Gumshoe: The Gathering Storm Part 1

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Matthew Aloysius Knox earned the moniker "Gumshoe" on the gritty streets where his reputation as a no-nonsense private eye was as worn and enduring as the leather on his shoes. Everyone knew him by that name, a term of respect for his relentless pursuit of truth in a city that preferred its secrets kept. None of this was to say he was a moral beacon or any sort of favorite to the monsignor, but he got results.

Hell, he’d even gotten his old job at the TPD back. Smiling in Mayor Alex Marshal’s slimy, bitter face as he pinned the badge back upon his chest and trying to break his hand with the following handshake were absolute top moments in his life. Moments that only served to further cement that reputation with damn near everyone.

Everyone, that is, except for the red-haired enigma who matched his skill and often bested him in their shared profession. She was known only as "Red," a femme fatale whose sharp mind was as fiery as her locks. To her, and only her, he was simply Matt. Why? No one could tell you, and if you dared ask you’d leave just as ignorant but with half your teeth.

Their rivalry was the stuff of whispered tales in the smoke-filled speakeasies and among the shadowy alcoves where the underworld thrived.Their unusual dynamic, the bloody fights they’d been in the middle of both as adversary and ally. Every time, absolute equals in near every way. Carnage mirrored by Chaos.

But today, their dynamic was taking an unexpected turn. Matt was tasked with the less-than-enviable job of escorting Red back to the iron bars and cold stone walls of the Thunderhead jail. She had been caught, a rare slip in her otherwise flawless record, and he was the one to do it, a fact that stung them both for different reasons.

He hated lying to her, as much as she hated being lied to.

He hated more that he’d pulled it off.

Suddenly….the spark was gone.

The drive was tense, the air between them as thick as the gathering storm clouds above. There wasn’t much about their journey he appreciated at the moment, given how easy it’d be for her to garote him with those cuffs if she could get them in front of herself.

“You haven’t read me my rights.”

“You Speak.’

“Sloppy work, Matt…but what else should we expect from you?’’ She suddenly leaned over the center consol, her body twisted so she’d face him, piercing green eyes nailing him to the seat he occupied as they tended to “So tell me…what do you need help with?”

“Can’t this just be an arrest?”

“Nothing is ever that simple when you come to bother me.”

“Am I getting that obvious?”

“Don’t be down on yourself darl, we’ve been at this awhile. Surprise gets harder with age.”

‘So now i’m old?’

“You are.”

He couldn’t help the uncharacteristic snort from the jab. He was never one to openly display too many emotions outside of a raging fury when needed and more often when it wasn’t. His three divorce cases were littered with affidavits calling him “Emotionally constipated”, “Stoic Ass”, and his favorite “Angry, Stupid, Bore.”

Mari certainly had a way with words.

It was easier with Red though. Maybe it was from having tried to kill each other, maybe it was from hours of staking out a case before the badge got pinned back to him, maybe it was something simpler.

But it was.

And so, she got more of the truth than he should have given.

“You remember the SEX Cup?”

“The big gaudy thing we retrieved for that stupid city years ago, the big gaudy thing you let me get hurt in the retrieval of?” She shifted slightly, letting her blouse slack from her shoulder to reveal the scar tissue, her eyes going to it as his struggled to focus on the road “No Matt, I can’t say that I recall.”

“Well, to refresh your mem–”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Comes natural,” he replied before composing himself, clearing his throat “Mayor Marshal - Alexander, Not Terry - -”

“His brother? How did that happen?’

“Election fraud, seems the old chief of police Vaughn?”

“That prick that got us fired back in the day, helped those masked assholes steal the original Cup?”

“Yep, turns out the whole assisting in criminal activity thing was a real big hobby of his. Helped intimidate, ballot box stuff, every dirty trick you can think of to get Alex elected in an emergency election. Had a whole Cabal of the worst you can think of helping him.”

