Drawing Dead

[Harlan Higgs]

Bobby Stabs and Jim the Gangster stood in front of Mr. Higgs' desk, shuffling their feet and trying to avoid the gaze of one Mr. Charlie Versben, currently Acting Boss while Harlan was away at Dante's Abyss. The bald majordomo steepled his fingers over a manila sheaf of photos, and let out a long sigh. "So. Boys. You're new to the scene, that much is obvious. You're not incompetent, which is also obvious. Did a good job on that Twilek slinging the Amaranth to kids." He pulled out a photo showing Bobby Stabs with blood all over his suit getting dragged into a car while Jim returns fire at an unseen target. "Apparently you get involved in a very large mix up that results in what looks like a near fatal wound for Stabs, here. How is it that these events came to pass when neither I nor the boss had ordered you to go out on your own and do these things?"

Neither besuited youth spoke for a good moment. Charlie raised his voice only slightly. "You tell me everything that happened, or you'll be on bartending duty for four months. And no Studebaker priveliges. Your supply of steady dames will dry up if you can't parade around like the wise guys you think you are."

Jim took his hat off and began. "Well....see...it started with..." 

He fell silent, and Charlie filled in the blanks. 

"It started with a fuckin' dame, didn't it?"

Starting With A Fucking Dame

Charlie shakes his head. "Un-be-fuckin'-lievable. You pick up these alien broads, then go DEEP into fuckin' Westside turf, then you take a motherfucking JOB from the teddy bear? Which leads you two fuckin' meatheads right into tussling with the tuskfuckers. Christ. No wonder Bobby got fucked up, hitting orcs with no backup. I...just.....ugh. Go on, kiddies. Uncle Charlie's got all the time in the world."

The boys continue their story.

Well, You See...

There is an audible smack as Charlie facepalms his own mug. "You dragged Audrey into this as well? Great, well, that's no skin off my nose. She does whatever the hell she wants, and the Boss is sweet on her so he allows it. But goddamn, you two idiots have gotten us mixed up with the Westside entirely by yourselves? Fuck."

Charlie slumps back in the padded leather chair behind Harlan's desk and slides the drawer open. "Guess it's not all bad....at least now we got ourselves a couple of fuckin' ambassadors if we need 'em. Now get the fuck out, and you better pray to whatever gods you believe in the Boss don't flip his lid when he gets back."

The boys hurry out of the room, and Charlie pulls a cigar out of the drawer, lighting it up with slightly shaky fingers. There were perks to being a consigliere.

Too bad they came with responsibilities like sorting out this fuckin' mess.

[Harlan Higgs]

The waitress smiled as she set down the cup of espresson and the almond biscotti. "Here you are, sir." She said brightly, cheerful and relaxed. Charlie looked up at her and returned the smile, although on the man's scarred lips it looked more piscine. He reached for his wallet, but the girl waved him off. "No, no, please. On the house. We appreciate everything you've been doing, truly."

Charlie looked around and couldn't disagree. He was in a cafe that, only a few months ago, had been dilapidated and run down, barely operating. Now it was newly renovated and, if not bustling, now much more active than before. Young workers and citizens now frequented it. There were success stories like this all over Little New York, the sixty odd blocks the Gentleman Jacks now controlled. 

Charlie nodded in acknowledgement, but still pulled out his wallet and tucked a few creds into the waitresses apron. "For you." He mumbled, before picking up the espresso cup and sipping. Harlan liked to do these "personal showings", joining a squad of the troops on a neighborhood patrol to show the colors. This one was closer to the edges of their territory, but it had been quiet. The Gentleman Jacks were becoming a known quantity on Tier 5.

They might have been involved in the typical gang line of work, less than legal, morally gray, but who could argue with the results? Safety without oppression? Charlie at least took solace in the fact that they were better than the Empire. The Jacks didn't care where you ate, where you shopped, who your friends were. All that they cared about was you not rockin' the boat and spoiling it for the rest of the territory. And that you paid your dues, of course. This -was- a community.

Charlie stood up, having finished his espresso and biscotti. He could spot the patrol he'd come with rounding the blocks, talking and joking with each other as the acting boss signalled them it was time to go.

Or...was it?

The hairs on the back of the old gangster's neck prickled with apprehension, and immediately set hin on edge. You didn't get to be an old hitman without developing an instinct for trouble, and that instincf was telling him shit was about to go down.

