Deadeyes #2 Previously, in Boss Deadeyes #1: Antony “Deadeyes” Vendredi, a 1930s gang racketeer, has been raised from the dead and has reclaimed his place as “boss” of Gothametropolis York’s criminal underworld. He possesses the supernatural ability to kill with touch, but can delay the effect for as long as he likes. Now he must consolidate his position and re-establish the life he lost to a masked man in 1933.The Turpin Brewery had been abandoned and derelict for thirty years, the last of GMY’s indigenous old brewing and bottling businesses. Now the vast bulk was a warren of debris-filled burned-out rooms. Only the occasional dosing squatter came here, and they had to be desperate. Bad things happened to people who stayed long in the ruined old labyrinth. “I’m sorry about the condition,” Stuart Hoag told his client for the third time. He could sense the gentleman’s disapproval. It felt dangerous. “Nobody attended to the account once the trust fund dwindled. Old Mr Leveret knew about it, but he died of a heart attack back in my father’s day with the firm. It just… slipped between the cracks.” Boss Deadeyes wasn’t impressed. “I didn’t pay for things to slip between the cracks.” “You mean your grandfather,” Stuart Hoag corrected him. “It was your grandfather who set up the bequest.” Tony Vendredi didn’t bother to correct the annoying young man. He hadn’t expected to be in the ground for so long. He’d have set up a bigger trust account otherwise. Now it was eighty years later and the world was filled with annoying young men. “I know what I mean and I know what I want. Right now I want your smug shyster mug out of my face and getting the title to this place in order again. I want work crews to fit it out. I want money to make it my headquarters.” “Er…” stammered Hoag. “There’ll be a renovation grant from Mayor Kline’s office,” Deadeyes told him. “Get things moving, while you still can.” Carlos Kauffman watched the rattled lawyer scuttle away. “Wow,” said the lackey formally known as E-Razor. “You spooked him bad.” Boss Deadeyes gave a shrug. “Mouthpieces can get mouthy if you don’t put ‘em in their place once in a while. Remember that.” Kauffman nodded. In the days since Tony Vendredi had risen from the grave the former gang member had been plenty spooked as well. Spooked enough to stay off the drugs, to change his hair back to its natural colour, to use the cash the Boss gave him to buy his first ever suit. But Kauffman was also starting to think he might have had a lucky break. He was on the way up. Boss Deadeyes checked his pocketwatch. “Getting dark,” he noted. “Time for our big meeting.” “I’ll bring the car round,” Kauffman said. He didn’t give away his disquiet at the coming summit. It would have been a career decision. The car was a black 1953 Plymouth Sedan. It didn’t have automatic gears. Kauffman prayed he’d not crunch the clutch this time. The Boss didn’t like it. “Mind if I ask about this guy we’re seeing?” Kauffman ventured, partly because he wanted to take the Boss’ mind off his driving. “Only when I set the meeting up with his people like you told me, they looked kind of… weird.” “He’s not a guy,” Deadeyes replied. “I don’t really know what he is. Vampire, I’d guess, but if so he’s so old he’s stopped even pretending to be human. His people, as you call ‘em, are all corpses. He can make them walk about and do stuff if he wants to.” Kauffman glanced over to see if the Boss was joking. “Straight up, kid,” Vendredi told him. “This chump’s the real deal. How do you think I got the death touch in the first place? Vrykoulakas was the broker.” Kauffman pulled the sedan up in front of the abandoned Sixways slaughterhouse. The old bulk was as derelict as Vendredi’s brewery, yet somehow the ghosts of millions of terrified animals being led to the slaughter seemed to hover just our of sight. “Should we have brought garlic and shit?” Kauffman asked nervously. Boss Deadeyes turned round and slapped him across the face. “We don’t talk with no potty mouth,” he lectured. “I run a class outfit. I don’t care what you modern punks think is the bee’s knees, when you work for me you watch what you say. Capeesh?” “Sure. Sorry. I just… this place.” Boss Deadeyes snorted and tossed the remains of his cigar to the floor. He led the way into the shadowed interior of the vast slaughterhouse. “Vrykoulakas? Where the hell are you?” A half dozen dead men shambled out of the darkness to surround them. Deadeyes restrained Kauffman from pulling his gun. “Mr Vendredi,” came a hiss from behind them. Kauffman span around to see where it came from. Deadeyes remained where he was, his coat still laid over his shoulders. Vrykoulakas