Blake's Gunfighter
1
Culver Morrigan strode the streets of 1955 Church Hill, face in a rictus from exposure to a venom used by Harlequin Napier. He had survived by shooting his way clear of the situation, even shooting Napier, as he plunged through a window to his certain death. He had lucked out and hit a pile of cartons and trash that broke his fall.
He had since hooked up with a strange man named Adam Blake, helping him investigate things that no one else would.
He had even had a run-in with Napier again, putting him in jail after he tried to extort Kathy Carson, and her Hill Bros. Circus, with a fake kidnaping. He regretted he hadn't strangled his archenemy in that encounter. He had heard Napier had escaped jail, and was back inside after tangling with Nightmare and losing like he always did.
"Hey, Deadman!," called someone coming up the street behind Cully as he walked along the sidewalk.
Morrigan half-turned, ducking slightly, hand flashing under his jacket. The rear passenger on the driver's side opened fire with a Tommy gun. Bullets chewed up the Edsel parked next to where Cully stood. The former hit man ducked behind a wheel as the shooter methodically chewed the Edsel up with the machine gun. He winced as a couple of bystanders were caught by the fire.
The other passengers of the car began to fire their own pistols as the summer crowd tried to disperse in a chaotic panic. Then the car picked up speed and turned the corner. Distant sirens approached.
Cully turned to help the people that had been hit. His only other option was to run from the law, and not get involved. That was out since he was on foot.
He would just to endure the questioning until he was released and could look into this on his own.
2
The police released Cully Morrigan from the central station hours later. They had interrogated him on everything he saw, did, and his former colleagues for hours. Morrigan was an angry individual by the time things were said and done.
He went along the train lines to the block of buildings that his employer, Adam Blake, called home. He let himself inside by pressing his hand to the flat square next to the door. No one other than the seven men that associated with Blake could open that door unless they employed violence.
Morrigan didn't know where the plate came from, nor cared. It was something out of a pulp story, but it worked. That's all Cully needed from it.
He stepped inside, feeling the emptiness of the place. He went to the message machine on a table next to Blake's lab door. He hit the play button to see if anything was on it. Sometimes Blake was called away on unexpected business, so he left messages for anyone that didn't get a call.
"There is a problem in England," said Blake's voice from the machine. "Mr. Twitchell and I have gone to look it over."
That avenue of help was out then.
Cully decided to wait for daylight. The only person he could visit and talk to about his current situation was in jail. Visiting hours were strictly enforced.
The former hit man stretched out on the couch and went to sleep. He didn't ponder the irony of asking the one man he knew wanted him dead for help. That was beyond his pragmatic view of the world.
It was something he needed to do, so he was going to do it. That was all as far as he was concerned.
He hoped things would go easily.
Harlequin Napier wouldn't want to talk to him without some kind of leverage. That was expected.
Morrigan didn't know what he could apply to a man who had everything. Hopefully something would present itself. Otherwise he would have to wing it.
A hit without the personal touch just didn't feel like Morrigan's former boss.
The King of Crime liked to be right on the scene when something went down, just like that Roxbury Jewel heist. He was right there with the police, and walked right out with the gem without being stopped.
That was Napier's style, and way of doing business.
Cully Morrigan left the combined building as the sun came up over the Atlantic Ocean. Stonedyke Prison was on the outskirts of town, and he had to take a cab to get there.
The cab dropped Cully off at the gray walls minutes later after threading its way through morning traffic. The former hit man asked the man to wait, before he went to the massive gates. He walked across the public guard, watching men repair the wall of one of the cell blocks overhead. The guards checked him through the visitor area, making him sign his pistols in before a guard took him to the visiting room.
He waited patiently, frozen smile on his face.
After a few minutes, two guards escorted Harley Napier into the room on the other side of the plastic barrier.
"Cully Morrigan, as I live and breathe," the grinning crime boss said. "I thought you would be dead by now."
"That's why I'm here," said Morrigan.
"I'll be glad to do the job myself," said Napier. "Thanks for the opportunity. Oh, guard. We need a gun in here."
