Chances Are Chapter 6
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Chances Are...Chapter 13 free porn video
The senior Westside mob bosses just finished playing their hands and everyone continued to ignore me until the pot had been gathered up. They were playing poker for fairly small stakes, just a friendly game with quarters for chips it looked like, but I couldn’t tell you for sure what the rules were; a variation of five card draw probably. Then finally, Jonny deigned to speak to me just as a fresh hand was being dealt.
“You’re Chancer? Conner here informs me that Antonio ‘Drake’ has gone rogue on us and is probably disloyal to the organization and possibly even now a threat to the entire Syndicate ... and that you’re something of a friend of his.”
I sighed loudly and then gave Connor a glare that nearly caused the already nervous man to spill his drink.
“For starters,” I calmly explained to Westside Jonny, “Drake is not now and never was, and likely never will be my friend or even a drinking pal. He was my neighborhood ward boss. Period. Sometimes he had shit work for me to do and I obeyed orders and did what I was told ... and then tipped my hat to him and said ‘Thank you, Sir’ afterwards. Because Drake took his orders from Connor O’Neil, who takes his orders from you. Yes, the bastard Drake has now gone rogue and yes, you can take it for a fact that he’s now completely disloyal to anyone and everyone but himself. Frankly, and I hope Connor made this quite clear to you, Drake wants to be the Top Boss. First, over all the Westside and then the entire island and the other boroughs too. Antonio ‘Drake’ is many things but he’s neither stupid, nor does he dream or plan small.”
“No... ,” he slowly replied, now giving Connor a squinty-eyed look of his own, “He had not mentioned anything about that.”
“But you knew all about this anyway,” I calmly added, “because you’ve already had a very personal talk with Drake, or rather Fire Drake, as he’s now calling himself. Haven’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. The odds were certain that they’d spoken together very recently.
“Very good Mr. Chancer,” he grinned, “Now care to tell me, if you can, about what was said?”
“I wasn’t there, of course, but the odds are that I can make a series of extremely good calculated guesses. First, that he tried to make the meeting with you a very public one with plenty of witnesses, like right here in the Social Club, standing in fact, just about right where I’m standing now. Second, he told you that he was now running South Hell ... or would be, the moment he so chose to act and that, either way, Mr. O’Neil was now an irrelevance. Accordingly, he then tried to cut a deal with you. For starters, I can safely assume, he wanted the formal authority of you naming him as the new official boss of all SoHell. Additionally, I’m sure some mention was made of making him your chief lieutenant, your number two in the organization, as well. Perhaps later on in another month or two, when the dust or flames had settled a bit. Lastly, that you were somewhat noncommittal with him and told him that you liked the idea, but needed to think it over. That you’d strongly consider the matter and you’d give him an answer in a few days.”
Most of that guesswork was easy and I barely needed to apply my gift at all. The big black scorch marks on the carpet next to my feet had been a solid enough indicator right from the start that Fire Drake had been standing where I was, just recently.
“Well, I see that Connor was in fact right about you,” Jonny said with a feral grin, “that you’re a pretty smooth article and not a joker angling for a bigger piece of the take! He just made you his consigliere, his senior advisor, right? I see I’ll need to let you do his talking for him from now on, as well as his thinking.”
Everyone in the room laughed, but I just let my face freeze back into a mild smile. I could tell that Jonny didn’t seem to have much love or respect for my boss. That was fine, really, I didn’t have much love or respect for Connor either. This also gave me a useful moment to further churn the odds about Fire Drake’s meeting with Jonny. Chances were that Jonny had been far from non-committal and that under pressure had pretty much promised Drake everything he’d wanted, and with a big pretty bow on the package too. That was going to complicate things.
“Or,” I suggested, with the amused smile still pasted to my increasingly angry face, “perhaps I’ll need to stand behind your shoulders too, whispering in your ears as well, especially if you believe for even one minute that Drake will keep his word with you. Trust me ... he won’t. You’ve already agreed to deal with him, to cut Connor out and make him your man, but certainly he will betray you too, the minute he feels that he’s ready and it most suits him. Oh, he’d rather you give him everything he wants on a nice platter now, just to save him the trouble of starting a fight to get it, but make no mistake ... all of you ... he cannot be trusted! Drake, especially now that he’s Fire Drake, has no sense of honor and will betray us all, killing everyone who won’t kneel down to him. It’s your job he really wants, Jonny. Taking South Hell is just a means to get his foot inside your door so he can kick it down anytime he wants. He wants to be the Big Boss here and, then, once he has it, his next goal will be to bring down the Syndicate and run this whole island by himself! Sooner or later he will start a war with the Syndicate for ultimate control over everything ... and none of you want any part of that!”
No sane person would ... but chances were that paranoid Westside Jonny still thought the best way to handle an enemy you can’t shoot was to pretend to be his pal and play for time. Some of the smarter hood bosses caught my drift though, that I was likely working the same side of the street that they were, and had their best interests at heart. One or two of them were even starting to wonder (privately) if Jonny had cracked his last marble.
