one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit]

As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang

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[sadfreezingbrit]

His words settled everything.

Had I ever believed in coincidence? Had I for just one second thought that of all the bookshops, in all the towns, in all the world, he'd walked into mine by pure chance?

Perhaps. Perhaps I'd needed that lie, that kind of comfort bigger than the revolver behind my counter could ever provide.

Perhaps I'd wanted to believe that my past could have died with Clarence.

Or perhaps I just really wanted the last laugh.

"I wouldn't know about that, sir. I always preferred his comedies myself."

I stepped back without turning my head. Fingers were as good as eyes in the shop whose unchanging inventory I'd taken countless times. I reached for the book and slid it across the counter.

Dust was dancing in the air like a ballerina on stage in front of a full house.

Looking at him I forced myself not to remember, but the images were leaking through like the rusty copper pipes in my apartment. We were close once and I wasn't proud of the way it ended.

"Will that be all or did something else... catch your eye?"

Then again, I wasn't exactly ashamed either.

[dashboardlite]

The accent had to be the best part. Nancing around like some kind of limey fruitcake, Clarence was a civvie. But old habits died hard, and he was bound to have something behind that cutesy little counter that would put the hurt on me if I gave him half the chance.

We used to be pals, too. Bunko artists and headknockers down on Skid Row. It paid the bills, though; especially Bill, my bookie, and Bill, my probation officer.

I smiled at the jibe - Clarence was always the stiff who'd sit there blank-faced with everyone else wondering whose ass he just insulted. Normally I would've let it slide, but things had stopped being so copacetic between us months ago. Sliding my left hand over the book, dusting it off, I decided to drag out the play a little longer before giving him the sting.

"Nah, I just came to visit an old friend. You might know 'im."

[sadfreezingbrit]

There wasn't a single drop of sweat on my brow and yet I felt my whole facade melting away. Dean Winchester sometimes had that effect on people, even before breaking out the chives.

"'Fraid not, sir. My only friends here are Dickens and Wilde."

Smith and Wesson I neglected to mention, but I had a hunch that one of us would introduce them soon enough. I had another hunch that it would be me.

Everyone had a tell, not just in poker. His tell was the distinct lack of bullet holes in my suit. He could have waltzed in here with a dozen loogans and turned the place into a Swiss cheese shop in a matter of seconds.

But he didn't and I was still standing and he was still talking, which could only mean this was more than your average morning pop for revenge. And I had one last hunch that his visit wouldn't turn into a jolly reunion party.

"Let me just get a bag for you then..."

My hand slid under the counter. I'd played the rat before, but I wasn't about to become the mouse in his game.

[dashboardlite]

I ground out the end of my cigarette on top of Othello, flicking it over the edge.

"Yeah, that'd be jake."

It was true enough that I wasn't just there to jaw about the weather. Clarence started moving to ring me up, and I knew he was reaching for some kind of bean-shooter; if he didn't still have his old Smith and Wesson P.38 with him, I'd eat my goddamn hat. I knew his style.

I decided to introduce a persuasive friend of my own: the .45 caliber Colt 1911, who'd been known to make rather convincing arguments. With its handle resting on the counter, I cocked the roscoe.

"Grab air, Clarence, nice and slow." I gestured with the barrel that he keep his mitts where I could see them. "Like Wilde said, a true friend stabs you in the front."

[sadfreezingbrit]

My finger was already on the revolver's grip, but it was too little too late. I cursed myself for taking my sweet time to make a move. Now all I could do was play along.

"Wh-- What are you talking about?"

I noticed with an odd sense of pride that the violation of old William's classic stung. With my hands trembling in the air I was really living the role. Heck, I expected my inner monologue to burst into terrified rambling any second now.

"Take the money, take-- Take everything, just please, p-please just don't kill me, don't kill me!"

[dashboardlite]

For an instant, I had my doubts. Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree. Maybe my goons had made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first time. But when I put the wire on Clarence and had him tracked, I knew I'd chosen the right torpedoes for the job.

For a trigger man, the guy was a sure-fine actor. But all I needed to do was tighten the screws.

"Rubbin' you out ain't on the to-do list," I growled, "Ankle over to your door and lock it. You're closin' shop early today."

[sadfreezingbrit]

"Y-yes, sir. Of course, sir."

I stumbled over to the door and turned away to hide my surprise. I thought his visit was all banter and a bump-off, but without the latter I found myself not wanting to take guesses on just what was going to take its place.

As the keys jiggled in my hand I idly wondered just how much of my dread was really show.

"There- there you go, it's- it's all-- All locked, sir."

I put my hands back up and let the keys slide off my finger, not looking down to watch them hit the floor.

[dashboardlite]

Something was wrong, and it wasn't me. Clarence was too good at this. Too good at pretending. I didn't want to burn powder on the guy - I had plans. Then again, I didn't know how much good bumping gums with him would do.

I moved behind the counter because I had to make sure. A bruno doesn't just leave his gun behind even when he drops off the charts, and good pea-shooters are expensive.

There it was.

A Smith & Wesson P.38, fitted out with a walnut handle all the way from California. Yeah, it was his, all right. No one else would've shelled out that much dough for a grip that durable, except maybe me.

"You wanna stop screwin' around?"

I lifted the Walther up and snapped open the chamber, letting the lead fall to the floor.

"I know it's you, you sonuvabitch. No other dropper has a piece that nice."

[sadfreezingbrit]

"I don't know what you want."