"I know you keep an eye on things for when you escape," said Morrigan. "All I want is who put the contract out on me, then I'm out of your hair."
"Would you believe me if I told you?," said Napier.
"Sure, I would," said Morrigan, lighting a cigarette.
"Never kid a kidder, kid," said Napier, laughing in his trademarked way. "I'm tempted to help you out, just to get rid of the competition."
"Why don't you?," said Cully, handing a fresh pack of cigarettes through the bars.
"Cause it makes me look like a stool pigeon," said Napier, taking the cigarettes. "Matches?"
"You give me what I want," said Cully, handing over a book of matches. "I'll go away. You won't have to deal with me until you escape again."
"You remember that job last year at the airport?," said Napier. "The Clemson Fur deal."
"Yeah, I remember," said Morrigan, puffing his cigarette calmly. "I wasn't there, but I remember hearing about it."
"Clemson Furs is owned by the Brand Brothers," said Napier. "You know how they are."
"You told them I was there, didn't you?," Morrigan asked, smiling mouth contrasting with his drawn down eyebrows.
"Not me," said Napier. "I do know that Kenny Biggs turned up in the river while I was out, and he was on the job. The body was disfigured."
"Disfigured?"
"He was missing vital parts and things type disfigured," said Napier.
"Thanks," said Morrigan. "I'll slip you a carton if this is on the up and up."
"Good luck," said Napier.
Morrigan headed for the exit, reclaiming his pistols at the property desk. He stepped out of the gray prison, feeling lighter. He got into his cab, and headed back into the city. He had some things to take care of.
3
Cully Morrigan stepped out of his cab in front of the Wild Deuces Club. The owners of the place supposedly had a set of rooms above the club itself. Morrigan walked over to the front doors. Someone should be around, even if it was just a guard of some kind.
Cully knocked on the front door. He knocked again. The door cracked open a little. A bloodshot eye peered at the former hit man.
"We're closed," said the owner of the eye. "Beat it."
"Just wanted to talk to Natty, or Blackie, Brand," said Morrigan. "Are they around?"
"They wouldn't want to talk to a bum like you," said the door man. "Get out of here."
"Is that how it is going to be?," Morrigan asked, deceptively calm. One hand flexed without thought. "Are you sure you won't step aside for me?"
"How many times do I have to tell you?," said the door man, opening the door wider, fist raised in anger. A muzzle of a .45 shoved into his face stopped him cold.
"I think you might need to back up now," said the grinning thug.
The Wild Deuces club had a wide open space for a stage show and dance floor at one end. Tables formed squares on either side of a central aisle. A railing with a swinging gate separated that area from the real bar and kitchen area. Three, or four, men stood by the bar sipping their drinks of choice as Morrigan prodded his prize inside the building.
"Everyone put your guns on the ground in front of you, and kick them away," he said. "Bartender, keep your hands where I can see them. Nobody has to get hurt, so don't be heroes for the Brands."
"You won't get away with this," said the door man.
"If I were you," said the former hit man. "I'd be more worried about what will happen to me if everyone starts shooting with my body in front of the bad guy."
The door man fell silent. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he considered being shot by both sides.
"Do what he says," the door man demanded.
Morrigan waited patiently. He had already decided that he could shoot the door man and bartender before anyone else could try and stop him.
Multiple clumps against the heavy carpet showed momentary compliance.
"Now," said Morrigan, pushing his hostage forward. "We're going to talk to whichever Brand is home without any problems. Then I'll let you guys get back to shaking down news boys and old shop keepers."
"I'm going to kill you," said the door man.
"After I get through with my business, I'll be glad to give you a chance to do so," said Morrigan.
The grinning thug gestured the other men out of the way with his other hand. He kept an eye on the bartender as he pushed the door man into the kitchen. A quick look around showed a set of stairs leading up to the second floor of the club.
Cully pushed the man up the stairs, keeping an eye on the kitchen door. He knew the other gun men were retrieving their weapons and getting ready to cautiously come after him.
Cully kept pushing his human shield up the stairs. He shoved the man against the open door. The thug went down.
"Don't shoot!," he screamed as he hit the floor. "Don't shoot!"
