Lucky Cashman, Private Dick... Chapter Two

And now for the conclusion of our bone-chilling story, “The Case of the Missing Cole,” another episode from the files of Lucky Cashman, Private Dick!

Chapter Two

By HoraceClarke66

“Hello, Lucky,” said Huntington. “I’ll take the Future now, if you please.”

I thought of how many times I’d been caught up a dark alley before like this. That time with Nicky Johnson, and then with Vazquez. With McCann, and Pavano. And then with Johnson again, and Vazquez again—

“I fear we are in Rat’s Alley, where the dead men lost their bones,” I told ol’ Neal, stalling for time while I subtly fingered for my own peashooter.

It was gone. I looked over at the frail, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

She must have taken it when she slipped that arm around me, back in the bar. Along with my second gun, my third gun, my shiv, my boxcutter, my blackjack, and the corkscrew I keep handy just in case I run into a particularly rare vintage Bordeaux.

Damn, she was good!

“Spare us the theatrics and the verbal gymnastics. We break wiseguys just like matchsticks,” Huntington growled. “C’mon, Lucky! Hand it over. The Future—all of it. Including the Gleyber.”

“Not the Gleyber!” I told him, my head reeling.

But I knew it was on me, burning a hole in my jacket pocket. He would have the Gleyber and the Florial, too, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

There was just one chance. I had to charge him. Make a run at him and hoped he missed.

There was no more chance of that happening than Joggy playing in the World Series again. But I had to try.

Neal was already firing before I took the first step. But I tripped over a stray black cat, and went down harder than the Bear going after a bunt.

I heard Huntington’s first bullet buzz just over my head as I fell. It went directly into one of his gunsels, where it snuggled up next to his liver like a good little kitten.

The second shot hit a trash can cover, bounced off a brick wall, and ricocheted right back at Huntington, hitting him where his heart should have been. He went down like the Red Sox with a ten-game lead.

That still left one villain. But before I could so much as turn around I heard a grunt of surprise, then another grunt of extreme pain. It was the Bear, wrapping our friend up in a nice, friendly hug. He tossed him away like a Three Musketeers wrapper, and stood there grinning at me.

“Your offer is accepted,” he said to me.

The doll was staring at me in something akin to wonder as I brushed myself off, her lips parted.

“I can’t live without a man who’s that lucky,” she breathed, a fire in her eyes.

“Maybe even luckier than I think,” I told her. “Look!”

Cole was moaning and shaking his head, the gopher balls rolling away.

“Cole’s still alive. Hey, maybe—”

Next thing I knew, though, I was flying through the air, secure in a pair of huge, ursine arms. The dame was signaling for a taxi.

“You’re through here, boss. Remember, we got to get the piers. Captain Jacoby and the La Paloma are due in.”

Jacoby. That’s right. I still had to take care of him. Well, maybe I could make a deal, swap him even up for Manny Machado, or Yoan Moncada.

After all, anything is possible when you’re…Lucky.