Just as he pushed his chair back from the table, he heard it. A low, throaty rumble, like a big smoke belching diesel engine.

And an Ork Trukk rounded the corner of 58th street.

"WARYORZ! WARYORZ!" One of them screamed, hurling a flaming bottle towards the cafe. With a practiced hand, Charlie drew his Browning Hi-Power from its shoulder holster and fired off foir shots. The bottle shattered in midair and erupted in a cloud of flame, saving the cafe from that particular danger. "Hit the deck!" The underboss screamed, kicking up a table for cover and letting shots go at the Ork vehicle.

Blue bursts of superheated plasma rained across the cafe storefront, the patrol of Jacks storming up the street and bringing a hail of lead with them from their tommy guns. Even the owner, a fat mustachioed Neptunian burst out of the door with two shotguns, one in each pair of hands. Screaming curses in his native language, he joined the pitched firefight as the Orks realized they wouldn't win this one. 

They kept shooting, even as the growling vehicle careened down the street and turned off to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief, noting the fallen bodies of those that hadn't managed to get out of the way, plasma burns marking customers, staff, and a Jack or two. The owner laid down his guns and walked up to Charlie. "Thank you....you hadn't-a been here, could have been much worse. Even still....ahhh....it's a bad day. I thought things wrre getting better."

Charlie grimaced and put his gun away, staring at his casualties. A young man and a woman, both of them shot down next to each other, their hands still tight around their firearms.

"Yeah." Charlie spat. "It was getting better."

[Harlan Higgs]

"It's even worse than we thought."

Charlie was standing outside the Luxor with a few other Jacks, all of them tense and armed, waiting for something that might or might not come. Another sub lieutenant, Tommy Two-Shoes, was explaining to Charlie what he'd missed as the underboss returned from the disastrous patrol. 