“And you brought him to justice, didja Gumshoe?” she used his nickname in a mocking tone that would bring any smoke filled, whiskey soaked speakeasy to dead silence had it rolled past any other set of lips. Here though, in the noisy interior of te ‘39 Lincoln? It got no reaction outside of a smirk “Got him back for his pappy shootin’ down your grandpappy for shootin’ down his pappy?”

“You always had such a way of simplifying things.”

“It’s foolish and you know it. So your grandfather, cowboy degenerate, shot down his grandfather, the fine upstanding Sheriff of Thunderhead. His dad shoots your grandfather in some bar when he’s old and gray and you hang onto the hatred like you even knew the man.”

‘I buried that hatred when I buried him.”

“Then why isn’t Peter Vaughn wearing that shiny badge of yours, Matt?”

“Because he wasn’t worthy of it, Amb-”

“So, the SEX cup. Alex Marshal. Whats the deal? You were telling me before you went off on a tangent about dead cowboys and daddy issues, or is this just a trip for the biscuits?”

He brought one hand off the steering wheel to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a split second and wishing desperately for the road to shorten, although he took some relief in knowing they were beginning to ascend the last hil outside of Thunderhead now. Almost home.

Whatever the hell that was.

“He’s wanting to trot it out, show it off to make the voter base believe that he can actually lead them and isn’t just a slimy go between for the corrupt and the criminal. Wants the whole town togged to the bricks for it, too. Dress blues, nice frock on the priests, sunday best on a monday. Just….big ego.”

“So, big flashy show of legitimacy and it…’

“Brought out every single slimebll, scuzzbucket and hood you could think to name wantin’ to pick all those fat, fancy pockets and you know its only a matter of time before one of them gets ambitious and tries to grab the cup too.”

“I was going to say that.”

“I know, but it’s rude not to let me answer your questions.”

‘Anyone worrying you?” She moved on, brushing off his attempt at levity without a second thought. She was a stone cold killer, Red. As soon as the occaison called for it she couldn’t be torn off the path of most resistance.

“Worry? Me?” He snorted at the implication, taking a beat to consider before answering “I keep hearing that Joe Montuori’s kid brother is trying to move in. Way I figure, is he saw the power vacuum that Vaughn going away left. Because with Vaughn gone, that Cabal? Ate itself alive.”

There was a pause, as if the realization was fresh to him.

It’s a miracle what you can miss when you’ve got your head down, fighting for that extra inch against a world that just ain’t willin’ to give even a centimeter.

“Thunderhead hasn’t been this safe, on paper, in a long time..”

Her snort shattered the mattered as it usually did.

“Always did like playing the hero…” she slumped back into her seat in the rear then, adding a biting “When it suited you…”

“Anyway…way I see it? Place is ripe for the taking and if Joe can establish his brother, and thereby his entire family and ‘orginization’” his hands left the steering wheel to supply the air quotes ‘Right the hell in. And they’re a mess themselves.”

“The little brother - what was his name? Percy?”

“Paul, I think.”

“The one they found all those diaries he kept in the sting that sent him away?”

“The very same.”

“Well at least you know someone will be writing about your heroics….but I see your point. He’s angry, volatile, always out to one up his big brother. It won’t be long before he’s trying to cut deals behind Joes back, and they’re both so self centered they’ll never see the other one double dipping….’’

“And before long, they’re being ran by the people they’re trying to run and every day i’m at mass praying no one tells them because the fallout would burn the whole city down.”

She let out a long, low whistle, “Pauly’s a real mean one, too. I heard tell he’s a lot like his brother. Loud, brash, absolutely devoted to his family. Like a whore at confession thinking God won’t notice the crabs because they prayed extra hard.”

“Bit sacriligious, Red.”

“He’ll appreciate my honesty.”

“Suppose so….but you’re right. Perfect family man to anyone who doesn’t bother looking past what they can see. Otherwise he’s brutal, beaten down just about every other enforcer on the east coast. Tried striking out on his own, but got popped….some people say Joe had somethin’ to do with it.”

“I don’t think he’s that smart.”

“No, but the wife is.”

