Klimt's Kiss

Larry walks over to his desk, a broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, squinted eyes, a flattened nose, and well-kempt slicked back hair with a shine resembling a Rolls Royce’s freshly polished black finish. His telephone rings like a bell echoing through the acoustics of his large office. He survived the war against the Nazis just a few years back, only to deal with mouth-breathing fat cats that plead for their wives’ faithfulness, throwing cash at something that just won’t do. ‘Hell’ he thinks: ‘If they want me to spend all this time and good money to look in on something, I got their number, and you won’t hear a peep from me.’

              “Yeah? Mr. Newsom? Yes sir. How can I help you today?” You hear a faint bumbling groan over the phone as Mr. Newsom, another one of his famously rich clients begs for a chance at keeping their sanity, unaware that the world couldn’t give two red cents about them, no matter what the papers say. The only thing they look for is dollars, dollars, dollars!

“Yeah I hear you loud and clear, sir. You want….you want me to look in on….Uh-huh…Mrs. Newsom’s been acting suspicious has she…lots of trips to the same strange place?...hmmmm that seems pretty far from your neck of the woods…Alright…I’ll look into it…check coming today? Oh good. I’d hate to see this thing go public, too sir” He smirks sarcastically to himself as he was ready to do whatever he needed to make sure he got paid. He can help, but he’s no fool.

Larry’s been at this gig for 5 years after being discharged from active duty as a corporal in the marines, and the story is as old as time: Young hotsy-totsy wants a man twice her age for his money, plays the cute little bunny until she gets married, then its nothing but free trips, endless shopping, and completed denial of her husband’s personal needs…if ya catch my drift. It’s clear as day that Mrs. Newsom, who just got married but a very short year ago, is already bursting at the seams with all the fun she could have, especially with young men courting her at every step she as soon as she steps out the door.

Mr. Newsom’s been in the papers more often than he could count. A rich industrialist from New York, coming from a clan richer than the Lord Almighty himself. The Newsom family go back generations from Chicago, building skyscrapers that dwarfed every other hotel, casino or bank building, from here to Albuquerque. Now little-new-girl here has been in the papers too, writing her own little column in rags giving gals beauty tips and “20 ways to snag your ideal man”. Yep, she’s been living the dream, and when it all comes crashing down, her husband will be left to pick up the pieces.

The moonlit sky shines onto the massive skyline, buildings jutting out of the ground like flowers from a stuffed vase, as Larry makes his way to his car, an older model, but sturdy. Larry tries to keep himself under wraps despite his fancy penthouse office in the new bank building.

He sees his windshield smashed and a switchblade stabbed into his new front tire. “Ah dammit! Now what?” As quickly as he opens his door, he gets jumped by two ugly mugs even bigger than him. One with a hair like a Brillo pad, and onyx skin with a white suit. The other, also looking two-toned but the reverse, pale-skinned with blonde wavy hair, freckles and a black suit as they punch Larry in the gut one after the other, as if they were a well-oiled machine, getting roughed up the two big hired goons.

They yank on his tie, ruffle his well-ironed shirt, and slap off his black fedora.

“Don’t look for her. Next time it won’t be the tire that gets stabbed. Ya got it?’ The larger darker skinned man lifts up Larry against the brick wall “Talk now, chump or we’ll do ya right here and now!” yells the freakishly strong white-suited man.

“Okayy…but..whoooo??” whispers Larry with a strained voice, his gut still hurting as he is out of breath.

“Oh you know who! Ya just got a call from him just now, didn’t ya? Mr. Newsom? He has no idea who he’s messing with! Stay out her business or you’ll get the cement shoes and get thrown over the East River!”

“The East River? It’s filthy!” Larry’s training kicks in just before the sneaky thugs try to hurt him some more, as he kicks the man holding him up right between the balls. He pulls out his pistol, a Colt .45 M1911A1, a far better weapon than some of the old six-shooters you see in those cowboy movies. Some thugs like ’em though. Untraceable and cheap.

As the blonde-haired man rushes towards him with a brown switchblade, Larry shoots in the air with a warning shot “I’m warning ya…!” The blonde man’s eyes widen as he grabs his downed buddy and they run off stumbling into a nearby back alley.

“Haven’t ya heard? Ya can’t bring a knife to a gun fight!” He chuckles, a little worse for wear, but he’s dealt with far worse in the War. “Goofy mugs. Can’t stop me from doing my job.”

He calls for a cab to drive to where Mr. Newsom’s been seeing his wife, far from uptown. The driver, a thin man with a small lackluster mustache, brown suspenders, a ruffled cotton shirt, and ill-fitted black pants, suddenly hits the brakes with his shoes, one sole coming off from the back of his foot.

“Listen, buddy…I can’t go further. It’s too dangerous to drive around at this hour. "Can’t go further…unless you have some incentive” The driver motions for more cash; he’s about to take a bigger risk going so far from his usual route. Larry chuckles, but he gets it. The cab man isn’t exactly a prize pig, and a little money could come a long way. “Yeah, alright!” He crumples two hundred dollar bills into the driver’s hand as if it was something he’d throw at a hobo or a guy on the street playing a saxophone.