Morrigan stepped in the room while everyone's attention was on the screaming man. He slammed the door shut with his foot, and stepped next to the wall.
"Easy now," Morrigan said quietly. "Anybody tries anything and the twins get it first."
"We'll kill you for this, Deadman!," shouted one of the twin brothers. The other brother put his hand on the man's shoulder.
That told Cully which one was which, and which to shoot first.
Blackie was the one with the bad temper. Natty tried to be calm and negotiate. Morrigan already had it in his head to shoot Blackie if things got out of hand.
"I just want to ask some questions," said Cully. "If I get some good answers that make some sense, I'll walk out. You won't see me again. If not, we'll see who's quicker on the trigger."
"Ask your stinking questions," said Natty, clamping down on his brother's shoulder to prevent him from bringing his pistol up.
"I want to know if you killed Kenny Biggs," said Cully said. "And if you did, why?"
"No, we didn't kill any Biggs," said Natty. "What else do you need to know?"
"Why did you try to shoot me on the street this morning?"
"Get real, Deadman," said Natty Brand, still restraining his brother. "If we wanted to shoot you in the street, you wouldn't be talking with us right now."
"Someone took some shots at me with a Tommy gun," said Cully Morrigan, keeping an eye on the door to the private office of the gangster brothers. "Say you're telling the truth, what does the grapevine say?"
"We're not your stoolies!," Blackie shouted, jumping to his feet. His hand dipped under his jacket's breast.
"Don't!," shouted Natty sternly, trying to retain some semblance of a truce.
The window shattered silently to one side of Blake's assistant. Blackie Brand spun around under an invisible impact. Morrigan threw himself to one side as the Brand brothers' bodyguards pulled their weapons in the sudden confusion.
"Sniper!," yelled Natty, pulling his brother under cover of the coffee table he used for a desk. Wood splintered as more silent bullets whipped through the room.
Cully ducked against the nearest corner, glass spraying against an upraised hand and arm.
Cully Morrigan looked down the barrels of aimed pistols as invisible bullets rained into the enclosed space at the top of the club. His reflexes caused his pistols to bark first at the mobsters. Bullets slammed into legs and arms, wounding his opponents without killing them.
The men fell before Cully's blazing guns as he rolled to his feet. He crashed through the broken window, scattering the remaining shards in the frame as he landed heavily on the fire escape. He headed for the roof as bullets whined off the steel fire escape.
Of course he would jump at the escape route closest to the guy doing all the shooting, Cully thought sarcastically as he climbed, waiting for a clear shot at the unseen enemy.
Cully reached the roof, silent bullets raining around him. He rolled over the shallow precipice to take cover from the sniper. He had an idea of where the bullets were coming from. He just needed pin the guy down long enough to put a stop to this.
Cully loaded fresh clips in his automatics. He felt a pause in the enfilade. He peeked over his brick cover. Something dark blue moved on the opposite roof.
Nightmare finally snapped and lost his little mind, Cully thought as he sat up. He took aim at the moving man on the other building. His quarry went over the side before he could pull the trigger.
Morrigan heard sirens as he stood up and jumped across the alley to the other roof. He ran to the other side of the building. Another fire escape led down to the floor of another alley. A car pulled away as he descended the metal staircase.
Cully Morrigan waited for the cops at the Wild Deuces. The gunmen he had wounded had been escorted off the premises by other members of the Brand gang. Blackie Brand had been shoved into a car and taken to Church Hill General. Natty Brand sat at a table surrounded by bodyguards while Morrigan stood at the bar.
Neither felt like talking to each other.
Cully kept his eyes out for trouble as he went over what he had seen. The cops would want to know everything. Obviously someone was following him around town. He hadn't even thought about visiting the club before his talk with Napier.
Someone had to have been behind him every step of the way.
Who was the mystery man?
The police took Morrigan and Brand away in the back of a prowl car. The silent men sat through the ride, lost in their private thoughts. Blake's assistant seemed to be grinning at spending the next few hours being interrogated by Church Hill's finest.
The grin hid bloody thoughts of revenge.