“Joe’s?”

“No, Riggs.”

They were just cresting the ridge that overlooked the sprawling forest below when disaster struck. A black sedan with tinted windows and an engine that growled like a caged beast came hurtling out of nowhere. Matt’s words died in his throat as he eyed the fast approching car, the levity leaving his face as a familiar grimness took hold.

“Get to the front seat.”

“Why?”

“We’re being tailed.”

Red looked over her shoulder then at the headlights baring down on them and with no further questioning deftly manuevered herself into the seat beside him. As she got comfortable, she lifted her hands into view, having manuevered the cuffs to the front just as he had feared.

“Uncuff me, give me my piece back. I can help.”

“Like hell. How do I know these aren’t friends of yours?”

‘How would they know, Matt?!” she bit back, eliciting only a scrunch of the Gumshoe’s face in response.

“I don’t know, Red you t-”

The world became a blur of shattered glass and screeching metal. The roar of the Cadillac Sedan’s motor rang through it all as he took his foot off the gas, desparately pushing on the brake as they careened toward a slope down into the treeline he know they’d never stop before going over.

The Black Zephyr rolled down the hill, the sound of metal bending and contorting ringing through the dimly lit woods as dusk settled in on the trees and possibly the Gumshoe as well.

When the chaos of the crash settled, Matt and Red emerged from the wreckage, shaken but alive. The forest loomed before them, dark and unwelcoming, but it was their only chance. The Montuoris wanted them both dead, a morbid unification of their fates that neither had anticipated.

“Are you good?” He asked, slinking down by the undercarriage of the Lincoln that had come to rest on its side. He felt her behind him, heard the clink of her cuffs as she shifted to try and get a look up the hill.

“I’m fine.” She bit, snarling at him as much as the pain and the situation “What the hell did you drag me into Matt?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” he answered just before the first volley of gunfire hit the metal of the lincoln, causing both of them to duck down as the Gumshoe pulled his revolver from the inside of his coat. He didn’t return fire but risked a peak around the car’s trunk. On top of the hill ,the blonde hair of Michelle Riggs flowed in the dusk’s breeze looking like an inferno that promised to send him where he deserved to end up to burn just like he deserved.

Like she’d done with so many others. He pulled his head back from where it could be taken off his shoulders, finding Red’s gaze and nodding toward the treeline. She looked after him, paying him a look of frustration that clearly communicated they’d be talking about this when and if they survived the encounter.

Without a word, they plunged into the thick underbrush, the sounds of the henchmen crashing through the foliage in pursuit. Their voices called out in a bastardization of Italian and English. The two managed to stay ahead, eventually finding downed tree to slide into cover by. Instantly, Red lifted the cuffs and locked eyes with him wordlessly.

“You Fudge me on this, we’re not friends anymore…” he remarked in a hissing whisper as he pulled the cuff key from his coat pocket and released her. She rubbed her wrists, nodding her thanks and producing a switchblade from within her coat.

“You had that this whole time?”

“I was going to stab you outside the jail…”

“Aren’t you a peach…”

“Shutup, two coming now..”

“Arlight…” he breathed, holstering his revolver and producing a pair of knuckle dusters that gleamed in the light, sliding them onto a right hand with knuckles gnarled like well worn oak “On three….”

“Three.”

Gumshoe and Red, adversaries by trade, became allies in survival. Adversaries and Allies, Never More. Their movements were synchronized, a dance they had learned through years of opposing each other. One by one, they took down the henchmen, their expertise in combat as lethal as it was silent. The pair moved through the brush like that, staying hidden and striking only as the opportunity presented itself.

As the number of their pursuers dwindled, the forest grew eerily silent outside of the sound of the underbrush being driven under by their rushing footsteps as they rushed what he hoped was southeast.

“Do you see anymore?” came the eventual question as they hunkered down next to a moss covered boulder that was taller than the Gumshoe by half. He leaned his torso out, struggling to see in the dimming light reflecting off the dust they’d kicked up and the pollen that hung in the air naturally in the woods. His breath came in burning hitches, the smoking habit taxing him exactly when he needed it not to.