I let all the bosses around the table chatter and I kept my mouth shut, but I could tell that I still hadn’t quite gotten their complete attention. Also, it was clearly evident that none of the underlings quite had the stones to publicly question, let alone debate, the wisdom of Jonny’s tentative deal with Drake. Especially not Connor, who already believed that he was a dead man walking, and was too frightened of his boss to even make full eye contact with him, let alone speak up in protest. After about five minutes, when the chatter had died down, I was fairly certain that, as blunt as I had been, most of the bosses, especially the big one, still didn’t quite see the problem from my perspective.
“It would be suicide to fight him, that burning guy Drake!” one of the bosses muttered aloud, vaguely in response to me, but he didn’t meet my eyes or speak with much sincerity.
“Odds are that it’s equally suicidal, for every single one of you,” I insisted, “if you do nothing and roll over and show your scared bellies to him, like a beaten dog! More so, in fact. Fighting him, preferably now as a unified organization, gives us all the best chance for success, and reduces the likelihood that the crazy bastard will burn down half of the Westside and turn it into a warzone.”
That led to another long bout of angry jawing around the table which frankly resolved nothing. A few of the other minor bosses, like Connor, privately agreed with my point of view, but they didn’t know me or my talents. Since Jonny clearly had made his mind up to make the deal with Fire Drake, there wasn’t anyone willing to directly risk their neck by opposing him.
“Alright then,” I chuckled, “since none of you quite appreciate the significance of this matter, let me further confuse you with this very simple parlor trick of mine. Standing right here where I am, I’m now going to tell you what each of you have for cards in front of you, still lying on the table face down. Then, perhaps, you’ll better understand what the chances are for all of you, or maybe at least some of you, to survive this mess. We can do this, if we work together, and if you listen to me carefully and take my advice.”
Then I started figuring the odds for each hand, which took me about as long to calculate as it did to call out. “Two pairs, kings high ... junk, not even a low pair ... three deuces ... a partial straight, jacks high” and so forth, all around the table. One by one each of the bosses then showed their cards, proving me right in every instance. No one argued or wondered how the trick was done afterwards ... but it had served its purpose and most of the bosses were now taking me a bit more seriously, and quietly admiring the fact that I’d had the balls to pull it off smoothly. Except for Jonny.
The odds were, and remained, that there was no way that the paranoid nutjob was going to take my advice seriously. He’d already made up his mind to accept Fire Drake’s offer and live for another day, or until he could think of a way to weasel out of it. Jonny was both adamant and flustered, seeing nothing but enemies now everywhere around him. Odds were that I didn’t need to consider replacing him from the local leadership, because within a week (at most), Drake would have done the job for me. Replacing one insane boss with yet another, even crazier one!
I’d said my piece and now I needed to find a quiet dark corner in which to park myself for a while to consider some happier possibilities for the future! Chances were that here and now, that Jonny was already holding a dead man’s hand.
“Jonny,” I solemnly stated, “if you play Drake’s hand, it’s going to be a loser ... for both you and the entire Westside.” To illustrate that point I grabbed the deck of cards myself and slowly dealt Jonny those symbolic four cards, all face up; a pair of black aces with a pair of black eights. According to legend, these were the cards dealt to the Old West legend Wild Bill Hickok, at the time he was murdered. All of the poker players around the table understood my meaning.
Now, while everyone was a bit too confused or flustered to object, was a good time to sidle out of the lion’s den, and probably drag Connor out with me as well, before someone plugged him. He wouldn’t appreciate the rescue, but even he could understand that there was only one way that outfit bosses get replaced ... dragged out feet first.
If Jonny couldn’t quite see reason, but at least some of his top lieutenants did, then perhaps it was time for them to consider a different sort of regime change ... hopefully without my direct involvement. Without a doubt, Westside Jonny would not be looking to me for future helpful advice.
“Connor,” I barked out, “scoop up your pile of bits and scram, get back to the Arcade and get the whole wrecking crew heeled and ready for trouble. Drake will be coming ... soon, so have the boys ready to give him a hot reception. The rest of you gentlemen, I’d frankly advise you to go do the same.” I gave the big boss an infinitesimal token nod of about a quarter of an inch, and turned on my heels and walked out.
Probably shocked that I’d outright defied the big boss, no one uttered a single word and even the two monkeys by the door didn’t budge a muscle to stop me. I resisted the urge to put heel to toe and hotfoot out of the pool hall fast, but I kept to a dignified pace giving brief nods of acknowledgement to some of the bigger and nastier pugs as I passed.
Yeah, the old Dean Chance would have wet himself inside that room for sure, and probably would have been too frightened, like Connor, to even make a peep when spoken to, but the Lady of Luck and Fate had changed me, both inside and out far more than just giving me my gift. I now had the courage to go along with my principles, that I did indeed now have the audacity and nerve to do the right thing ... and for the right sort of reasons.