was a true nosferatu. Bald and gaunt and corpse-white with a thin triangular face and pointed ears he loomed from the shadows like a horror from a black and white film. He seemed to glide without moving his legs. Boss Deadeyes lit another cigar. “We need to talk, you scary Greek bastard,” he told the undead. “Of courssse,” Vrykoulakas replied. “You have arisssen and you have needssss.” “I never expected it to take so long,” Vendredi answered. “I think my boys choked at what they were supposed ta do. Finally Jack Corgan grew a pair of balls and brought me back.” “Demonic pactsss often have sssurprisssess in them,” the vampire noted. Deadeyes wasn’t impressed. “More shysters,” he shrugged. “But I’m back now. So I need my firm.” Vrykoulakas shifted his head in acknowledgement. “It can be done, of courssse,” he agreed. “Sssuch was built into the original pact. But you will alsssso recall there was a cossst. I mean beyond my fee.” “Sure. What’s the ratio? Five to one sound good? Ten to one?” Kauffman tried to follow the conversation. He settled for not screaming as the dead ringed him round. “Ten to one ssssoundsss good,” Vrykoulakas considered. “In matters of necromanssssy it is bessst to go for… overkill.” “When, then?” Deadeyes demanded. “I can have the victims here by tomorrow night if you like.” “This new guy, he’s got the big guns all running scared,” complained Long Hog. He was down at Grosso’s bar in Toenail Alley, a place where you needed at least three major convictions to get a drink. “Scranton, Joad, even Mayor Klein just rolled over and let him in. I heard he kakked Van Der Luce right there in the Mayor’s Residence.” Mickey Slice was a senior bagman for Copper Top, and he was looking to move up in the game. That was why the Hog was talking to him. “So you’re thinking there might be places in Boss Deadeyes’ organisation?” Long Hog drained his beer class and held it out for a refill. “I’m thinking that if what they’re saying is true, if Vendredi has found a way to take down the capos if he dies, then that would free up an awful lot of places at the top.” Slice considered that. “Could be a whole new city,” he admitted. “Lot of people were looking for a bigger piece after the Lynchpin fell,” the Hog went on. “Lot of people were disappointed how his cronies just divided the pie between them. And that was a big pie.” “But if Deadeyes has some kind of goods on them, some kind of way to take ‘em down if he goes down…” Slice reasoned. “Yeah. That’s the thing.” Slice leaned in. “So how? You gotta figure a guy like Boss Deadeyes knows enough to watch his back.” “You heard of a punk kid called E-Razor? Used to run with the Rippers?” “Can’t say I keep tabs on those drug gangs,” Mickey Slice shrugged. “Small time hoods make my teeth itch.” “Yeah, well E-Razor got himself a leg up. He’s wearing a suit now and he’s working for Vendredi. But he’s still got his habit to support, and I’ve got the primo stuff.” A slow nasty grin spread across Slice’s face. “He’s ready to trade?” “Vendredi’s got a deal going down,” Long Hog confided. “Tomorrow night, at the old slaughterhouse. Very quiet. There’ll just be him and E-Razor making a buy.” “Boss Deadeyes and a suitcase full of cash? That’s an attractive opportunity.” “The men who take Deadeyes down could rule this town,” the Hog noted. “They’d be made for life.” Slice drew the switchblade that had earned him his name and twirled it in his fingers. “Count me in.” Carlos Kauffman looked around the darkened roofless slaughterhouse warily. It was an ideal place for an ambush. There’d been quite a few gang rumbles in this wide sheltered space, and any bodies that were left behind always vanished by the morning. “I’m not sure about this, Boss,” he admitted. “We made a deal,” Tony Vendredi told him. “You never welsh on a deal.” “That Vrykoulakas guy, though. He’s not even human. What the hell is he?” “Guy I knew called Faust said he was the distilled essence of undeath,” Deadeyes shrugged. “He’s a consultant. The go-to guy when you need something spooky. You don’t mess with him and he don’t mess with you.” “And the deal here? Tonight? What are you giving him and what do you expect back?” Deadeyes gave his aide a hard stare to shut up his incessant nervous questions. “Watch and learn, kid. You got plenty yet to learn.” “Sure,” called out Long Hog. “Like when to keep his junkie mouth shut!” Mickey Slice led the others out of the darkness. Boss Deadeyes counted thirty, fourty guys. Plenty of them. Kauffman swallowed hard. “Don’t sweat it,” Vendredi told him. “You did good. Blabbed just like I told you. We need these guys here right now.” Long Hog moved forward. “Where’s