“No…No I don’t see any–wait.”

There, in a small clearing bathed in the eerie light of the setting sun, stood Paul Montuori and his wife, Michelle Riggs. Paul, the heir apparent to the Montuori empire, his eyes cold and calculating; Michelle, his partner in every sense, her presence as commanding as it was dangerous. The Gumshoe slid back into cover, exhaling and nodding.

“It’s Paul, he’s got Michelle with him. I saw her back on the ridge but…they’re there.”

“Michelle?” Red asked, peeking out and nodding “She looks good for having popped out a kid.”

“Wish she stuck to homemaking.”

“I’m sure we’ll make incredible rugs…”

He snorted at that, nodding as he moved his gaze to her. Behind that gaze, a plan began to form. Here they were, stood side by side, their backs to each other, ready for what was to come. They were the last barrier to their own survival, and the final chapter of this twisted tale was about to unfold in the heart of the Thunderhead woods.

“I got it…” he breathed, nodding

“Hit me.”

“I’ll step out, spin some bullshit. Get ‘em talking, bring them to a froth and then you…” he snapped is fingers. Red looked out, her face flat except for the smallest twitch in the corner of her mouth that betrayed worry she’d forever deny.

“Fine, but if they shoot you i’m making a run for it.’

“Fair enough.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer before jerking his head in the direction opposite the way he was going to step out, but he didn’t look after her. Never could bare to see her leave anyway even with all the times she done it.

“Paul! Michelle!!” he called out, stepping into the clearing now. His coat clung to him, stained in the mud and the blood of an evening gone terribly wrong. The two locked their eyes and sights on him, for a split second he held his breath, awaiting the judgemental gaze of the lord only to find the next moment still on this plane.

“He wants me alive, then?” He asked the question, knowing he’d not get an answer. A smirk cracked his features then. A chuckle escaped him as he now lazily drew his plated cigarette holder from within his coat, plucking a cigarette from within and sparking up. “Good little soldiers, the both of you…

Michelle. I gotta say it is good to see you, not that i’ve ever had the pleasure personally. But hey I’ve made great friends off worst first impressions. So, I survive this, maybe we go have a drink? Unless, of course, you plan on disappearing into that facade of Pauly’s trophy wife again?”

He turned his eyes to the younger Montuori then, the smirk turning to a sneer “You….You might be the most unlikable sone of a bitch in this whole line up of unlikble sonsabitches, you know that Pauly? You’re brash, you’re loud, you’re arrogant..everything they accuse your brother of being but at least he’s got a Gosh Dang spine.

You live in that shadow, waitin’ for him to drop so all this Poop he got for being born first will go to you but you’re too much of a coward to pull the trigger yourself, or even use your own money to make it happen. But you’re gonna, what, take me out? Take ME out in MY town going after MY Gosh Dang Cup?”

He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it aside and raising his hands, fists balled.

“Come on then, make a move! You two got me so Gosh Dang mad I'm SEEING RED!!”

He called out, earning an incredulous look from the two. A second passed, then another. He looked beyond them, then to the side before repeating.

“I said I’m SEEING RED!!” a pause, nothing. He let out a sigh, turning toward where they had come from. What difference did it make now if he faced the gun or faced away? She’d left. She had run, chosen to save herself and left him here.

The crunch of the underbrush being moved perked his interest, his hand sliding from his hip to his waistband, opening the coat finally to reveal the revolver he’d tucked out of sight. He looked over his shoulder, his blood freezing then as his eyes fell on the third figure he should have expected, but didn’t.

“You’re gonna die, Gumshoe…’’

The thunder of gunfire sent a cloud of birds fleeing from the treetops as the forest became a battleground for the soul of a town that would likely remain ignorant until good sense would win out and bulldoze it.

Only the survivors of that battleground would know, or care who won that day and who was buried under which tree.

Now it was just left to fate to determine who’d be in what role.