Six - part 2
by Koby McSlick

I started with the usual enquires, asking anyone around. Anyone who would know anything. Word gets around fast in the underbelly of the 1920's Middle American slums of Patriot City. Crack-heads, who would do anything for a hit, kids who think that just because they carry guns they are kings. Bums huddled around flaming trash cans, who no matter how blind they are, know and see all. I learnt quickly; I have lots of connections. As I said, I have a reputation around here. I had lots of dirt to kick on rich untarnished ‘honest' reputations. Lots of thugs scared of a few pistol whips. Lots of favours to call in. This was personal and I wasn't holding back.

I paced the dirt-ridden streets all night running what I knew over and over in my head. The moon was out in full, illuminating the filthy world below. It was silent, except for the howling wind blowing old newspaper across the puddled streets and roads. Then it hit me like a bag of bricks dropped from the empire state building targeted for yours truly. It was something one of the people I had talked to said. At the time I just dismissed it as rambling.

"7 minus one makes 6, 6. But 2 Js makes B which minuses J. This made J happy, very happy."

The Bum was half dead and dying when I had spoken to him. I couldn't understand a word. But now, piercing through was the obvious meaning. It was all fairly obvious. I had suspicions it was to do with the Six. What he meant was that if you take away one man from the ‘Six' there will be six left (As there had been Seven to begin with). So what he meant by "7 minus one makes 6, 6." was, if you kill one of the Six, there would be six left. Johnny 23 was the one who was killed, or subtracted, if you will. I could only figure out a little of the second thing he said. B was obviously Butcher, killing one of the Js, and making the other J happy. Johnny 23 must have been one of them but who was the other? I racked my brain; I had made huge progress but not enough. There were hundreds of rumors back then of whom the Six were. Names like Tommy the Gun, Pin Stripe, Big Jimmy Velenski, John Doe and even Joe Delfinio. Even the members don't know who the others are, as they must wear hoods and masks, or so the legend goes.

I wiped the sleep dust from my eyes, trying to juggle the puzzle pieces of evidence, testimonies and anonymous tips. It had been fours days since I had met Sly and I hadn't slept since. I took a swig from my hip flask. I opened my top desk drawer slid the gun to the side, nestled the hip flask next to it and then adjusted the venetian blinds. I was looking forward to yet another night without sleep. Suddenly, my head started spinning like a light had been flicked on outside. It hit me, the words of the scumbag I had questioned earlier that day. All the pieces fell into place and made a nice even row like nuns waiting for confession. Big Jimmy Velenski, the undisputed crime lord of the South. He must have ordered the hit on Johnny 23, but what for? Money? Respect? Women? There weren't a lot of motives springing to mind

I went back to my office again. Revolver in hand, a Laramount in my mouth, and 12 mg of tar seeping into my lungs. The doctor says I should quit, but what does he know? Life isn't hard for him like it is for me, he doesn't have to fight, scramble and kick just to earn a living. However, the cigarette wasn't the only thing smoking and I was one bullet short. Sly was dead on my floor, blood seeping from his chest with my bullet in his heart.

To be continued...