You give your heart to the one you love.
In return, The Gutter delivers a gut-punch.
In return, The Gutter delivers a gut-punch.
Check-out by Sean Tuohy
Hobbs barely heard the
pounding footsteps over the ringing in his ear. He shook it off as he retreated
to safety down the hall. The scene before him featured chunks of dry wall
blasted away, buckshot-riddled bodies littering the ground, and carpet soaking up
pools of blood. A scowling goon, pistol readied, appeared at the top of the
stairwell backlit by afternoon sun.
Hobbs wobbled from blood
loss. He tossed the spent shotgun. His blood-slicked fingers ripped the .38
from his shoulder holster.
The goon growled and brought his pistol up too slowly.
Hobbs unloaded six rounds
into the goon’s
chest.
His adversary danced
before tumbling down the stairs.
Stillness followed as
Hobbs winced. A bullet had gone clear through his shoulder, and his white
button-up was now stained red. Hobbs reloaded with one hand while keeping an
eye on the stairwell. No new targets appeared.
He stumbled back to the
girl’s
hotel room and rammed his fist through the thin wood door. “It’s me!” he
yelled, keeping the barrel of the gun pointed down the hallway.
Whimpering, the girl undid
the chain lock with trembling fingers.
Hobbs shouldered the door
open and fell into the room. He kicked the door shut and fell on the cheap
carpet.
Thelma dropped to his
side. Her blonde locks fell over her sea-blue eyes. “What did they do to you?” she
asked, concerned.
“I got ‘em,” he said, with pride heavy in his voice.
Hobbs’ head hit the carpet. His
breath came out labored, but the pulsing pain from his wound had dulled.
Thelma scrambled to the
nightstand and had the phone against her ear in a blink.
For a moment, Hobbs ached
to touch her skin and feel her warm breath on his neck.
Hobbs’ head lolled to the left,
giving him a look at the unmade bed. Under it was his future: two hundred
grand. All of it dirty money made from gambling dens, back-alley brothels, and
drugs peddled on the streets. The building blocks to his new life.
He had unloaded a Thompson submachine gun into a Packard three nights before. Four enforcers slumped in their seats. Hobbs snatched the money from the dead grip of the obese one in the back and strolled out of that alley whistling “Dixie.”
He had unloaded a Thompson submachine gun into a Packard three nights before. Four enforcers slumped in their seats. Hobbs snatched the money from the dead grip of the obese one in the back and strolled out of that alley whistling “Dixie.”
Thelma hung up the phone
and moved to the hotel window.
Hobbs examined her long, toned dancer’s legs from the carpet. Her flesh-colored nightgown hung off her soft shoulders.
Hobbs examined her long, toned dancer’s legs from the carpet. Her flesh-colored nightgown hung off her soft shoulders.
He wanted her from the
moment she danced into his view. Hobbs had dreamt about women like Thelma while
killing Germans across Europe. He knew that one day a dame like her would wind
up in his arms, and he would end up between her legs.
The fact she belonged to someone
else didn’t
stop Hobbes. Most nights her arms wrapped around the boss’ ever-expanding
waistline while they sat in his private booth at the club. Regardless, Hobbs
knew Thelma was his woman.
Thelma pushed open the
window with her delicate fingers. Fresh air flooded in. “A car is coming,” she
said. Thelma darted to the
closet, tugged on her coat, and grabbed a packed bag.
Hobbs tried to sit up but
flopped back down. His arms and legs were growing cold. Each breath burned. Worry
filled his chest.
Thelma’s hand
plunged into the darkness under the bed and came up with the suitcase, dragging
it across the room. She strained as she pulled it through the open window and
onto the dark iron fire escape.
Hobbs kept his troubled
eyes on her. “Everything hurts,” he wheezed.
Thelma looked back at him
with something close to pity. “You were cute,” Thelma said, “But
I got no time for you, lover.”
The corner of her mouth
curled into a tight smirk as she watched Hobbs’ face fall.
He recognized that pride. In that moment, he hated her more than anything. It pulsed through his veins. He flexed his muscles and tightly gripped his pistol once more. His vision blurred as he pulled the trigger and cringed when the pistol jerked his arm.
He recognized that pride. In that moment, he hated her more than anything. It pulsed through his veins. He flexed his muscles and tightly gripped his pistol once more. His vision blurred as he pulled the trigger and cringed when the pistol jerked his arm.
