through facial features, destroying bone, teeth and brain matter – sprayed; chunky and obscene. Bodies falling to the ground like wet sacks of meat and tomatoes. Snow Angels frozen in the scarlet afterbirth of violence, their minds splattered like crimson halos, the heat from their wounds escaping like steam from the belly of the city’s sewers. Jackie takes his winnings and reloads another moonclip into his revolver.

Marian hears the gunshots from the pickup spot and runs towards the alley.
“Stay back, Red. No reason for you to see how this story finishes.” said Jackie.
Sally’s slowly bleeding out with both hands pressed down on the deep incision but, the blood keeps flowing. His heart rate is fast and speeds up his blood loss. Jackie gets to his feet and limps over to Sally.
“Shotokan, huh?” “Funny. All that wax on-wax off shit and look at you now. What was that anyways, Japanese Karate?”
“Fuck you” said Sally.
“Well this isn’t Japan… And this isn’t a kung fu flick, Sally… and I’ve never seen that Bruce Lee shit save a man from bleeding to death.”, “How bout I just put you out of your misery?”
“Riverside, Motherfucker.”
[END]