All he could do was wait until he got a better shot at the killer vigilante. Hopefully it would be at close range so he could see the man's expression.
"If Blackie dies," Natty said, breaking the silence. "I'll be very angry with whomever I consider responsible."
Cully lit a cigarette with a flick of his zippo, staring at the other man with cold shark eyes.
"So what," he said.
4
Detective sergeant Ralph Boam sat on one side of the table. Cully Morrigan sat on the other side. They had just spent hours going over the events of the last few day in the life of the former hijacker.
Boam didn't like the way the man kept grinning at him, even if it was a rictus.
"Can I go now?," Morrigan asked quietly, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He crumpled it up when he realized it was empty.
"Don't you want us to catch this guy?," Boam asked.
"I don't think you can with what I told you," said Morrigan. "I didn't see anything but his back for the few seconds I actually saw him. If I'm not being charged, I would like to go."
"Hold on a minute," said Boam, standing up. He left the room, glancing over his shoulder once as he stepped through the door.
Several minutes later the detective walked back in, grinning.
"We're putting you in protective custody until this is over," said Boam. "Word just came down from the top."
"I don't need any protection," said Morrigan, glaring at the policeman.
"Two attempts on your life in the last twenty-four hours," Boam said, shaking his head. "We're putting you up at a hotel with guards until we catch this guy."
"What about Natty Brand?," asked the ex-criminal.
"He feels he wasn't a target, and so do we. We sent him to the hospital to be with his brother."
Cully got to his feet slowly. He knew when he was being used as bait to flush someone else out. He had a sinking feeling that Blake would have already gotten to the bottom of this in the amount of time he had spent in the police station over the two shootings.
"Let's go," Cully said morosely.
5
Cully Morrigan sat on a hotel bed, looking at a blank wall. Two detectives played cards in the other room. The only ways out were in that other room, leaving Cully in a trap as far as he was concerned.
He was at a loss on how he was going to get pass his guards, and take up his search. He couldn't even think of a place to start with that.
The meeting with the Brands had been next to useless except to rule them out as being behind the guy on the roof. He didn't think Natty would shoot Blackie, and make it look like the guy was gunning for someone else. Natty was known in the circle as cold as a fish. He capable of shooting his brother in the back, and making the body vanish.
Harley Napier was in jail again.
Who else was there?
Morrigan went over the list of gang leaders loose in Gotham. They flourished in the continual power struggles caused by the police and Nightmare's activities. How many had a grudge against him personally was hard to say. Working for Napier had not won him any friends.
Time to get out of the rat trap and make the rounds.
All he had to do was get pass his bodyguards.
Cully went to the door. Boam and the other man had their table in front of the door. A window was on Cully's right, behind the table. A bathroom door stood on the left.
Cully went into the bathroom, drawing a glance from the detectives, but not a word. He locked the door behind him. It wouldn't hold against a determined effort, but he had time to look around before they got suspicious and checked on him.
He found a toilet, a sink and flat mirror, and a grimy tub. An air vent rested in the ceiling beside the single light. No windows, or other exits.
He checked the walls quietly. He was not encouraged, but thought he could maybe kick a hole in the wall if he had too. The vent looked like his best chance to get out.
He got on the back of the toilet. He used the ceiling to hold him up with one hand. The other ripped the cover off in one move. The opening looked big enough. He jumped, pulling himself into the vent. He squirmed and wriggled until his whole body was in the confined space.
He began his slow crawl to freedom. He didn't have a lot of time before those two detectives noticed he was gone and started searching for him. He had to get out of the building before that happened.
Cully dragged himself along, looking for a vent opening to get out of the improvised tunnel.
Morrigan found an empty room. It was a moment's work to wiggle out of the crawlspace, and get to his feet. He went to the door and let himself out. He glided down the stairs, across the lobby, and out the front door. He tried to act normal to avoid notice from the clerk, or anyone else watching the front door.
Time to get my spare guns, thought the grinning man, and paint the town.
Morrigan approached Blake's building through a maze of alleys surrounding the block. A hidden entrance led to a concealed garage. He didn't want a car, just to get to the spare room he kept in case of trouble.
