EXTRACT FOR
The Betrayal Of Sid
(Aaron Majewski)

      The art deco diner was almost totally empty, a young waitress in a mustard yellow uniform stood behind the counter, maybe 16. As Sid walked in one of two customers stood, throwing money on his table, and left. Now it's just Sid, the waitress, a cook making noise in the back and off in one far corner booth, a really fat white guy. A slob, greasy hair, greasy white undershirt (he wore very little) but not all his bulk is fat, he's also very muscular. His booth table was covered with enough plates of food for four-five people; he was working his way alone through all of them, beady eyes glaring off into the middle distance as his mouth moved machnically; a machine chewing its cud to power a very powerful desil engine for a large bulky force of nature. 

      Sid wore his Dick Tracyesk trench coat and fedora, a cigar clamped in his mouth, smoke curling up to wreath his hard grey eyes. The coat hiding his huge compensating gun, and the last guy who joked he was compensating for something (Sid in fact was) got the barrel up his...

      'If you want to know if a girl, any girl has a past or a future in Chicago; or the state of Illinois for that matter. Talk to Mike Ferris, the Pasha of Pimps, utterly ruthless, his ability to intimidate and kill was matched only by his smarts. Which made him the perfect companion for anybody who wanted to get anything done and knew how ball was played.' 

      Smiling his confidant womanizer smile he approached the waitress and dropped one by one, five single dollar bills on the counter before her. "Keep the change sweetheart, and keep working out like you do, your ass gets firmer every night. One day you and I are going to have a more thorough and intimate discussion, once you're just a little older."

      Most people assumed his regular high tipping of the waitress was part of a simple long-term plan to seduce her, in point of fact it was; but she was also a smart cookie. She quietly kept her eyes open, letting Sid know who passed through the diner (even by the windows) when, and she'd discreetly pass a note along with a plate of food or cup of coffee.

      She giggled and blushed, scooping up the money as he jerked his head at the far corner; she nods. He didn't order anything, she knows him well, he's a regular, he wants his usual. 

      Already putting the young girl from his mind, Sid headed for Mike, who was aware of him the second he entered the diner. But it didn't stop Mike's meal. With heavy lidded but watchful eyes Mike didn't stop bolting food as Sid slid into the seat opposite him, not even when he slid the polaroid of Bunny across the table. The pimp's eating slowed but only slowed as Mike glanced at the proffered picture. He looked up at Sid, shrugged indifferently as Sid pulled out a notebook and pencil.

      "Gino's girl, a good girl, from a farm a little west of the city, easy to find, farmer's in the phonebook. Gino, he seduced her shortly after she arrived to attend art school, mostly because he doesn't take no for an answer. Why are you interested?"

      Sid was writing notes as he replied. "How many girls you running now Mike?"

      "Hundred, two. Somewhere in there."

      The conversation paused as the young waitress brought Sid a cup of black coffee. He smiled at her making her blush and turn her head, she giggled when he pinched her rump. She retreated rapidly, probably to daydream of him.

      Sid turned his attention back to the pimp. "I bet they can keep a pretty sharp eye out if someone tells 'em to."

      "They can do anything pretty sharp if I put enough fear in 'em, stupid broads will commit murder in front of witnesses if you work 'em right, why do you care?" A pause. "The Gino girl did something didn't she, piss Gino off maybe? and now daddy's wondering why he hasn't heard from his little girl?" The Pasha's dark deep set eyes glittered dangerously out at the detective from mounds of jowl. "She was alive four days ago, with Gino at a party. They had an argument, but she calmed after he slapped her around a bit and poured some brandy into her. What's in it for you?"

      Balajarski spread his hands as he replied. "Hay I'm working here. Damn you're quick."

      "You must be, and getting your expenses paid if you can afford for a couple hundred avaricious whores to start acting as lookouts." He drained a mug of coffee. "I have the number of your service, I'll call you if me and mine hear anything. Now," mild warning, "you're interrupting my dinner."

      The detective rose, not quickly but not slowly either. 'You don't mess with Mike and his dinner; apt to make him mad.'

      Standing he spoke agreeably. "Thanks Mike."

      Sid started for the door, pocketing his notes as Mike grunted and returned to his food.'You don't want him mad.'

      

      There is almost no light in the extremely dark alley, only some moonlight filtering down between very close buildings. Visibility further obscured by fog, a curling mist which wrapped around objects, shrouding them, making them more mysterious. Sid walked slowly, carefully down this alley, hand inside his trench coat obviously fondling the butt of his gun; his face somewhat lit by the flame of his ever present oral fixation. 

      Ominous music seemed to run through his head but he shook it off irritably as thoughts skittered across the well of his mind. 'I was in the roughest most dangerous section of town. A pussy licker might not be worth it alone, but quadruple pay and a threesome with two stunning dames? I knew my way around down here, I'd be fine what with my thundering friend close to hand. Now it was time to rattle some cages, there were only a few safeish commercially viable nonabsurd and proven ways to dispose of a body...every one of them had been turned into a business. No one got rid of a body these days without someone knowing about it, and there were only so many someones the mob used. My first stop was the Ratman.'

      Sid went by a large trash dumpster, a figure stepped out into the alley behind him. Large hulking, hands thrust deep into his pockets, far too dark to make out any other details, the figure made an inarticulate whisper, 'pssst.'

      Sid turned his coat flaring around him, beginning to draw his gun even as he asked, "Ratman?"

      He almost cleared leather; from behind him stepped out another figure. Again too dark to make out any details, but moonlight glinted off the metal of a four foot lead pipe. The dark figure hefted this, swinging it like a baseball bat for Sid's head. 

      A soft crunch. 

      A dull clang as the dick's gun fell to the alley floor.