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the butts
of both pistols but I knew better than to get into a firefight. The
police usually ignored the working girls but would react to the
sounds of gunfire. Last thing I needed was to draw in the coppers.
My exploits, as the newspapers called them, had upset many in City
Hall. The whores loved me because I kept them safe, up to a point.
The police, politicians, and all the men who frequented the girls
wanted me dead and I wasn’t in the mood to die tonight. Instead of
guns, I pulled my trusted Bowie knife. The twelve inch blade was
scratched and scuffed but the steel had been sharpened daily since
I’d liberated it from a drunk who’d tried to kill me the first
night I donned my outfit and my new life.
Crouched, I started to
spring on the first before they had a chance to corrupt her virtue
but stopped when the Irishman spoke again.
“ Jimmy, use your knife and
end her quick. Da boss doesn’t need any loose lips talking about
our business.” He let out a dark sounding laugh. His cackling made
the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Her eyes opened wide and she
started to scream but the brute’s free hand cupped over her face
and muffled what sounds she could manifest. Jimmy stepped toward
her and drew a Bowie of his own. I didn’t think I could run the
distance before his knife was buried in her, so I tossed the blade
from my right hand to the left and drew a pistol.
The hammer fell, powder
exploded and the ball flashed across the twenty odd feet and pushed
Jimmy’s brains out the far side of his skull. Before they could
react, I’d launched myself toward them. The cobblestones were still
wet from the rains that’d fallen earlier in the day, so I used that
to my advantage. At full speed and five feet behind the Irishman, I
pulled and twisted myself and went into a slide. My thick pants
protected my legs and backside as I passed between the legs of the
Irishman, slashing at the back of his left thigh in the process.
The point of my blade tore through cloth and flesh, leaving his
hamstrings splayed apart. He jerked back in pain and fell to the
side as I came to a stop in front of him. My pistol, a Colt 1862
Police revolver, was brought to bear on the man to the right. The
.36 caliber ball shot upwards under the surprised man’s chin and
exited through the top of his skull.
I rolled over and came up on
my feet in front of the man holding the girl. The man pushed her
aside and quickly produced a weapon from his jacket. A fast kick
relieved him of his Derringer and with a lunge forward I pushed my
blade through his heart with little effort. His lifeless eyes never
closed as he fell with a thud beside the startled girl.
“ You’re safe now, little
bird,” I told her and spun to see about the Irishman.
He lay on the cobblestones
clasping both hands over the gaping wound on his leg. A dark pool
of blood slowly grew underneath him. He grunted and looked up at
me.
“ You bitch. I’ll kill you
for this.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle
at his misfortune and choice of words. The girl stepped up beside
me and looked back and forth at us. In the distance, the tooting of
police whistles could just be heard. Like I’d feared, the gunshots
had drawn too much attention, but it was a necessary move. Judging
from the distance, the coppers shouldn’t know where the shots had
been fired, so there was some time before they’d narrow it
down.
“ Why are they chasing you?”
I asked and repeated when she didn’t respond.
“ I… I was working and I…”
she stuttered. “I heard them talking about burning New York
City.”
“ Burn the city?” I asked her
and then turned my attention to the man on the ground. I slipped
the Bowie into its sheath but kept the pistol ready. “What’s she
talking about?”
“ Go to hell, bitch,” he
spat.
I’d expected little
cooperation from him, so I knelt beside the wounded man and pushed
the barrel of the pistol against his right kneecap. He looked up
defiantly,
of both pistols but I knew better than to get into a firefight. The
police usually ignored the working girls but would react to the
sounds of gunfire. Last thing I needed was to draw in the coppers.
My exploits, as the newspapers called them, had upset many in City
Hall. The whores loved me because I kept them safe, up to a point.
The police, politicians, and all the men who frequented the girls
wanted me dead and I wasn’t in the mood to die tonight. Instead of
guns, I pulled my trusted Bowie knife. The twelve inch blade was
scratched and scuffed but the steel had been sharpened daily since
I’d liberated it from a drunk who’d tried to kill me the first
night I donned my outfit and my new life.
Crouched, I started to
spring on the first before they had a chance to corrupt her virtue
but stopped when the Irishman spoke again.
“ Jimmy, use your knife and
end her quick. Da boss doesn’t need any loose lips talking about
our business.” He let out a dark sounding laugh. His cackling made
the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Her eyes opened wide and she
started to scream but the brute’s free hand cupped over her face
and muffled what sounds she could manifest. Jimmy stepped toward
her and drew a Bowie of his own. I didn’t think I could run the
distance before his knife was buried in her, so I tossed the blade
from my right hand to the left and drew a pistol.
The hammer fell, powder
exploded and the ball flashed across the twenty odd feet and pushed
Jimmy’s brains out the far side of his skull. Before they could
react, I’d launched myself toward them. The cobblestones were still
wet from the rains that’d fallen earlier in the day, so I used that
to my advantage. At full speed and five feet behind the Irishman, I
pulled and twisted myself and went into a slide. My thick pants
protected my legs and backside as I passed between the legs of the
Irishman, slashing at the back of his left thigh in the process.
The point of my blade tore through cloth and flesh, leaving his
hamstrings splayed apart. He jerked back in pain and fell to the
side as I came to a stop in front of him. My pistol, a Colt 1862
Police revolver, was brought to bear on the man to the right. The
.36 caliber ball shot upwards under the surprised man’s chin and
exited through the top of his skull.
I rolled over and came up on
my feet in front of the man holding the girl. The man pushed her
aside and quickly produced a weapon from his jacket. A fast kick
relieved him of his Derringer and with a lunge forward I pushed my
blade through his heart with little effort. His lifeless eyes never
closed as he fell with a thud beside the startled girl.
“ You’re safe now, little
bird,” I told her and spun to see about the Irishman.
He lay on the cobblestones
clasping both hands over the gaping wound on his leg. A dark pool
of blood slowly grew underneath him. He grunted and looked up at
me.
“ You bitch. I’ll kill you
for this.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle
at his misfortune and choice of words. The girl stepped up beside
me and looked back and forth at us. In the distance, the tooting of
police whistles could just be heard. Like I’d feared, the gunshots
had drawn too much attention, but it was a necessary move. Judging
from the distance, the coppers shouldn’t know where the shots had
been fired, so there was some time before they’d narrow it
down.
“ Why are they chasing you?”
I asked and repeated when she didn’t respond.
“ I… I was working and I…”
she stuttered. “I heard them talking about burning New York
City.”
“ Burn the city?” I asked her
and then turned my attention to the man on the ground. I slipped
the Bowie into its sheath but kept the pistol ready. “What’s she
talking about?”
“ Go to hell, bitch,” he
spat.
I’d expected little
cooperation from him, so I knelt beside the wounded man and pushed
the barrel of the pistol against his right kneecap. He looked up
defiantly,
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