He placed his hand on a plate next to the door. The plate was concealed by a poster of the Hill Bros. Circus. The brick wall slid out of the way. Morrigan walked in, making sure the door was closed and locked behind him.
Cully dashed up to his apartment. He pushed a small disc beside his door. Inside he pulled his spare set of pistols, and checked them. Donning the holsters, concealing them with a jacket, he stuffed full magazines in his coat pockets.
He was armed and ready.
Cully started hitting every bar he was known to frequent before he joined his new associates. He made himself known, even talking loudly to some who knew him.
Those people shied away, nervous at the ex-hijacker's strange behavior. Something was up, and they felt enough to make them leave the room as quietly and quickly as possible.
Cully moved from the bars to social clubs. His grinning face saw more drinking areas in a few hours than it had since New Year's.
It was the first time in a while that he was glad that he possessed a rictus. It was hard to act jolly and keep on guard at the same time. Luckily his frozen face acted as a mask to help his pretense along.
The Sniper caught up with him at the Silver Cutlass after he had bought a round for everyone, and then made his way to the door.
6
Cully Morrigan pretended to stagger away from the saloon. He had hit every place he could think of since he had escaped protective custody. He hoped that the man chasing him would be thrown off guard by the ruse.
He had heard things on his bar tour. Things that muddied the picture in some ways and cleared it in others.
Kenny Biggs was not the only one who had been found in the river in the last few weeks. Other highjackers had been found, signs of torture evident on their bodies. Rumor said they had pulled off a major score, but no one knew where they had put the loot.
That said something to Cully, but he didn't know what.
He hadn't did a job since hooking up with Blake. It was a job requirement. The mystery man frowned on criminal acts committed by his assistants. Cully had abided by that too.
The memory of missing seven shots when he had first met Blake helped keep him on the straight and narrow.
The pay did the rest.
A glass window shattered to his left as he mock-staggered against a light pole. The ex-hijacker collapsed straight down behind a car. He tried to make it look like he had been shot. After all the guy wouldn't get closer if he tried to fire back.
He needed to check if his target was dead, and the only way to do that was to get closer.
Cully waited tensely. The guy might simply have left. Maybe he was only switching position. There was no way of knowing until another bullet flew by, or a bystander called the law forcing him to move, or any other thing.
Sweat broke out on his crippled face as he listened to the empty street. Soon the bar would begin to empty. Someone would see him lying there and see if he was dead.
Maybe try to rob him.
The Sniper had to check him before that.
Otherwise he could just wait days to see if Morrigan was reported dead in the news.
Cully heard footsteps jogging toward him. His hand tensed on the butt of his pistol. He tried to look as dead as possible. He had one chance at this.
Don't shoot me in the back, he thought desperately. Don't shoot me in the back.
A foot hooked under Cully's chest. It lifted, flipping him over. His free hand wrapped around an ankle as his pistol came out from under his coat. He found himself aiming at a man in blue coveralls with a hook on his hand. Eyeglasses cast his eyes in shadows from the street lights.
A thin lipped frown creased the man's angular face. He raised his hand and hook in a nonthreatening way. A pistol dangled uselessly from the index finger of his single appendage.
"Still alive, I see," the Hook said sourly.
"Everyone misses once and a while," said Morrigan, climbing to his feet. "Tonight was just your night."
Two cars rolled to a stop at either end of the street. They blocked the intersections. Armed men began to pour out.
Natty Brand got out of the closest car last. Cold rage flickered across his face at the two opponents.
"My brother died at the hospital," he said, coldly.
#$*%), thought Cully.
Cully pushed the Hook away as he took cover behind the nearby parked car. His left hand pulled his other pistol as he dropped below the windows of the automobile.
The sniper spun his pistol into a shooting position, torn between shooting his target and defending himself. He fired at Natty's crowd as he headed for the bar. Automatic weapons opened up, roaring against metal, concrete, glass, and wood. The Hook kicked through a glass window and vanished inside the bar as bullets rained around him.
Well, *#$(*# me, thought Cully, taking a deep breath.
