Walk on the Wild Side

Chapter 1-2

Looking around, he noticed the night slowly growing darker. Pushing himself away from the building, he cast aside his thoughts and began to run as hard as he could through the plague pit called Gangland, a part of the city where the balmy early evening air became cold, making him shiver. Even though he was entering the dark side of New York, he couldn’t stop. He had to take the ghostly tour if he wanted to escape the bulls. It was a section with a haunted past of murder, execution, and mystery. The Bowery, Little Italy. These were the places where some of the most renowned gangsters hung out. It was long forgotten except for the spine-tingling tales that haunted the ominous grey stone walls of the ancient buildings that once held speakeasies. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see ghosts walking the streets, ghosts of people who were executed and murdered there. With their spirits as his escort, he walked on, but still watching as he made his way beneath the dim yellow glow of the streetlights until the streets seemed to be strangely vacant, with no movement anywhere.

Like most of the street filth around here, he was well acquainted with the gangs in the neighborhood, and happened to notice Nick Leone, an infamous drug dealer that hung around the more dangerous streets. Nick’s dark face lurked in the shadows, while his half-lidded eyes constantly darted from one place to another as he took a leak on the dirt. Upon seeing him, Reny stopped, quickly found a shadow, and silently plastered himself against a brick wall and waited until the gang leader threw his cigarette down, went back inside, and worked his deal.

Living here he had to protect himself, so he owned several guns and knives. His first one was the gun he’d bought himself in the seventh grade. Yeah, you heard me right. It was the seventh grade. These bums around here didn’t care who they sold to. If a kid had the price of a gun, it was theirs. He’d bought it after a group of kids handcuffed him to a lamppost and beat the living hell out of him.

He still had that gun—and that memory.

Feeling as if he was at last safe, he decided the best thing he could do was to get off the street and head for his digs, so he walked slowly and looked around. When he didn’t see anything he felt a little easier, but realized he’d been spotted when he heard someone call his name. Oh, God, it was Piff Montana and the Latin Kings. He’d lost the cops all right, but due to his rotten luck he’d been spotted by an opposing gang. He began running the other way. He couldn’t run fast enough. They were right behind him. He kept going, but the fear inside him seemed to freeze his limbs, causing him to feel weak and awkward. His breath became short and labored. Finally he saw a thicket in the distance, and knew it was his only chance, so he ran as hard as he could toward it. He ducked his head as the slapping branches scratched his face, but he kept going, hoping he could get lost among the dense foliage. Faster, he had to go faster. If they caught him, death would be the kindest thing they’d do to him. And then he saw a jungle of shrubs up ahead and gave a big leap into them. He stayed quiet. Didn’t move. And then when all seemed to be silent, he crept out. That was when he heard a shout in the distance.

“Grab him, boys!”

He jerked his head up and saw a line of hoodlums up ahead. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded, and feeling the pain of being jostled, prodded, and pressed to the ground on his stomach with a heavy weight on top of him.

“Well, hello, Snake. Hey, boys, you know who we found here? It’s Reny Stark, better known as the Snake. He’s a fuckin’ killer, he is. Women, children, he don’t give a crap. He’s got a rap sheet as long as Broadway end to end. He kind of earned the name Snake, ‘cause every fuckin’ time he gets caught, he slithers away. So what are you doin’ in our neck of the woods, Snake? You slummin’?”

“You gotta let me go, Piff, the police are after me.”

“Oh, really? What for?”

“I got caught between two robbers pullin’ a bank job.”

Piff chuckled and looked around at the other hoodlums. “Did you guys hear that? He’s on the run from a bank job. Beautiful. So what happened?”

“I told you. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I don’t believe a word. What the hell would you be doin’ in a bank if not to rob it?”

“If you must know, I was stakin’ it out, but I knew right away it wasn’t my game. I was about to leave when I got caught in the middle of the whole thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you’re so innocent why didn’t you explain to the cops?”

“Are you kidding? They would’ve recognized me right off, and I would’ve gone down with the rest of ‘em. When the bullets began flyin’ I got out of there.”

“Real nice guy, this one. The others get caught, but old Snake here hightails it out of there without lookin’ back.”

“Anybody else would’ve done the same.”

“Well, I guess it don’t matter none anyway. You showed them uniformed creeps that you couldn’t be caught.”

“You wanna tell your goons to let me go now, Piff? My arms are hurtin’.”

“You don’t have money stashed away in that bank, do you? Money you ain’t tellin’ nobody about?”

“Would I be livin’ like this if I had a stash of big ones?”

“It don’t matter ‘cause it ain’t money we’re after anyway.”

“Then what the hell is it? Say what you gotta say, and let me go before—”

“You’re crud, Snake…”

“If you’re gonna talk to me call me Reny! Got that? My fuckin’ name is Reny.”

“All right, Reny. It’s like this. You’re a big glob of ugly, smelly, nasty crud. You’ve proved that time and again.”

“I still don’t know what the hell you’re gettin’ at, Piff.”

“You watch out for number one, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Reny. How many jobs have you pulled, and you’ve yet to be caught.”

“Convenience stores, vendors, small time stuff, Piff. No friggin’ banks.”

“I know. I also know why you can’t be caught. It’s because you’re as selfish as hell. f**k everybody else, you’re gonna take care of number one. Just last week one of your so-called friends was wounded, but did you give a rat’s ass? Hell, no. You left him there to die, poor bastard.”

“I couldn’t do anything for him. He made a wrong move, he paid for it.”

“That’s what I mean, Reny. It’s every man for himself with you.”

“So sue me. They know the fuckin’ score. If they get caught that’s the price they pay for being stupid.”

