Naked City: Tales of Urban Fantasy

Lee kept pace. “Guns in the land of the dead are the main source of my livelihood. The more modern, the better. Because of a loophole, there’s a man and a woman from the living world who can come over here. I got myself in the habit of bartering with the Undertaker, so he buys my help with the things he brings in. The old bastard can’t stop the Undertaker from supplying my prototypes, and once I get models of new gear, I can replicate some of it.”

“Which I’m guessing he dislikes.”

“Got it in one.” Alicia didn’t like taking on new people very often. Her business required a particular skill set that lots of folks thought they had, but there was a significant difference between wearing bad-ass as a costume and being the real deal. Any man—or woman—could throw on the right clothes, whichever era they preferred, and posture. No amount of leather or sharp suits equaled true grit.

“Frankie?”

“Yes’m.” He kept a rolling pace now, but his attention was on the side streets rather than on her. Whether she’d ordered it or not, he was standing guard.

“What did you do when you were alive?” She held up a hand, signaling him to wait for the 12:12 train. The conductor took pleasure at running silent in hopes of plowing over newcomers.

Frankie Lee shrugged. “I did work for hire last few years. Grew up around guns. No explosives skills or anything fancy, but I’m a quick study. I do alright in close situations, decent trigger man if you need it, seemed to fare well enough at observation.”

“They pay well for that topside these days?”

“Sometimes, if you’re good enough. I was good enough most of the time, but”—Frankie Lee gave her a wry smile—“not the last time.”

Alicia closed her eyes against the gust of air as the train passed in front of them. It used be the 12:00 train, but the conductor moved it up one minute each month. As far as calendars went, she’d heard of worse. It certainly proved incentive to keep track of the month.

“How’d you end up qualified?” she asked.

“My mama enlisted out of high school, and she got sore over the things she wasn’t allowed to do. So she taught me and my sisters all that she did learn, and then we all four learned what she wasn’t taught.” Frankie Lee’s up-until-then calm faltered. He was good at what she needed, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cold—which was an asset in her book. A coldhearted employee was a different sort of problem than one that was all sass and no ass. The right sort of associate was neither too cocky nor too cruel.

“Your mama sounds like a smart woman.” Alicia stepped into the street, and Frankie Lee followed.

“She was, but my sisters’ll look out for her well enough. She’s not big time, but she has connections enough that she does alright for herself.”

Alicia figured the sideways scowls that more than a few of the upstanding citizens sent her way were clue enough—well, that, and the fact that he was limping because she’d shot him—but she figured it was only proper to fill him in. “You do get that I’m not exactly on the right side of the law here?”

“No disrespect, Alicia, but I doubt you could be any less law-abiding than my mama was, and I don’t think the law here is necessarily one I’m after following.” He motioned toward a glass door with MR. D’S TIP-TOP TAVERN painted on it. “This is where we were.”

Alicia grabbed the brass bar that served as a door handle and yanked the door open before he could open it for her. “Let’s see how well you follow orders, Frankie Lee.”

* * *

Frank walked into the shadowed interior of the tavern twice in almost as many hours. He already knew that it was a wide-open club: exposed pipes ran the length of the ceiling, no alcoves to hide in. Round tables with varying numbers of high-backed chairs were spread throughout the room, far enough apart at places that a private conversation was possible. The biggest risk was the curtained doorway beside the bar. It would allow cover to sight down on any of the customers with either a rifle or a handgun, depending on who minded whatever space was on the far side of that curtain.

Without asking, he knew that Alicia was well aware of the same threat. She’d paused, swept the room, seeking someone or maybe just assessing threats. Then she swung her shotgun from where she’d carried it over her shoulder and held it barrel-down as they walked into the room.

“Don’t say anything unless I tell you to,” she murmured.

Frank nodded.

At the dead middle of the room, Alicia stopped, pumped her shotgun, and aimed it at the baby grand piano on the stage in front of them.

All around them, people stood and walked out. No one ran. No one said anything. They merely stood, pushed in their chairs, and headed toward the exit.

Once the room was cleared of everyone but the bartender, Alicia winked at Frank and then shot a pipe that was just to the left of the stage. Steam hissed from it.

“I’d like to talk,” she called.

The barmaid caught Frank’s gaze and widened her eyes imploringly. He didn’t think she was in any real danger though. Alicia seemed to be concentrating on the piano. She shot a second pipe. This time, water sluiced from the fragmented pipe. It didn’t pour down on the piano, but it was very close. Something shorted, sparked, and smoked off to the side of the stage.

A man came from behind the curtained doorway. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who’s always been obeyed—and had the power and money to keep it that way. He wore an old-fashioned dark gray suit broken up by the scarlet of his tie and his pocket square.

“We have telephones here, Alicia. Telegraphs, too.” He shook his head and then turned his attention to Frank. “Francis, I see you’ve met my dear Alicia. Is she helping you get your sea legs?”

Frank didn’t reply.

“Aaaah, already on her payroll.” The man tsk-ed. “With your mother’s influence, one would expect as much, I suppose. As I doubt Alicia will introduce us”—he touched his fingertips to his chest lightly—“I am Charles.”

How does he know about my family?

Alicia dropped her shotgun on the table, looked over her shoulder at Frank, and said, “Go on up to the bar and grab me a drink.”

He raised his brows at her but kept his mouth shut.

She nodded and turned back to Charles. “Leave Frankie Lee out of it.”

Frank walked over to the polished wooden bar. By the time he got there, the barmaid already had two highball glasses and a wineglass out. She filled two glasses with bourbon and the third with some sort of wine. “The wine is for the boss.”

He looked at her.

“My boss,” she corrected.

And he carried the three drinks back over to the table. As he approached, Alicia poked Charles in the chest. “You can’t bully Boyd. He’s mine.”

“At what point did you gain any authority in my domain? You live in my city because I allow it.” Charles nodded absently to Frank and took a seat.

Alicia grabbed one of the glasses from Frank and upended it. Her shotgun lay like a line bisecting the table. “Make me leave then.”

Charles remained silent. He sipped his drink and stared at Alicia, who now stood with her hands on her hips. Not knowing what else to do, Frank handed his drink to Alicia and stood to the side so she could draw without interference and he could still be there if she needed help. Something older than logic told him that Charles, for all of his polish, wasn’t the sort of man who’d go down easy in a fight.

Even as he thought it, Charles smiled at him. “You’ll do just fine around here, Francis.”

Alicia tensed.

And Frank said the only thing he could think of in the moment. “My name is Frankie Lee, sir.”

* * *

Alicia grinned. Frankie Lee was going to work out just fine.