Deacon moved across the alley, careful that bits of garbage didn’t grind beneath his heals and betray his position. Slowly–deliberately he moved towards the door across the wet cobbled stone. The Scorpion, a vigilante moved at the mouth of the alley. Silhouetted against the street light; his wide, slouch hat and overcoat, seemed otherworldly against…

The cops came to Charlie’s Jazz Bar afterhours. The call: a break in. I planned to sit back in my Marmon and keep a watch, let the cops handle it, but shots rang out; the long, steady spray of a Thompson submachine gun. The police were returning fire with their pistols–so much for sitting.     …

Thunder rolled in the night. The assassin fell hard. I replaced my jambiya dagger, into its scabbard. Mayor Altor, referred to by many as The Goblin Damned for his cleverness, continued his speech, unaware how close he came to an assassin’s bullet. Words are cheap…and life is cheaper. The Mayor looked small, so far below,…

My sixty-two cent dinner crawled up my throat as I whipped the 32 Marmon, cutting off the wounded Ford. Both vehicles came to a metal grinding stop. The Greek festival parade was passing a block or so behind us, oblivious to the whole thing. Its music, cheers and fireworks covered the noise of the conflict.…