Begging came easy. I'd been on the other end of this scenario too many times to count. Character study, I think is what the fine gents in Hollywood called it.

"Please, I-- I just--"

But when he grabbed my baby I felt the bile rising in my throat, almost too bitter to swallow. Nobody touches my baby.

"My name is Philip, Philip LaFresque, I only moved here from London a year ago, I-- I bought the gun from a pawn shop because I was told this was a bad neighbourhood, I didn't- I didn't know-- I can't even shoot the thing please, I-- Please just-- please don't hurt me just pleasepleaseplease don't hurt me."

As things stood my old friend had five rounds at his disposal and I had an infinite number of dry sobs. Somehow the advantage in quantity didn't give me much confidence.

[dashboardlite]

"If it ain't really yours, you won't mind me takin' it."

Snapping the chamber shut, I pocketed the gun. If I knew Clarence - and I knew him - he'd be antsy as Hell about somebody else getting their mitts on his Smith & Wesson. Sidling back around the counter, I holstered my Colt and sized him up.

"I'm tired of this monkey dance," I snapped. "Spill it, or somethin' of yours'll be spillin' all over the floor."

I didn't want to do it. Well, to some extent, I did. But knowing the why behind his scam after playing the sucker and getting nabbed by the feds...Dean Winchester wasn't anybody's patsy. I had him where I wanted him, and all that was left was the break.

1/2

[sadfreezingbrit]

"Please-- Please, I have no idea what- what you--"

The last sob died in my throat. The act had grown stale on my tongue and this was as good a chance as any.

2/2

[sadfreezingbrit]

"...Ah, screw it."

I straightened myself. Granted, I could hardly tower over Dean, but I thought I might as well look the part.

He'd gone through a lot of trouble to meet his old pal and if that was what he wanted then who was I to refuse?

"See, you should've said goodnight when I set you up nice and easy, but now you're just gonna make this harder on yourself."

I smirked. Two guns and none of them drawn? Dean, Dean, Dean. Who was out of practice now?

"'Cause I figure one of us oughta rest in peace and if you won't let old Clarence have the honour, well..."

And just like that I disappeared behind the dusty shelves.

[dashboardlite]

And there it was.

Just like that, he changed. The cringing, whining book shop owner was replaced by someone I knew better than the back of my hand, and he wasn't a sight for sore eyes. It only made me angrier.

People talk about seeing red when you're burned to high Heaven, but you never know what it's like 'til it happens to you.

I had better plans for Clarence than a couple slugs of lead in the noggin, and if he was ready to put up his dukes, I would have at him.

"I took the goddamn fall for you," I barked, moving around the far end of the first row of shelves and pushing at them. They swayed, cracked, and started batting over like dominoes.

"And you skipped out while I was under glass!"

[sadfreezingbrit]

"Thing with the law is they don't just let you off the hook unless you grease a few palms. Didn't have that kinda scratch back then, but somehow they figured you were a sweet bargain."

Hindsight is 20/20 and I should've booked it when I had the chance. But I was set on ending it right then and there in the small labyrinth of paper and dust I thought would give me all the advantage I needed.

"Kinda took me by surprise they only slammed you in the can for a little vacation, 'cause I'm pretty sure the plan was to make you lay low, somewhere 'round six feet under low."

Discretion was overrated. Maybe he already knew. Or maybe he was about to take the information to his grave.

"Guess if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself, huh?"

The dust whirled up and I whirled out of the way just in time.

"You break it, you buy it, pal!"

[dashboardlite]

"You sonuvabitch!"

I didn't know. I'd had a feeling for a while that something was up, but I was so damn grateful to have someone at my back that the Easy Street route got a little too easy. A dormy dropper, maybe from the start, and I was suckered into it. I should've dry-gulched him when I had the chance.

The dust from the books started settling, and I decided that playing fair just wasn't going to cut it. Out came my Colt - if I had to fog him just to get him to stand still, I'd do it.

"How long?" I demanded, kicking down another shelf of books. The second row - the last row - toppled over. It ain't often I go off the tracks, but now was as good as any time.

"How fucking long, you slimy gink?"

I hoped to Hell it hadn't been from the start. I had a lot of enemies - Whatever high pillow wanted me rubbed out must've either paid Clarence a whole lotta good spinach, or played on a weakness. Clarence didn't have many of those, either.

But he would when I was through with him.

[sadfreezingbrit]

"Who knows? Weeks, years, couple months maybe. Guess it was just that kinda thing, you know? Wakin' up one day and bam it hits you that you're in it with a complete sucker."

First he blew my cover, now he kicked down my hideout. The shelves were falling fast and I almost didn't make it to the next.

But when I made it to the last I knew I'd won.

"I'd have pulled a quiet disappearance act, but I figured that'd only set you on my trail like some sorta sad dog still lookin' for his owner."

Hide and seek was one thing, but I came prepared. My little book shop had a little secret. And that secret was a door, leading into my special storage room where I was packing enough heat to get rid of my visitor once and for all and then some.

Old habits really did die hard and with Clarence hiding in my past it didn't do well to just rely on your luck.

"So what the hell, kill two birds with one stone, right?"

Which only worsened the taste of my luck turning sour.

"Only you don't know when to leave well enough alone."

As the last shelf fell I reached for the hidden door only to find it hopelessly stuck. With the next cover too far away the only thing standing between me and him now was the cloud of dust.

And even that wouldn't last very long.