Wednesday, 7 May 1935.
Liberty City.
"Are you ready?"
"Yeah, I'm ready," I said. I wasn't, but I couldn't let on so I lied.
It was a miserable night on Docherty Street in the lowest part of Lower Hereford and I was huddled with my best friend Lanny Cruikshank in the recessed doorway of a butcher's shop. The clouds had opened up half an hour ago and heaviest rain was over but a light drizzle was still falling. I was cold and wet and nervous.
Across the street a hobo huddled under a wool blanket at the mouth of an alley. Every few seconds he breathed out a white puff of cigarette smoke. In the tiny coffee shop next door, a pair of men in a window booth drank coffee and talked. Their lips moved but I couldn’t hear them. Now and then they glanced out the window at the empty street.
"You're sure Archie's going to come by this way, Lanny?" I asked. "What if he takes a different route?"
I tried to keep my voice low and relaxed, tried to speak from my chest and not the back of my throat. It was a trick I learned from my father. "A high voice makes you sound timid," he had said. "A relaxed, low voice is calming and shows people you're confident."
I didn't feel very confident and I was worried Lanny would see through my sham. Lanny knew me better than most so if I could fool him, maybe I could fool myself, too.
"He'll be by," Lanny said. "I got it on good authority."
"Yeah? Who's authority?"
"You don't remember so good, do you? I explained this once already."
"I'm about to kill a man, Lanny. For you. Sorry if I'm forgetful."
"Archie's sweet on a frail who lives two blocks that way. He pays her $10 for the privilege of spending the night in her sheets. I paid her $100 to call him out for the night, tell him she's lonely and needs his big, strong arms around her. The nearest streetcar stop is on this block. He'll get off right over there and walk straight past us."
Lanny checked his watch. It was a flashy gold Rolex and he wore it loose on his bony wrist. I wished he'd stop dressing like a damned peacock.
Sure, Lanny was my best friend like I said, but he also ran the Hereford Rottie's, a street gang that controlled Lower Hereford, and in this part of the Forge, he stood out like a neon sign. I knew next to nothing about crime but it seemed like the wrong approach to draw attention to yourself if you were in that line of work. Yes, Officer, I remember the man. He was average height, average build, short brown hair, and wore a bespoke blue suit, black patent leather shoes, and a gold silk tie. And that Rolex on his wrist...I'll never forget it.
"Not long now," Lanny said.
"Why are we doing this again?"
"Because Archie's gotta die," he said. "The fucker has been stealing from us--and not the expected chump change. He's been staging robberies of our bootleg liquor shipments and making them look like the 12th Street Disciples are behind it, then selling the goods privately. For traitors, the sentence is death."
After Archie was out of the way and promptly forgotten, Lanny would promote someone out of the ranks to take over his operations. That left a space at the bottom that needed to be filled which is where I came into the picture.
After dad caught tuberculosis, mom had to quit work to look after him and I moved in with them to help pay the bills, but $17 a week didn't stretch very far when you had to cover three people. Rent was due, the grocery bill hadn't been paid in a month, and dad's medicine didn't come cheap. It's not like the government was ever going to cover the medical bills of anyone living in the Forge.
Things were okay for a while, then I lost my job at SG Steel. I was just a janitor, but it was still a job. Lanny knew what was going on and that's when told me about this opportunity: kill Archie Millar and become a Rottie. I'd be turning to a life of crime, but he promised my share of one job for the Rottie's--even as a lowly foot soldier--was more than I made in a month pushing a broom across the factory floor.
It was a hard offer to resist.
The .22 pistol in my hand came from the Rottie's armoury. It was a throw down, untraceable, or so I was told. You used it then tossed it down the nearest sewer where the storm water would wash it down to the river. Lanny had selected it for the Millar job because it was small and didn't pack much kick.
"That's important for a novice like you," he had said. "Don't want any random citizens catching stray bullets."
From a distance the .22 didn't pose much of a danger, but at point blank range it would do the job.
"Not long now," Lanny said. "Couple minutes, maybe. Remember what we talked about. Walk up behind him, aim for the back of his head then call him by name. When he turns around, pull the trigger. Easy-peasy."
Easy-peasy. What if I freeze? I thought. What if I panic and the wrong man dies? What happens then? The gun was small in my hand, but it carried the weight of a lead brick.
Lanny put his cigar in his mouth and took a puff, then let the smoke drift out as he spoke.
"You sure you're up for this?" Lanny asked. "You look jittery."
"Too much coffee at supper," I said.
A streetcar rattled around the corner on its rails then started down the street. #33 glowed in the dome above the conductor's booth.
"That's the one," Lanny said. He pulled me back into the shadows of the doorway. "Let's get this over with."
The street car's brakes squealed as it rolled to as stop. A man in silhouette hopped off and mounted the curb as the streetcar pulled away. Lanny peeked around the side of doorway and pulled back.
"That's him," he said.
I risked a glance just as Archie passed under a street light. He was dressed like any other working man in the neighbourhood: plain brown trousers, plain brown shoes, and a plain brown jacket. His left hand carried a meagre bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper and his right hand supported a large black umbrella. His face was hidden and he bounced along the sidewalk despite the dismal weather. Why not? He was a man expecting a night of many delights.
