With a Pocketful of Gemstones

Streetlight filtered through the dingy window of the bar, capturing a wisp of cigarette smoke that took forever to settle. The light's sole purpose it seemed was to cast shadows. Not that you'd want to see your surroundings in detail. Not here. Not this town.

Evening in the city was vampiric, slowly draining those that called the realm of daylight home. It fed on your emotions until they barely surfaced. It wiped the expression from your face and weighed your eyelids down. That is, until you fit in with the atmosphere. Became a part of the night.

I don't remember why I had come to this city. I wanted the hell out, but I couldn't leave. Not yet. The earliest memory was upon my arrival and it involved a hellish accident on the freeway. I was speeding like the rest of the commuters when I was cut off by a jerk in a beemer, causing me to swerve and clip a mobile home that was being transported in the next couple of lanes. The driver of the mobile home veered, crushing a small sports car between it and the median. The victim in the sports car was well known in the city, particularly by the criminal underworld and social elite. Not many liked her, but she owed a lot of people a load of money. She meant nothing to me at the time. All I cared about then was the license plate that read 'CROWFLD'. The plate of the careless ass that had sparked this whole mess.

That incident was a couple of weeks ago. No, strike that. It was still in progress. It hadn't ended with the mangled wreck on the road. People wanted money from me, now. Some wanted to see me dead. Some thanked me for doing them a favor but ran like hell before they were caught in the crossfire. As for myself, I was keeping a low profile. I sat slouched in a bar that had multiple names, depending on who you asked. I was waiting for a new contact I had dug up. He was going to tell me who that license plate belonged to.

"Dorothy?" a quiet voice murmured from behind. At first the name didn't catch my attention. It was a fake name that I had started using in the city.

I turned slowly on the barstool after setting some change for the tender, studying the shaggy figure in the shadow recess of the booth. Without a word, I rose and joined him on the tattered cushions of the bench. He reeked of whiskey and cigarettes, causing my nose to burn even as he lit up.

"Thank you for coming, Leon. I know you don't like to leave your-"I started, cut off by the nervous stutter of the small man before me. Upon closer inspection, I noted that he wasn't small so much as he had very bad posture.

"No problem. Can we get this over with so I can go?" Leon whimpered, glancing over his shoulder at the other few patrons.

"Sure," I answered, sliding an envelope roughly across the stained and damaged table.

Leon snatched and stared at the envelope before peeking inside, his expression showing me that he was pleased with the reward. Stuffing the envelope into his hole-infested jacket, he lost some of the quaver in his voice, yet still kept it in a hushed tone, "Thanks, Miss. You're looking for a Mr. John Crowfield. Some of his people call him 'Scary'. I call him 'Stupid'. The man has no brains and I'm not surprised he caused that accident on the freeway. You're not the first that he's pissed off, but he's rich, so he gets away with it all. Here's a few places he frequents. I have no idea where he lives. I've tried following him home but always lose him in the old, burnt out corn fields near the river."

I received the small index card that Leon had offered, making sure I could read the sloppy writing before putting it into an inside pocket.

Leon's eyes caught the dim, vague shape within my jacket. His expression turned to one of panic. He kept his mouth shut, however, opting to scurry away without goodbye. I let him go. I was done with him, for now.

I mulled over the information provided to consider my next approach. I didn't have long to think, however. The sounds of screeching tires and car doors quickly opening broke my reverie. It was time to make myself scarce. Tilting my trilby down over my eyes, I moved quickly to the rear of the bar. A glance to the tender silently told him that he'd be safe and compensated if anything were to happen to his establishment thanks to my presence.

The situation is left behind as I was swallowed by the starless darkness of the alleyway. I had the sinking feeling that this was just the beginning of a long, sadistic night. Perfect for a masochist like myself.