the case? You supposed to be making a buy, so where you got the f*&%^& case?” “I hate uncouth language,” Boss Deadeyes said. “Sure sign of a punk.” “We got you,” Slice warned, flicking out his blade and coming forward. “You got careless and we made you, man. Now the only question is how bad you’re gonna squeal as we peel you.” Vendredi looked over the bagman’s shoulder. “Good enough for you?” he asked. “Yesss,” agreed Vrykoulakas. “They will be perfect.” Then darkness closed over the slaughterhouse and the screaming began. It was a perfect place for an ambush. Carlos Kauffman scrambled from his knees and looked around. The darkness had lifted but now the floor of the old slaughterhouse was covered with a freezing mist that coiled even though there was no wind. “What happened?” he gasped. “What just happened?” Boss Deadeyes helped him up and dusted off his coat. “We did the deal, kid. Vrykolakas got his warm bodies. I got what I wanted in trade.” “And what’s that?” Kauffman asked. Something moved in the mist, as if it was climbing out of a deep dark hole. It shook itself and stepped forward and seemed to become human. “Hey, Boss,” it said, coming nearer. “You sure took your sweet time.” Deadeyes snorted. “Less of the lip, Emilio, or I’ll toss you back.” The newcomer moved from the shadows. He was a young man in a sharp pinstriped suit. He wore a fedora and there was a bulge beneath his jacket. “Carlos Kauffman, meet Emilio Cacciatore, the number one hit man north of Philly,” said Vendredi. “Hey, I’m a better shot than any Philly mug!” Emilio objected. “Those holes in your suit tell me different,” Boss Deadeyes answered. “But you’re back now, and bullets won’t be such a problem next time.” “Got that right, Boss,” the hit man grinned. “So, you bring the Accountant with you?” Kaufmann realised there was a second shape in the mists. A small man with a thick leather satchel shuffled out of the darkness, pressing thick pebble glasses to his nose. “You got us resurrected but you couldn’t spring to get my eyesight fixed?” he complained. “Always with the grief. You’re back, Levi. You should be glad that the deal you set up worked out.” “What year is it?” Ishmael Levi wondered. He checked his fob watch redundantly as if it would tell him. “Two thousand seven,” Boss Deadeyes told him. “We all kind of overslept.” Levi winced. “We’ve certainly got a lot of work to pick up.” “Hey,” thought Emilio, “I’ve missed a whole bunch of World Series.” “I can get you some on DVD,” offered Kauffman, then wished he hadn’t. Boss Deadeyes was still peering into the shadows. He was expecting someone else. “Yeah, I’m coming,” came back a female voice. “Keep your hair on, you mook!” “Myra,” Levi objected. “All the people you could bring back from death to serve you in unlife and you pick Myra Mason?” The platinum blonde in the fur wrap joined the others, smoothing a finger over the bullet hole in her forehead until it was fully concealed. “Yeah well, maybe there’s some things he’d prefer me ta do for him than you, Ishie.” She took Vendredi by the arm. “Did you miss me, Tony? Did ya?” “Sure, baby,” agreed Boss Deadeyes, “but now I got the old gang back. Now we get to do it all again. Only this time we do it right. We do it smart.” “That’d sure be a first,” grumbled Levi. “Who do we kill?” asked Emilio. “Whoever we got to,” Boss Deadeyes answered. “We’re gonna rule this town.” Gothametropolis York or Paradopolis Senior Crime Figures: Boss Deadeyes (Tony Vendredi): Heading up the GMY cartel Mayor Velma Klein Oliver Scranton, Scranton Waste Recycling Rupert Joad, handling the protection rackets north of Sixways Melissa van de Luce, running vice in Hogan Akiko Masamune, crimelord of Mangatown The Zoot Suit Gang (see Jason’s stories) The Anton family, formerly running many of the GMY rackets (see DK’s stories) The Five Families, running much of Paradopolis’ organised crime (but not so far defined as to who they are) Antony diTerlizzi, gaming in Shelton and the City, owner of the Croque D’Or casino hotel Tobias Porpoise The Mum Coppertop Diente Dulce Boris “Boss” Menchwelt Note that this list omits villains with a more national or international crime remit, some of whom interact with the local criminal leaders in GMY and Paradopolis. Former crimelords include: Camellia of the Fey The Crime Chicken Brokenface (and I really need to do a trawl of Messenger’s stuff for the trail of dead crimelords there too) The cartel members created by the Hooded Hood are profiled in Boss Deadeyes #1 The villains created by Killer Shrike are profiled in Guess Who’s Coming To Dinnner – Interlude Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
