The Creed of Violence - Boston Teran [33]
"Does he know?"
"Why don't you ask me yourself?"
Rawbone stood in the doorway with derby in hand, a burner of light behind his shadowed features.
"He's with the BOI," said McManus.
Rawbone entered the room, approaching so Emmanuel and that shotgun were always within his field of vision. He spoke directly to John Lourdes. "It looks like you didn't do as I told you back at the Mills Building. Where to keep those eyes."
The son picked up the leading tone in the father's voice and with a slight turn of body saw Rawbone had his pocket automatic concealed in the derby.
"Did you know he was with the BOI?"
"Of course, I knew."
"And you brought him into my life?"
"This has nothing to do with your life. And there was money for you in it."
"You lied to me about him."
"I thought it was the most practical solution, knowing you."
McManus flung the notebook at the father. It hit his face and landed on the wood floor near the son.
"You're a shill now for the BOL"
John Lourdes reached for the notebook. He gripped the bench to stand. Rawbone helped to get him upright.
"That's right. Get him up, dust him off. You're a Goddamn butler. A manservant."
The father looked the son over to see how bad the beating was. "By the way, Mr. Lourdes, you've had some luck tonight."
The son, at that moment, was not so sure.
"Your note. It had the effect on Mr. Hecht you wanted."
John Lourdes nodded and wiped at the blood that was running down his face and neck. "Pay your friend what it's worth. And let's get from here."
"What do you want?"
McManus turned his attention to Rawbone. "What have you become?"
"I'll need my gun back," said John Lourdes.
McManus disregarded him. "What have you become?" he repeated.
"Call your fee," said Rawbone.
McManus ordered, "Emmanuel."
The little man with the shotgun took a step forward, kicking away a bench that was in his path.
"I said, what have you become?"
"Don't do this," said Rawbone.
"What have you become?"
There was a furied determination to McManus about having that question answered. The son studied the father; he noted the slightest movement of the hand with the derby.
"We've been friends, how long?" said Rawbone.
"Answer."
"Alright. I came to this place as some would say, a common assassin. And I'll be leaving this place the same way. So now ... what's your fee?"
"What have you become?"
"Jesus, man. It's about survival, alright. My personal survival. And I don't want to hear you keep talking from the belt buckle down. What's your fee?"
"McManus!" shouted John Lourdes. "The BOI wants nothing with you."
McManus leaned into Rawbone and looked down at him and said, "You're the hole in the shithouse floor now."
"What's your fee?"
"There's more than survival."
"So you say. Now what's your fee?"
The man's head lolled to one side like a great bear, slowly, and the eyes grew small as vapor drops. "You're my fee."
"Aye, brother," said Rawbone. And just like that, before his derby hit the floor, he had wheeled about and fired his automatic repeatedly. The little man named Emmanuel had no business being behind a shotgun. He was driven back and crying out, jerked in half. The shotgun went off wildly. A gas lamp exploded, throwing stars of glass and sparks everywhere. The funeral drapes on the far wall were run with flames.
Before Rawbone could turn McManus plowed that slagheap of a body right at him and got a grip on his gun hand. He kept right on for the wall, churning his legs with Rawbone trying to break loose and the gun going off wildly. John Lourdes locked his arms around McManus's neck to pull him back, but he was too strong and using his shoulder flung the young man like he was nothing against the projector. The motor kicked on and there was the click, click, click, click, click, click of the turning sprockets and a rush of dusty light and Rawbone was battered right into the adobe.
An ugly sound came out of Rawbone as if he'd been staved clear through. He'd expended all his ammunition. The body of the dead Emmanuel lay a