The ex-hijacker flung himself after the assassin. Both hands emptied out his pistols as he sprinted after his attacker. Bullets plucked at his clothes as men dropped under his dead aim. He jumped the sill of the window, showering glass around him. He dropped the empty magazines out as the Hook fired a couple rounds at the bartender who had been reaching for something under the counter. Cully winced as blood flew over the bottles of whiskey and beer behind the man. He slammed charged clips home in his pistols as he shoved some drunk out of his way.
This was his last chance to find out what was going on. If the Hook got away, or got killed, he would be spending the rest of his life looking for answers. He didn't have the time for that.
The man turned slightly, raising his pistol. Cully dove to one side as the man fired just once. The bullet flew into a customer. Morrigan rolled to his feet, realizing the man's pistol had locked back because it was empty.
The Hook kicked open the door to the women's bathroom. He kicked the wooden door shut, deflecting several bullets that ate at the wood.
Cully glanced over his shoulder. He was not pleased to see that Natty Brand's guns were blocking the front of the building. He kicked the wooden door as hard as he could with his back to the men's room door. The door split in half under the blow.
The bathroom seemed empty to him.
Cully glanced at the front window again. The goons were pushing into the crowded room, shoving people out of their way. They could fire in the chaos, but he couldn't.
He dove into the bathroom, scanning for his enemy. No feet below the closed stalls. No windows to allow access to the outside. A small porcelain sink hung on one wall. A vent that a rat couldn't get through.
No Hook either.
How had he vanished?
Cully was about to concede the man had walked through a wall when he noticed the mirror over the sink swing slightly. He fired into the silvered glass. The mirror shattered under the .45 slug, revealing a space in the wall. An alley led away from the concealed opening.
Who is this guy?, thought Cully, seeing the brick had been cut with some kind of torch as he slipped through the square space. Did he cut a way into every building on this street just so he had a guaranteed escape route? Who was that careful?
Cully ran down the alley. A car engine started up as he looked for ambushes and Natty's reserve force on the street. Lights pinned him in the middle of the alley, making him turn in place. A dark sedan roared forward with a squeal of tires.
Cully Morrigan took aim, at one with his weapons of choice. He squeezed the triggers almost simultaneously. Both of the front tires on the car blew out with a double bang that echoed the crack of the automatics. The Hook lost control as the wheel slipped against his one good hand and glinting hook. The car slammed against the alley wall hard and slid.
Cully waited for the right moment as the car skidded toward him. He leaped upwards, one foot hitting the hood of the car. He straightened his leg, propelling himself over the fast moving roof. He landed against the back window, slid down the trunk, and rolled against the pavement. He got to his feet, suddenly realizing he had been bleeding from cuts on his grinning face.
He wiped the blood away with his sleeve, taking aim. It was coming down to answers versus life and limb. Which was more important to him?
The Hook slid over in the front seat, using the hook on the dashboard to pull himself along. His other hand began to empty his pistol at Morrigan. He was trying to reach the door to make another run for it.
Cully took aim and fired. The search for answers would have to wait for another time. The crippled automobile exploded upwards in a ball of flame, hurling the Hook to his eternal reward in a dismembering pressure wave.
Cully heard sirens coming closer. He wondered if he could put the blame on Natty Brand's mugs when the police did arrive.
epilogue
Cully Morrigan paused outside the headquarters of Adam Blake. His hand was under his jacket as he watched a car drive slowly toward him. He waited patiently for it to pass before he pressed the plate.
Instead, it stopped in front of the steps. Natty Brand's cut face looked out the window at the ex-hijacker. His eyes were icy flint.
"This isn't over between us, Deadman," Natty said coldly. "Whenever the police quit looking at my operations, I'll take care of you."
"Do you really want to continue with this feud?," asked Cully. "I didn't want anything to happen to your brother, but I am not going to let you roll over me."
"I told you I would deal with the killers of my brother," said Natty. "Be seeing you, Deadman."
"You better hope I don't see you first, Brand," said Cully quietly.
The window rolled upwards, concealing the bitter gangster. The automobile pulled away from the curb slowly.