About Hanged Man
Written by Parhelion
38 pages / 19000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-131-0, 1-60370-131-1
Available file types - html,
lit, pdf, prc
Ray's a former mob enforcer who heads west to live off his comfortable retirement, provided graciously by his ex-employers. He's got it all. A new place, a new business, and he's making a pretty good go of it. Better than most folks in 1935 California.
Still, things aren't perfect. There's some bad stuff going down with
his town, his employees, and local cult leader, Mr. Alistair. Things
get even more complicated when former FBI agent Charlie shows up, needing
his help. Can Ray resist Charlie's charms, or will fall for the man
despite it being the worst idea in a long line of bad ideas?
Sample
Well before he could hear the music, Ray could feel its beat. Even after the notes became clear, crowd noises drowned out most of the melody. Ray had slipped through the Grand Palace Ballroom’s side entrance and walked all the way down a concrete-floored corridor before he could tell that the band was playing some tune from a Broadway show that he’d seen back in ’27. Wasn’t this song called the Varsity Drag? So late on a Saturday night, this far into a dance marathon, playing a half-assed Charleston variation struck him as kind of cruel, but who was he to judge? He sure wasn’t Al Leverett, the manager of this place, the guy who served as both relief judge and swing-shift master-of-ceremonies.
Leverett was out on the floor, checking the contestants, when Ray entered through the door beneath the paying seats and waved a hand in the air. Seeing him, Leverett waved back and then made his way towards the base of the bleachers through the couples on the dance floor. They were all dancing as slowly as they could when stuck with this lively a tune, so Leverett didn’t have much ducking and weaving to do. He got over next to Ray and immediately turned to look back at the couples. Leverett took his refereeing seriously.
“Hello, Ray. How you doin’ this evening?” Leverett asked without so much as a glance in Ray’s direction. Then he wiped his forehead with a red silk handkerchief that he’d produced from his dinner jacket’s pocket. The bright lights over the dance floor always made Leverett sweat. Any heat made him sweat, and so did any sunshine, woman, or proper suit coat, but none of that was his fault. Ray always tried to ignore how Leverett gleamed.
“I’m great, thanks.” Ray leaned close to Leverett and asked, without shifting his own gaze from the dance floor, “Do you have my gun?” He’d kept his voice down. Even if there wasn’t much of a chance that he would be heard over the sound of a dance band sprinting hard about fifteen feet away, he still didn’t need to share his business with everyone.
Leverett also leaned in close before he said, “Yup. If you wait until the end of this piece, they’ll be up to the fifteen minute break. I got it in my office, and I’ll pull it out for you then.”
“Okay. Swell.” They both fell silent and watched the dancers again. Lots of the couples were losing the beat now. Three pairs were weaving. One guy and gal looked to Ray to be goners if the vVarsity didn’t stop dragging real soon. Everyone seemed to be slowing to the point where the dance was a kind of quick, rhythmic shuffle, not a varsity.
Apparently Leverett thought so, too. He went back out onto the floor and started handing out warnings. Most of the dancers sped up, but two pairs gave in altogether. A fellow started arguing with Leverett, but his date pulled him off the floor before the bouncer, currently lounging next to the band’s blonde canary, had to be called in. When they went by him on their way out, Ray noticed the girl was trying not to cry.
Leverett made his way back to Ray. “There, that’s done. Honestly, you’d think no one wanted to win the two bucks for dancin’ the sprint number right. It’s not like I have to pay out extra prizes.”
“Looks like they’re not doing so good.”
“It’s called a dance marathon for a reason, Ray. Heck, this is only the third week. You wait until next week when the break goes down to ten minutes.” Ray didn’t say anything in response, but Leverett continued, tone a little defensive, “There’s a slump on, after all.”
“None of my business.” Ray made sure the words were flat. After all, this wasn’t his business. Even now, in ’35, there sure as hell was still a slump on. Even here, in a nice California beach town like San Juan Patamos, folks did what they thought they had to in order to survive.