“The more we talk, the more I understand why everyone around here hates you. In case you don’t know, they all hope your fingers will turn to fishing hooks when you get an itch on your balls. Me, hell, I just think you’re a little smarter than the rest. What do I care that your reputation’s in the toilet? The most important thing is, you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“f**k you.”

Piff snickered, and looked around. “See guys? We got him dead to rights here, but the guy’s not even a little bit nervous. He’s a friggin’ robot. No feelings, no regrets, just number one.” Piff leaned down and looked in Reny’s eyes. “You sure you ain’t put together with bolts and screws?”

The other gang members snickered at that.

“I’d love to rub you out, you bastard!”

“I’m sure you would, but not tonight, Reny. Tonight I’m gonna put you on somebody else’s tail. You know the drill. I’ll give you a name, and you do the rest.”

“Hey! I don’t hire out, got that? Not anymore.”

“That’s not the word on the street.”

“Look, you dipstick, if you want someone killed do it yourself or come across with some filthy lucre. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d call off your goons.”

Piff’s eyes shot fire as he lunged the point of his knife at Reny’s throat. “I think you’ll do the job.”

“You can’t scare me, Piff, so don’t even try. Why don’t you do the human race a favor and go stick your head in a toilet and flush?”

“Say anything you want, Reny, at least I don’t go around killing mothers and their so…”

“Shut up!”

“Oh, my God,” Piff said, surprised, “he does have a conscience.”

“That was a drive-by shooting. A bullet got away from me, that’s all. I didn’t…God, why did you have to bring that up?”

“Well, it looks like the Snake’s armor’s got a dent in it after all, don’t it guys.”

With a struggle and a few mumbled obscenities, Reny said, “I hope to hell somebody puts a contract out on your life. If they do, I’ll do it for nothing, you ugly bastard. I’d advise you to keep lookin’ over your shoulder. Remember, I’m the Snake, and I’ll have you in hell before Satan even knows your dead.”

“Look,” Piff said, his impatience showing. “We could stay here and do this all night, but it’s time we get down to business. His name is Ric Ferrand, and I want him dead.”

“I said no!” Suddenly Reny felt his arm being wrenched, and yelled out. “Owww! God! Stop!”

“I’ll stop, but remember this, you creep. All it would take is an anonymous phone call to the local police precinct and tell them where the one is that got away.”

“All right…I’ll…I’ll need a little background on him. His hangouts, his interests, if he has any relatives, a girl…”

“He’s fuckin’ gay. That alone is enough to make my balls shrivel up and die.”

“So you don’t like gay guys, huh? What if I told you that you were talkin’ to one?”

“I know you’re fuckin’ gay,” Piff said, and indicated to his partner to let him go. “I ought to kill you just for walkin’ around straight.”

Reny stumbled up, turned to Piff, and pushed his face so close to his he could see down into Piff’s dirty soul. “Better men than you have tried, so don’t even think about it.”

“That mouth you got on you is another reason I’d love the chance to rub you out.”

“Stop flappin’ your jaws, Piff, and get me what I asked for. Otherwise you can do the job yourself.”

“All right! I’ll get it to you tonight.”

While brushing himself off, Reny said. “The price is a grand.”

Piff stood looking at him with his mouth hanging open. “Hey, you creep, you ain’t gettin’ spit.”

“A great big grand! Got that?” Reny said as he rushed up to Piff and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You fool with me and I’ll make it two.”

“I ain’t payin’ you…”

“Fine. Do it yourself. I didn’t want the job anyway. But you listen to me. You want my skill, my expertise, and my know-how, you’re payin’ for it, sucker. Now get it up, along with everything else I asked for, or no dice.”

“All right,” Piff said, pulling at Reny’s hands. “I’ll have it to you by midnight.”

“That’s better,” Reny said, suddenly letting go of Piff’s collar and causing him to stumble backwards. “Don’t make that mistake again, or it’ll be your head on the chopping block.”

* * * *

By the time Reny had pushed open the creaky gate that led up to his rundown apartment house, the night had folded around the city like a sultry blanket. The temperature had cooled down a little, but the concrete still felt hot through the thin leather of his soles. When he walked into his room, the first thing he did was turn on a fan, and collapse in front of it.

Just as Piff had promised, along about midnight, Reny looked down and saw an envelope being slid beneath his door. He jumped up, ran to the door and opened it, but whoever it was had already left. No knock, no greeting, nobody on the other side to tell him to go to hell, just a furtive push, and then the sound of shoe leather scuffling away.

“Bastard,” he mumbled as he leaned down and picked up the envelope.

In it was the most beautiful wad of bills he’d ever seen. His eyes widened as he spread the bills out like cards, and stared at all the dead presidents with a hitching breath. He couldn’t believe he’d actually pulled it off. He’d demanded money, and got it. The first thing he had to do was hide it, and looked around for a good place. He’d put the money in several different spots, but couldn’t get a good feeling about any of them, so he finally stuffed them in his wallet, and dug deeper into the envelope to pull out a photograph of a smiling, friendly face. The guy looked harmless enough, clean, normal, and even nice. A son any mother would be proud to call her own. It made Reny wonder what he had done to Piff to mark the guy for murder. His question was answered when he looked further. Apparently he was a columnist at the Wall Street Journal, and when Piff found out he had written a derogatory piece about the Gangland territory and even mentioned Piff and his gang by name, he knew the writer had signed his own death certificate. He further learned that he was from a wealthy family that had left him a trust fund that he couldn’t touch until he was thirty. For relaxation he hung out at gay bars, liked jazz, and had even gone to college.

“Educated bastard,” Reny mumbled.

Putting all the info and the pictures together in his mind, he tried to visualize what he might be like, but one thing a photograph couldn’t tell him was his mannerisms. Reny snickered, willing to bet his bottom dollar that this bookish creep was effeminate, sissy, and talked with a friggin’ lisp.