GUMSHOES

Chapter 18 - Gunfight at the Metro Club

"This is insane! You people have no idea the people you're dealing with!" Fletcher clutched his head.

"Well we'll soon find out." Audrey stood in front of the men, eyes sparking, fists shaking. "I'm not having my life ruined by a bunch of- of goons!"

"The course didn't cover situations like this, Aud." Jerome said, meekly.

"Then you can write a new lesson and send it in. You wanted to avenge your father, Wendell, well, nobody told you it would be as easy as those three weeks you wasted your money on. You all either man up or I'm going straight to the cops."

Fletcher groaned and sank back into the sofa cushions.

"Audrey, we can't face down armed gangsters!"

"You should have thought of that sooner, or asked the friggin' famous former Federal Agent teacher you worshipped."

Alliteration, a habit Audrey adopted, he knew was a sure sign she was dead set, and Wendell also knew the mess was really all his fault.

"Okay. We can do this-"

"Insane!" Fletcher cried out again.

"Not if we're careful . . ."

"Wait a minute, Wendell. Are you suggesting we go after this Hardy guy?"

Jerome stared at his partner then at Audrey. "Nossir, no way."

"We aren't without support, partner." Wendell waved a large gun in front of him.

"What the hell! Where did-?"

"I took it off Donnie when we had him tied up."

"You don't know how to shoot a gun, Wendell!" Jerome looked pleadingly to Audrey.

"He does." Wendell waved it at a crouching Fletcher.

"You want to give it to the guy that came here to kill us?"

"He knows which bread his side is buttered on."

Six eyes fixed him with definite concern.

"What?"

"Which bread his side is buttered on?" Jerome said hesitantly.

Wendell flushed red, waving his arms around and sending everyone ducking and dodging.

"You know what the hell I mean . . . and so does he." Wendell took out his phone and clicked on the play button. The entire conversation from the time Undergrove arrived until that moment played to stunned listeners.

"Lesson two, partner," he spoke to Jerome but glared at Audrey. "This stays with Audrey, by the phone, in case our friend here has a change of loyalty."

Fletcher's face collapsed and he hung his head to his knees. That recording would put him in prison for a long, long time. With nothing for it, he looked up and nodded.

"I'll do it, but when this is over, assuming we come back alive, that goes away - right?"

"In the grey world of private investigating, deals are sometime necessary, no matter how repugnant." Wendell said, in a voice intended to sound worldly-wise.

Audrey rolled her eyes. Jerome coughed. Fletcher looked puzzled.

******

The car pulled up to the front of the Meteor Club and four men got out, Miguel reported that the car parked a short distance down the street belonged to Raphael and Jesús. Don Parco sat in the car fuming, a fresh cigarette ignited as she watched her men enter the restaurant.

"Is this the rest of DeTega's mob, come to give us a scare?" Hardy called from his table, watching the men come in and fan out.

"You must be Menken," Sandro fired back, "the mouth that roared." He laughed at his joke, his eyes clocking the men behind the bar, recognizing Jesús and realizing this could be a trap.

"Where's the big boss lady that's supposed to be running you guys?"

"Sandro, isn't that Raphael?" Louis indicated the body on the floor near Hardy's table.

A car horn blared as the restaurant doors burst open, and four men charged in, all wearing dried ketchup on their clothes. Miguel turned and fired and in a matter of seconds the roar of gunfire, yelling and screaming filled the restaurant.

Don Parco stopped blowing the horn and put the car in gear, speeding away as another car coming the other way, barely avoided a collision. Jerome braked hard, hitting the curb and swearing aloud.

"Dumb broad! Did you see that?"

Wendell patted his face and let out a huge breath. "So close . . ."

Fletcher was staring at the man stumbling out of the club, groaning as he watched him lurch forward onto the sidewalk and lie still.

"We should really leave, guys."

"No way, I plan on finishing this one way or another." Wendell stepped out of the car, stopped and did a stutter step toward the body, his mouth hanging open.

"He could be right," Jerome came out beside him.

"That's one of Hardy's men from the news - look at the ketchup."

"Except ketchup don't kill." Jerome said. "He's dead, man."

"I'm going in." Out came the big gun and Wendell strode up to the door.

"Wendy! You were gonna give that to him"

"I've got my own," Fletcher said, picking up the dead man's weapon.

"Okay. Audrey slipped me this, just in case. Jerome waved the tiny 22 revolver.

"Pink? Audrey has a pink gun?"

"What do you want, it's a Charters Pathfinder Pink Lady Revolver. She had it for protection when she lived alone."

"Are we doing this?" Fletcher called from the doorway.

Cautiously, the three men entered the restaurant and stumbled to a halt.

"Holy crap! What happened here?" Jerome leaned on the wall, taking in the carnage confronting them.

"A disagreement, that's for sure." Fletcher crossed the room and stood staring down at the big body covered in the remains of a large Greek salad. "This is Menken. Looks like he was into his food right to the end."

"Is everybody dead?" Wendell pivoted, looking around the trashed room.

A sudden mewling from behind the bar had them aiming their weapons and spreading out. Wendell came around one end and froze, his gun pointed at the small man huddled under the counter.

"Don't move! Come out of there with your hands up!"

"Which?" The question was whiney.

"Just come out, and no funny business."

"Owen?" Fletcher leaned on the bar and waved Wendell off. "He's harmless. Owen, what the hell happened here?"

"There's a wounded man here. Help me get him up and I'll tell you everything."

Jerome put his gun away and grabbed the man Owen pointed to, hauling him to his feet and pulling him from behind the bar.

"Who's this, I don't recognize him?" Fletcher asked.

"One of DeTega's men, Jesús something."

"Jesús! that was the name of one of the hit men he was sending here. He's DeTega's nephew."

"Let's hear the story, Owen," Wendell urged.