Lanny shrank deeper into the shadows. Footsteps on wet concrete drew closer.
"Get ready," he whispered.
I wasn’t ready. There was no way I could ever be ready for what Lanny wanted me to do, never in my life, but I swallowed hard and listened to the footsteps get closer and closer.
Archie passed the doorway, so close I could have touched him. I let a breath pass before I stepped out of hiding and onto the sidewalk. I waited a few beats then started following him. Where would I do it? How do you pick the spot where you’re supposed to kill a man in cold blood? I was not ready for any of this. I would never be ready, but the moment demanded something of me before it passed.
Archie paused on the corner at an intersection. There were no cars but he stopped and looked both ways, twice, which gave me the chance to get right up behind him. I raised my arm and brought the barrel of the gun to the base of his skull.
“Archie Millar,” I said louder.
His wide shoulders tensed and his brown head turned ever so slightly. He'd heard me, I was certain of it, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he just waited in silence. Cold rain dripped off the edges of the umbrella onto my wrist and licked under my sleeve then down my forearm.
“Archie Millar,” I said again, but he didn’t turn around. Why didn’t he turn around? This wasn't the plan.
“I don’t want to do this behind your back, Archie,” I said, practically yelling. “You have to turn around.”
“Take it easy, kid,” he said.
The gun trembled in my hand. How long would this moment stretch? Forever?
Crisp footsteps approached behind me at a quick pace. Lanny had lost his patience. He stopped beside me and leaned into my face.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Pull that fucking trigger.”
Archie finally turned around and Lanny glanced at him
“You’re not Archie,” he said, his expression sliding from murderous to confused. He backed up a space.
The man dropped the flowers and held up a police badge.
“Inspector Garret, Homicide Bureau,” the man said. "Liberty City Police Department."
Lanny stared between the cop and me in dumbfounded horror. He blinked at me, mouth open like a stupid cow.
“You’re a traitor, too,” he said. “I can’t believe you did this. To me. You were like a brother.”
Lanny took another step backward, shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Lanny,” I said. "I just couldn't do what you asked."
“Mr. Cameron did the right thing, Lanny,” Insp. Garrett said. “You need to do the right thing and surrender. Roland Cruikshank, I am placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Archibald Millar.”
Before Insp. Garrett could finish, Lanny’s hand dove inside his suit jacket and in that second time slowed down like cold honey. I watched, frozen to the ground, as his hand emerged holding a .45 automatic. It was so much bigger than the puny .22 in my hand.
The rounded snout swung through the air and pointed its single unblinking eye at me, then there was a roar and a flash and time snapped back like a stretched rubber band. I fell and more gunshots cracked through the streets as I hit the ground hard. Lanny was on his back, surrounded by the hobo, the men from coffee shop, and half a dozen other undercover cops. I scrambled to my feet, my hands searching frantically for the bullet hole I was positive had tore through me. Insp. Garrett was on his feet, too. He shuffled closer.
"You’re hit,” I said.
"Not the first time," he grunted. Other cops surrounded us. One of them took the cheap .22 out of my hands while another checked me over.
“You’re fine,” he said. “Not a scratch.”
“Over here,” Garrett said. I noticed for the first time that he was clutching his shoulder. Blood oozed between his fingers and down into his sleeve. The cop checked his wound and shouted for another ambulance. Garrett got paler by the second and the cop eased him over to a doorway and helped Garrett sit down onto the concrete step.
“You saved my life, Inspector,” I said.
“Consider it a thank you, Mr. Cameron,” Garrett said. “Took guts to turn on your friend like you did. We’ve been trying to get our mitts on Lanny Cruikshank for the last three months, but he plays a cool hand. When you came to us with his plan to murder Archie Millar, it gave us an opportunity.”
I glanced back at Lanny. He was letting the cops tend his wounds as the rain matted his black hair and soaked his expensive suit. His dark eyes stared past them and leveled me with their disappointment. His lips moved and mouthed the word Traitor.
"When you didn't turn around I thought the plan was falling apart," I said.
"I knew Lanny was nearby but I needed him out in the open," Garrett said. "Making you hesitate was the easiest way to make him think you weren't up for the job, that you'd fail. I had to draw him out."
“What’s going to happen to him?” I asked.
Garrett half shrugged.
“He’ll be treated then held in a secure ward,” he said. “When he’s healthy enough, he’ll appear before a Justice for a bail hearing which he probably won’t get. Then he’ll stand trial which he’ll probably lose.”
“I tried to warn him,” I said. “When he first joined the Rotties, I mean. I warned him not to do it. He was throwing away his life.”
Garrett winced and nodded.
“Don't think about that,” he said watching the ambulances roll onto the scene. "You save a life tonight. Archie Millar is a low-life crook, but he's still alive so it’s still a point in your favour as far as I’m concerned. Most of the time we get called in after someone’s been murdered.”
Garrett turned his grey eyes on me.
“Feels good to show up before the killing for once,” he said.
______________________
© 2022 Kevin M. Coleman
Text by Kevin M. Coleman
Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash