The Littlest Hitman

The rain outside keeps coming down, like it thinks it owns the place. And for the last week it has--nothing but water. If I were religious I would have built a goddamn ark by now but being a heathen of sorts I just get drunk.

I slide my empty glass down the bar. “Frank, another bourbon.”

He nods and before I can say cirrhosis of the liver he’s sliding a fresh bourbon my way. “Thanks.”

He nods and the cleft in his freshly shaven chin reflects light like the bottom of a polished beer can. He must use enough aftershave lotion to lubricate the chassis of a formula-one racecar. I have to turn my head so the glint of the thing doesn’t blind me. It’s a goddamn fortuitous turn as I see a cab coming straight for the plate glass window of Connroy’s Pub. I dive out of the way just as the cab smashes through the window. It plows through tables and chairs creating a windstorm of splintering tables and chairs. The cab is stopped cold by the brick bar and is enveloped in a cloud of dust.

I don’t know how but I managed to save my drink but I did and there’s no sense in wasting it. I pour it down my throat and set the empty glass on one of the few remaining tables. Frank pokes his head up from the far end of the bar. It’s damn lucky it’s only 8 PM--me and some bum at the end of the bar were the only ones in the place. Lucky for that bastard he’s in the bathroom yakking up the fish and chips he just ate. In the long run drinking was killing him but today it just might have saved his pathetic life.

As the dust settles I see the driver climb out from behind the airbag. It’s a goddamn kid.

I go over and grab him by the scruff of his shirt and hoist him up in the air. “Why you no good punk. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t send you out the same window you just came in.”

He swings his scrawny arm at me. “Screw you old man.”

It takes every last inch of self control I can muster not to flatten the kid’s face with the back of my mitt but I do and I’m damn glad I do. I could lose my PI license for something like that.

I grab the front of his shirt and twist it hard so the circulation is cut off to his head. His eyes bug out and his head turns as red as a baboon’s ass. “All right, I’ll talk, just get your hands off of me.”

I loosen my grip but not all the way. This one was young but slippery, squirms like a goddamn greased eel. If I turn my head for one second he’d be gone.

“So, why’d you do it?”

The kid pulls his Yankees cap further down on his head. “I took a wrong turn.”

My anger gets the better of me and I smack him hard across the face. “I know that much kid. I just want to know how a kid gets wrapped up in trying to kill someone. I know there’s a hit out on me. It’s all over town.”

He puffs his chest out which is nothing short of pathetic. He looks like a plucked chicken. Twenty seconds ago I wanted to break the little bastard in half now I just want to buy him a cup of soup.

I can hear sirens closing in. “Come on we’re going to get something to eat.”

He kicks and his legs hit nothing but air. “I ain’t hungry.”

I tighten my grip on the scruff of his neck and drag him out the back door. “We’ll go to this Chinese joint down the street. “

I drag him kicking and screaming down the alleyway and to the kitchen door of Happy Time Chinese restaurant. I know the owner, Mr. Hoo—he’s an associate. We go through the back door. The cooks and kitchen help look up at me and then back down on to their work. They know me for having down work for Mr. Hoo.

I push open the double doors that lead to the dining room, the kid in tow. The place is deserted.

Mr. Hoo rushes across the floor and meets me with a smile. “Oh, Mr. Ludlow, how nice of you to drop in. Usually, guests use the front door but in your case an exception can be made.”

I set the kid down on the ground but keep my mitt on his neck. “I appreciate it. Kid this is Mr. Hoo.”

The kid scowls. “You said you knew him.”

“Yeah, I do this is Hoo.”

“I don’t know I’ve never been in this restaurant before.”

“No, I’m telling you this is Hoo.”

The kid is getting pissed. “Don’t ask me.”

“I didn’t I was telling you this Hoo.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Hoo.”

“That’s what I’m asking you. Who?”

Mr. Hoo strokes his pencil thin mustache. “You two sound like Elvis and Costello.”

“I think you mean Abott and Costello and yeah, you’re right Mr. Hoo, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s just get something to eat.” I take out a cigarillo and light it.” My friend and I ran into a little trouble and had to scram down the alleyway.”

Mr. Hoo straightens his bow tie and smiles. “There is an ancient Chinese proverb Mr. Ludlow that says: Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.”

“I never start the damn trouble…well, most of the time I don’t. I just try to do the right thing and sometimes that means doing things the wrong way.”

“I understand. You are a man that will protect his morals no matter what he has to do. There is great honor in that.”

“Uh, huh, listen this kid needs something to eat. How about we start out with some egg drop soup and a half dozen egg rolls.”

“Very good, Mr. Ludlow. Very good.”

I blink and Hoo is gone. I turn to the sound of the kitchen door swinging back and forth. We sit at a table. It’s time to get down to brass tacks with this damn kid. “So, some guy offers you money to off me.”

The kid defiantly folds his scrawny arms across his chest. “Nobody offered me nothing. I made a wrong turn.”

“Right, you stole a cab and thought you’d park it in the middle of a pub. I’m not stupid, kid and I’m not that damn important. This was personal.”

Chin puts the soup and egg rolls on the table. “Go ahead eat.”

The kid doesn’t want to give in but looks like he hasn’t eaten since the Clinton administration was in office and only lasts about three seconds before he’s wolfing down an egg roll.

“Bring us an order of beef and broccoli and one of General Tsao’s chicken and make it as spicy as possible. Oh, and bring me two Cokes too.”

Hoo nods and is gone and comes back ten seconds later with two Cokes. “Your Cokes.”

I nod. “Thanks, Hoo.”

The kid grabs a glass and starts guzzling. He’s making all sorts of slurping sounds and it just about makes me want to puke.

I stand and hike up my pants. “I have to use the pisser. I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom is a cramped dank place with phone numbers and street philosophy scribbled all over the walls. I lock the door and light up a cigarillo. A kid like that has to be watched. Mr. Hoo knows the score. He won’t let that kid out of his sight. I smoke my cigarillo to the nub and let myself out of the bathroom.

I look at the empty plates on the table. “You could have left me an egg roll.”

The kid is all smiles. “Oh, I thought they were for me.”

One of the waiters I gave a twenty spot to bumps into my little friend. The kid jumps up from his seat and I switch our drinks. “Watch where you’re going mother fucker.”

“I’d be a little nicer to someone that’s going to serve my meal. No telling what type of foreign objects you might ingest.”

The kid sits and I can tell what I said to him gets to him. It’s true, waitresses and waiters can be vengeful and I am always on my best goddamn behavior until after my meal is served and if I do raise a stink because the service was bad or they were rude I make sure never to eat in the place again.

Mr. Hoo sits the food in front of us and I can tell the kid wants to eat it up but what I just said to him has got him thinking.

“Go ahead, eat up. Mr. Hoo wouldn’t let them do anything to our food.”

The kid can’t control himself. He goes for the General Tsao’s chicken and heaps three fourths of the platter on his plate. He doesn’t even stop to breathe and start shoveling the stuff in his mouth. I see the recognition of the spices just registering on his taste buds. He goes for his Coke and downs the whole thing.

“That’s quite a display you’re putting on their champ. You ought to challenge that Japanese hot dog eating guy. You might have a chance against him.”

Mr. Hoo comes up to our table. “Detective Ludlow, there is a phone call for you at the bar.”

I stand. “Thanks. And kid, leave me some food.”

He doesn’t even look up but keeps shoveling. I make my way to the bar. There’s a glass of bourbon waiting there for me. I take my time drinking it.

Mr. Hoo walks up to the bar and I slip a hundred dollar bill into his mitt. “Send the kid up here and then replace the meals and drinks on the table and put this in the kids food. I hand him a pill.

Mr. Hoo takes the pill and is gone before I can say thank-you. I finish off my drink just as the kid comes up to the bar.

“What is it?”

“Oh, Mr. Hoo must have misunderstood me. I just asked him if you needed anything. His English isn’t so great.”

The kid heads back to the table and I follow. I sit and he is watching me intently.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

I pick up my fork, scoop some broccoli and chicken on my plate and start eating. Damn, this shit is hot. I take a long cold drink and when I open my eyes the kid is sitting there with a smile spread across his full mouth.

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. “What are you so damn happy about?”

“Because mother fucker. I’m no damn kid. I’m just blessed with good genes.”

I take a bite of chicken. “I knew you weren’t a kid. Despite being so damn short and scrawny.”

He stops chewing and his face tightens.

“So, how old are you? Twenty-seven?”

“Who fucking told you?”

“No one, it’s my job to know these things.”

“Yeah, well if you’re so damn bright then why are you eating a deadly poison right now.”

“I’m not, you are.”

He spits the rest of his food across the table. “Well, then smart guy I guess you know a hitman always carries a gun.”

“Is that a gun in your pocket? Hmm, I just thought you were happy to see that transvestite waitress...you know you’re not looking so hot.”

He pulls at his collar. His eyes bug out. He knows now I wasn’t fucking around.
He pulls his gun out under the table. “You’re going out with me.”

Mr. Chin squeezes the trigger and the taser darts hits the kid in the neck. He convulses and falls to the ground.

I take out a cigarillo and light it. “Let’s get this bastard an ambulance. I want him to live so he can spend the rest of his life in jail.”

“Let’s put him in the alley. I don’t want to people to think he was poisoned in my restaurant.”

“Good point.”