The Big 'Creep'

I looked through my drawer for a damn Camel and coughed. I had to shave. I poured myself a shot of Beefeater, and spilled some over my desk. Damn, I thought. My desk smelled like gin now. I’d woken up with some drunken floozy that morning, and my throat felt none too fresh. Nothing some liquor and smoke wouldn’t clear up.
My head was still reeling from the night before. Damn Lomez didn’t give me the information I was after, so I broke his index fingers. He won’t be pointing me in the right direction for a while. I gripped my pistol and reloaded it. Polly, I named her. She treated me better than any other dame had. If only a man could marry his bright polished gun; that would be the day.
I had a score to settle. I saw some movement outside of my window, so braced my ears and started firing through. That was the fourth time that year it was destroyed. Damn. I heard a lady scream, and the feet of some scumbag escaping. Outside, there were Girl Scout cookies everywhere and my secretary Cheryl was dead, shot in the head, by the scouts, no doubt. Even for a dead dame, she had gams that wouldn’t quit. I got my entire minibar and poured it over the office. “Nice working with ya,” I said to Cheryl, dropping a match onto her liquor- and blood-soaked lap. The place erupted in flames, and I took the elevator.
That office was getting too cramped anyway. The rest of the building was evacuated, and eventually burned to the ground, but I’d be damned if I stuck around there for a minute longer than I had to. That crook Lomez must have sent the girl scouts after me. That wasn’t the first time he’d tried that rap on me. Some thin mints poisoned my last three secretaries before I could warn them. I’d find Lomez and take him down, but first, I had a score to settle.
I walked back to my apartment, on 24th street, where an empty bottle of Beefeater and unpaid bills were my only welcome. I got another bottle and poured myself a tall glass. Damn, that was cheap, I thought. I lit a smooth, refreshing Camel and enjoyed the solitude for a while before a loud and angry knock at the door interrupted the peace. It was my landlord Brokowski. “This is your final warning,” he said. “You give me the rent or you’re out of here!”
I opened the door. “Here’s your rent,” I handed him a bloody wad of twenties I picked up off of Cheryl. Brokowski looked at me through his thick glasses and blew cigar smoke from his rotting mouth through the flickering fluorescent lights. “Where’s the rest?”
“It’s right here,” I said, as Polly did the honors. Brokowski coughed blood and smoke, falling over into his own liquids like a sucker. I left him there. I had a score to settle.
Lomez usually hung out at the Tooth, a sleazy joint where the only thing greasier than the customers is the grease-caked staff. I made my way down there. Two thugs stopped me right in front of the god-awful place. “You look pretty lost,” One of them said. He tried to knife me, but I let Polly take care of his eye-socket and most of his sinus. “You look pretty dead,” I said, spitting on his ruined, lifeless face. “You doofus!” the other said as he escaped. I blasted him in the kneecap for that remark and he fell flat on his face and started screaming like a sucker. I shot him in the guts to keep the noise down, and went in the disgusting establishment.
The grease squished into my shoes and I recoiled at the smell. I could hardly breathe. I ordered a shot of Beefeater at the bar and asked the greasy dame who gave it to me where she got gams like hers. She slapped me, and I let Polly do some of the talking.
“What do you want?” the dame said.
“Lomez come around here?” I asked, pointing my trusty gun right at her eyeball.
“No, you want the Lips, that’s a few blocks over.” A bullet thanked her eyeball for the information and I got out of there. The night was fresh, and I was mad. That gin didn’t sit with me right, so I spewed it all back up into the street, onto some gent with a dame. She slapped him and told him she would walk home.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, you drunk?” The sucker asked me. His fancy-pants pinstriped suit was yellow with my meals. “You better pay for this suit, asshole.”
“Spend all your money on that hooker?” I asked, pointing at the whore walking out of there. “Here’s your damn payback.” I blew him full of holes and caught up with the dirty dame.
“What do you want?” I asked her.
“Get out of here, you drunken bastard,” she screamed.
“You don’t have to flirt,” I said, forcing Polly under her nose. “You know where the Lips might be?” She shook her head.
“Wrong answer,” I said. The back of her head popped in an array of different materials, cheap pearls among them.
I lit a tasty, classy, Camel brand cigarette and enjoyed a few drags before this sucker walked by. “What are you looking at?” I asked him. He started running, and I shot off a few rounds into the air and whooped. He screamed and ran. I wouldn’t expect much more from a sucker.
I entered the Lips, where dim, flickering lights and poor bathroom cleanup staff controlled the sights and smells. Damn, I thought, but I can’t quite recall why.
There was Lomez, trying to suck down a drink without the use of his lame index fingers. “Lomez?” I asked.
“Get out of here,” he said.
“Don’t talk like that around a dame,” I said, pushing Polly onto his nostrils.
“I don’t even know what you want from me!” He, sucker-like, screamed.
“Not so loud, Gomez,” I warned.
“What do you want from me?”
“You know what I want, Lopez,” I replied.
“Who are you talking about? None of those are my name!”
“Wrong answer,” I said, smashing his face in with Polly’s butt. Blood sprayed out of his nose and he made a sound I’ve only heard mating foxes make.
A bouncer tried to take Polly away from me, but I shot his ribs into his lungs and he fell, sneezing blood. The suckers and dames around started screaming and bottlenecked the exit. Polly asked them to get out of the way, and I kicked Lomez one more time and poured his drink on his head so he wouldn’t forget me, and got out of the joint. I had a score to settle.