“What the--?? Okay buddy! Hell I’ll take ya to the moon with that cheese!” Larry smirks with far more bluntness than usual.

“Yeah sure, buddy. As if we’ll ever get to the moon.” They both laugh at the ridiculous prospect, as the man drives through every red light, knowing he could probably get mugged if he slows down.

“Alright, here’s your stop. Just one block ahead.” The driver’s smile a little more faint knowing he can’t stop for much longer, getting the car slowly moving as Larry hops out of the car “Good luuuck!” the driver yells panicking before storming off in his cab.

“Lousy lunkhead…” He strolls over with his gun drawn to the area where you have endless slums and broken-down apartments with a few lights on at some of the windows, and you hear people yelling obscenities at each other. “Damn. Where am I?” He walks over to the darkened streets, the city lights not doing their job. “Alright, got it.” He sees the street number, with one of the numbers falling nearly off the wall. He puts on a flashlight as he bangs on the door, seeing the doorbell’s clearly torn out.

He hears a steady and loud thump of footsteps getting closer opening the door with a heavy creak. “yeah? Who are you? Whaddaya want?” the man, unkempt with a stained white tank top, wearing a gun belt with red suspenders brought down onto his grey pants which were rolled up neatly while wearing wing-tipped shoes. This man looked dishevelled, but not poor, even if his hideout had questionable taste. He quickly starts putting two and two together real quick. This guy’s a mobster! What did he get himself into?

Larry wastes no time pulling his gun out and hitting the strange man in the head with the butt of his gun “What is this? Who are you? Where’s Mrs. Newsom?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The gangster yells back at him, confused.

He punches the shady character square in the face, hitting him in the nose, nearly breaking it. “Don’t ya lie to me, ya sunuvabitch! Tell me! Where is she?!”

Larry growls at him with a fury of a thousand suns, fed up with all the posturing and secrecy, clearly taking it out on a guy who had it coming.

He sees a photo of Mrs. Newsom with another man, smiling. “What’s going on here?! Who is this guy in the picture?” He smashes the framed photo by the dresser, and pulls out the picture.

“Just look! Look in the back! I swear!!” the mobster overwhelmed by this strange man’s assault, finally pleads to him “Look!!” He turns the picture over “Brother and me. 1948, August” “The guy in the picture is her…brother??”

“Who are you though? Her babysitter!??” He pushes the barrel of his Colt right up against the thug’s head between the eyes.

“No! No!! You don’t get it! She’s been with us since she was a kid! She’s trying to help him! That’s all!! I swear!” the criminal pleads, not so tough with the tears in his eyes “She’s my family too!” Larry feels bad for the man, as he explains that Mrs. Newsom, or Cindy, as he calls her, has been with the mob since she was a kid but escaped the life to marry a rich millionaire, who bought her freedom.

Love was indeed blind for Mr. Newsom. The moment he saw her selling cigars in the casino, he had to have her.

Her brother, hearing about the news, moved to the city to be closer to his sister, hoping she could do the same for him. Trouble always seems to follow John though, as the mob caught wind of his plans and are looking to use him for ransom for more money from Mr. Newsom. They haven’t found him yet so far. Hank, the man Larry greeted with a nasty hit at the door, is his friend, looking to help John out.

“Ah look at that! Mr. Newsom had no idea…did he, Hank??”

“He might have missed that little bit of information, he shrugged off the threats as a joke by the tabloids. He gets hit up for money all the time. He’s even got some cops on the payroll to watch him. Too bad he doesn’t get that some of them cops were double dippin’ with the mob too.”

“Ah rats! So that’s what’s going on here. Damn. I’m sorry, kid. Hope I didn’t hit ya too hard.”

“Ya did, but I’ll get over it. Been hit by worse.” Hank mutters something about his drunk father.

“Alright, so where is she now? Is she kosher or is she about to get hurt too?” “Nah the mob has a code. They can’t touch her unless they want the cops busting in on her, but John? He’s free game as far as they’re concerned.”

“She’s on the way though. About to be here…any minute” Says Hank as he gets up off of the floor and sits on his couch, looking up at the clock.

“Alright. I feel there might be some trouble brewin’. This might be a bad time for her to visit. I already got a warning from some goons at my building.”

“Which guys? The Two Tones? The dark-skinned guy and the blondie?”

“Yeah…how’d you know?” Larry wonders if Hank deserves another punch in the face.

“Nah they’re goons paid by the Builders Union. They didn’t want you looking in on Cindy because of her history. They also have some shady deals on the side with Mr. Newsom.

“The Builders’ Union? I’ve been looking into them too. Makes sense. Look at this guy…just trouble on legs. I thought the broad was the problem.”

“Nah. Her and John lost their parents when they were young. They’re orphans, but big sis was old enough to take care of little Johhny. They’re grown up now, but big sis was working the debt off that her little brother piled up. It’s a big mess, but since Cindy came into some old money, it’s been better for her, but even worse for John. He’s been laying low since his sister moved here, and she’s been buying his freedom back thousands of bucks at a time. She’s close though. He might be free soon.”