"The fucking bastards hit us in five separate locations, all on the outskirts. Not just orcs, too. Wookies and other stiffs, which means Gastropoda." Charlie groaned the groan of a man unaccustomed to groaning so much in so short a time. "The fuck did we do to piss off the Hutts? As if I didn't know." Tommy whistled to another group of Jacks standing around. "We'll find out."

~~~~A FEW DAYS LATER~~~~

Tommy pulled out a sheaf of papers, typed up neatly. They were back outside the Luxor, a constant guard now stationed outside for any other attacks on the heart of the Jack's territory. "Alright boss....here's what we got. I don't think it's anything we did specifically. The Westsiders been stirring that particular pot for a while now. Things came to a head, and the Slugs and Orks think we ain't big enough to slow 'em down. Open war, might as well knock the new kids off the playground, you dig, Charlie?"

The majordomo nodded and scanned the street as Tommy went on. "They hit Gino's on 18th, Fat Sam's Speakeasy on West 43rd, Diamond Dallas's on the east side, Sork Luchezo's cafe where you were, and the Top Hat. All on the edges, all during patrol times."

Tommy took off his hat and looked mournful. "We already lost a few. Audrey's did her best, and the new batch of Amaranth helped, but it wasn't enough. Those fuckin' Burners the orks is using kill quick."

Charlie said the words every leader hates using. "Give me the rundown. We got them all back home, right?"

Tommy looked at the list and started reading. "Eddy Locks is gone. Squid Salem too. Then we lost Kro'tan Vasilli, Ukat'iklan, and Siirno Kahn. Little Johnny, Big Johnny, Big Little Johnny, and Fuckin' Fat Mike all got taken out when their ride blew up. That's it for now, but..." Tommy stared down Charlie hard. "We're gonna lose more. This was just a wake-up call."

Charlie spat on the ground and locked the slide on his gun. "I know. Christ....the Boss needs to be here, yesterday. This ain't my decision to be makin'. What set them off, Tom?"

The lieutenant ruffled the sheaf of papers. "Seems like it was a Westside op gone wrong. Leader of the Deathblades took out...fuck. They hit the Narshada hotel and took out Voras the Hutt and his entire operation." His face fell as he continued reading. "Princess Hellstab. Fuck....poor kid. That shit shouldn't happen."

The Reaping

Charlie removed his hat as well, his lips grim. "They were kids, but they knew the score. It ain't playtime down here, Tommy."

The man continued, straightening his bowtie. "Yeah, yeah, I know....hmm. Shit. That broad who leads the Westside? Luci, I think? She's in rough. Put up a bounty on someone named Kuzura. Holy shit, 1000 OM?"

Charlie looked up. "Luci? Boss has been wanting to talk to her for a while....hmm." The majordomo paced for a good few minutes. "Alright. Here's what we do. I want double strength patrols from now on. Everyone watches each other's backs, and I want you to step up recruitment. Start canvassing neighborhoods again, I'm sure we got some fresh imports from up top. Let 'em know what it means to be a Gentleman."

Tommy nodded and turned to go back into the club. "One more thing." Charlie called after him. 

"Yeah?" Tommy paused.

"Get Bobby Stabs and Jim. Tell them to assemble a protection squad. I want eyes on this Luci broad so we can tell the Boss when he gets back where she is."

[Harlan Higgs]

"We can't find her, Boss. She's just...gone."

Charlie kneaded his brow and sighed. "I figured. She got away from that Kuzura guy, and he's a Prime. You two schmucks were disadvantaged to begin with." The underboss leaned back in Harlan's chair and nodded. "At least you were out there. I'm sure word got out we were lookin' for her."

Bobby Stabs and Jim the Gangster nodded. "It's been quieter too...maybe the orcs think they hurt us good, enough to stay out of their way?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nah. They're consolidating. You hit an outfit hard, all at once, then you give them a spell to start to get paranoid. That's when you bring the hammer down with a full out assault." The bald man rubbed a scar above his eyebrow, one that probably told more about the story than his words. "The Boss needs to get back, now. This calm won't last long, and truth be told..." He caught himself as he realized who was in the room with him. Hand raised, he motioned out the door. "Scram, you two. And shut the door."

The youthful malcontents acquiesced and beat feet, closing the office door. Charlie slid the desk drawer open, only to discover that he'd smoked the last cigar two hours ago. All this stress. It got to a man. "Shit...I don't think we can withstand a full assault on this place. We just ain't got the bricks."

Charlie pulled out a weather paper map of Tier 5. At least, the section closest to them. There was still pleeeenty of tier that stretched in all different directions that hadn't even heard of the Gentleman Jacks. But if they survived this, Omni willing, they would eventually.

The Jack's underboss began going over the territory distribution, marking possible Ork buildup sites, the Westsiders strongholds, and how the eventual battlefield would pan out. Little New York was only about 60 blocks square, and the edges were already fraying from the last attack. Christ, what a nightmare. There was no way to protect where the next attack would be, where they're fall in from, if they'd move on one of the other gangs first. The bald man mumbled to himself, chewing on a pen. "Floating Lotus have been active....the Directors have been quiet, but that might change with this shit getting stirred up....fuck..."

And then the door to the office was kicked in.

"Charlie. Charlie. Would you please tell me something, hmm?"

Charlie looked up, only to see something large and round flying towards him. He started, scooting back from the desk as a grotesque splat echoed off the walls. The severed (well....ripped off) head of a green orc landed right on his map, staring up at him with dead eyes and an expression of terror. The Jack's underboss looked past the grisly sight to see Harlan Higgs, Prodigal Boss standing in the doorway, several wicked blades sticking out of his body at odd angles and plasma burns marring his skin.

The vampire adjusted a nearly incinerated derby on his head and stared at Charlie with a placid look on his face. "Would you care to be telling me why exactly I had to fight two Ork hit squads on my way home? I was under the impression I left things rather serene and in quite capable hands."

There was a moment of silence.

And then Charlie told him everything that had happened while he had been gone.


In the meantime, Harlan had removed the orc weapons from his torso and resummoned his usual snazzy clothing. "Hmm. Well. I can't say I'm happy, exactly....but you did well enough. No one could have seen this shit coming."

Charlie breathed out a sigh he didn't realize he'd been holding in. "We tried finding this Luci broad so you could have a chat, but-" 

Harlan cut him off with a grin. "Oh, that's been taken care of. She was very accomodating. We've been invited to the next Westside Emergency Council meeting."

The vampire continued. "And until then....I have a project to take care of. And all your fears will be allayed."

Charlie stood up from the chair and returned Harlan's seat of power to him. "Might I ask how, Boss?"

The gambler slid behind his desk, his eyes glimmering. "Oh, you'll see. It's right up my...Alley."