Outside on the street, my pals in blue were still waiting for me, with less than friendly intentions. Now that my meeting with the boss was done, it was time, it seemed, for my overdue lesson in manners and deportment towards my betters. The sergeant and his young partner already had their nightsticks out in hand and were visibly eager to put them to some good work.
A few weeks ago, I’d have meekly taken it ... let them sock me around a bit and then kissed their asses afterwards, groveling. That was a different me, the old Dean Chance, just another two-bit piker, a soft cream puff to be pushed around by every nickel grabber on the street. But I wasn’t a palooka anymore! I’d just shown up the top boss of the entire Westside and demonstrated to him that one of his top neighborhood bosses now worked for me, not him! I’d also likely planted a seed or two in the minds of a few of the others that some upper management changes just might be in order.
These two hard boys in blue didn’t frighten me anymore and it wouldn’t even have mattered a bit if they were armed with guns. I was Chancer now ... and even as they stepped forward to make their first swings at me with their weapons, I already had the odds well in my favor. It was easy and simple really, that my luck didn’t even need to slow down time to deal with them, and it was all over in less than thirty seconds.
The burly sergeant was the greater threat so I dealt with him first. As he stepped up onto the sidewalk to accost me, he didn’t notice that the metal sidewalk delivery elevator for the cellar wasn’t quite brought up level with the cement pavement and he took a sudden hard stumble, falling down face first. He tried to break his sudden fall with his right hand that held his weapon and caught the edge of his wrist hard upon the steel edge with most of his weight, snapping it in two. Now that was most unfortunate! Now on his knees staring at his broken hand while howling in pain, he didn’t notice me step forward and give him a vicious kick right in the teeth, scattering a few onto the pavement and metal elevator. The chump wasn’t out for the count, but he was already in far too much pain to bother me further, until after I’d handled his partner.
The younger cop deftly walked around the elevator to then take a wild swing at me with a long metal security baton, but he missed my head badly, almost overcome by the adrenaline surging wildly in his body. I stepped back away from him, evading two further errant blows, until I was right where I wanted to be, standing just in front of a utility box mounted on the brick wall by an alleyway. The young punk blustered something inane about fixing my clock good, and I just smiled at him and let him take a hard poke right at my mug, neatly ducking under the savage blow at the last moment. His metal weapon clobbered the utility box dead on, knocking off its rather insecure cover plate and connecting solidly with the live electrical wires inside. The flatfoot lug jerked about for a few moments, dancing with the live juice now flowing through him, but I took a bit of pity on him and kicked him away from the connection, a moment or so before his heart would have burned out.
The kid was young and perhaps not entirely a bad job, to be written off as a lost cause. Maybe the punk would even learn a lesson or two. The odds were something of a coin flip but I didn’t think the Lady would want me to constantly play judge with other people’s lives.
I needed to thump my fist hard on the kid’s chest four or five times to get his pump beating again and his eyes somewhat open once more to the world of the living, but except for some educational electrical burns on his hand where the current had flowed through his baton into his body, the dumb onion would have no other lasting damage.
“You owe me your life, kid,” I muttered to him as he lay there in a shocked daze, “so don’t try and do anything stupid later to make me regret it!” The chances were that he wouldn’t.
The bloody mouthed sergeant was starting to get back on his feet, albeit more than a bit wobbly on his pegs. Since the odds were the big boob hadn’t quite learned his lesson yet, I put him promptly back down on the pavement in a blood-spattered stupor with three sharp blows from his own wooden billy club delivered right to his kisser. Then to make sure that the overconfident rooster knew what the score was, I jammed the business end of his club right down his broken and bleeding maw, damn near right down into his throat. Then I looked the beaten bully right straight in the eyes.
“Sarge, I’ve probably done you a favor by knocking out most of your front dental work, because at least three of your chompers were already black and rotten through. Too many donuts and sweets in your diet, I think. You were talking about a lesson in respect for authority ... and I’ve given you one. Please pray that I never find it necessary to repeat this example to you or any of your 39th Street friends. Things are changing around here pal, and you and your buddies will need to change with the times. You can help make things around here a bit better or you can stay out of my way. The choice is yours ... but I need you to understand that I’m not your pigeon ... or Westside Jonny’s either! Are we clear?”
“We’re clear ... Sir,” he sputtered as I pulled his club out of his mouth and he spat out more teeth and blood. The odds were slightly better than two-to-one that the lesson hadn’t quite stuck home within the mugg’s skull, and that he and a few buddies would be along later with roscoes to settle up the score. Sometimes you just can’t fix what’s wrong inside a mudhead’s brain, but I’d deal with that problem later, as necessary.
It was starting to rain now as I turned away to walk south towards home. The odds of getting a cab here in lower North Hell were usually dicey but I was confident that something would come my way within a block or two.
Lynne
- 09.07.2021
- 14
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