“Is that why Newsome’s been calling me? To get rid of me and John so he they don't have any more questions about Cindy?”

“Not sure, but I’ll tell ya, I wouldn’t put it past him. That guy is a wolf in a very soft fluffy sheep’s clothing. Looks harmless enough, but he’s a monster.”

“No wonder he’s been calling me. Looks like he’s trying to kill two birds with one stone!” Larry ponders.

A loud knock on the door is heard as Cindy, an enchantingly beautiful woman with long luscious blonde hair over her oval face, sparkling blue eyes with perfectly groomed thin eyebrows, a thin feminine nose, and full red lips, enters the room. Cindy speaks as she walks over with very casual, humble clothing on, a blue pencil skirt, with a looser red shirt hiding her voluptuous figure.

“Hank?? Are you there? Hank??!” She walks into the living room where she sees Larry and a bloodied Hank “What’s wrong? Who are you??!” She suddenly pulls out a small-calibre gun form her purse, pointing at Larry. “If you don’t talk I’ll kill you.”

“No wait. Cindy, Wait!” Hank hollers at her suddenly. “Hold on! He’s with us!”

“Are you sure you can trust this bastard? He looks like he just worked you over! Start talking buster, or I’ll…I’ll..”

“Or you’ll what…?” Larry looks at her directly, her hand shaking at the thought of killing someone. “You’ll shoot me? Go ahead. I might as well be dead.”

“Shut up!” She cocks the gun, yelling at Larry.

“Come on. Try it!” He continues calling her bluff, knowing she won’t shoot him. He grabs the gun from her hand and quickly wrestlers her to the ground. “We don’t have time for this!”

He hears a strange loud voice booming across the room with the door wide open. “You’re right. You don’t have any time for this!” He sees one of the Two Tones, the blonde-haired thug that threatened him earlier with a six-shooter pointed at John’s temple. He was finally found! “What was that you said about bringing a knife to a gunfight, Larry? Say it again!” The blonde haired thug pulls back the hammer on the gun, cocking it, ready to kill John at any moment “I dare ya!”

“Don’t do this, we can talk. I have the money you asked for, right here." Cindy points at a suitcase from under the couch.

“Oh yeah? Pull it out! Slowly…” Cindy turns her head and winks at Larry. It’s a bluff, but one he has to go with.

“Alright, take it easy there buddy. No one wants to get hurt. We all want to walk away from this happy and alive, okay?” Larry speaks calmly at the blonde thug. “Cindy stay right there. I’ll get it.”

“What are ya trying to pull here? Why don’t you let her do it?” says the black suited thug.

“Look, if you want to hurt Mr. Newsom’s wife, you’ll have to answer to him! Wouldn’t it be better if I gave it to you? After all, you wanted to get rid of me, didn’t ya? Well, here I am. Ya got me.”

The blonde, hesitant, decides to take his advice “Come forward, slowly…Or I swear I’ll re-decorate the room with Johnny’s brains." He looks around the room "Who am I kiddin'? Might be an improvement!” He laughs with a sick smile on his face. “Go on…nice and slow.”

“Alright, take it easy now…” Larry slowly moves forward step by step with a suitcase that could only be full of anything but money. “Here ya go.” He closes in on the thug using John’s body as a shield, as Larry suddenly throws the suitcase into the thug’s face getting ahold of the goon's gun hand, shouting at John “GET DOWN NOW!!”

The gun discharges into the ceiling of the room as the thug falls down with the suitcase draped over his chest as it cracks open empty with some clothes. The blonde man yells to his partner “Benny! NOW!” The dark-skinned man with the white suit smashes his hands through the window behind the couch and grabs Hank “You dare mess with us??!” The blonde thug's partner, known as Benny, yells at Hank as the shards of glass cut into them both, as Benny tries to strangle Hank, unable to reach him.

Larry shoots Benny in the chest, barely missing Hank as he ducks down trying to get at the weapon from his gun belt, another six-shooter with the registration filed off. “You sunuva---!!” Benny immediately gets slumped over the couch, dead as a door nail, as the blonde thug, known as Jimmy, fires back getting up and losing his mind after seeing Benny die

“BEEENNNYYY!!!!” Jimmy rushes towards Larry, but Larry retaliates, shooting Jimmy right between the eyes, mere moments away from getting killed by the enraged blonde thug.

Hank is hurt, but he’ll make it. John is shaken, kneeling on the ground as his sister Cindy kneels with him, hugging him as she looks over at Larry, her blue eyes glistening even more brightly as large pools of tears form. “Thank God! Thank God you’re OK, Johhnny!” She kisses him on the forehead as she hugs him.

The scene fades with Hank dusting himself off and Larry standing with his gun in hand staring at the embrace only a truly loving family could have, as John kisses his sister on the cheek almost looking like that famous painting by that Austrian guy, Gus Klimt, I think his name was.