THE LOSER By A.H.Stewart Jimmy Walters woke up in a cold sweat. He blinked an eye to wash away a sweaty droplet, trying to forget the nightmare. McMann's henchmen were after him. Bullets singed his flesh as he ran down endless, smoky dark alleys. He heard footsteps coming closer and closer, and he felt the sting of bullet hitting his flesh. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, trying to forget the horror. He took a shower to wash himself clean of the memory. Safe house. It sounded good. Jimmy got dressed and went downstairs. Taggart James, a local Sheriff's deputy and his protector sat slouched against the couch, watching TV. The deputy stood, brushing lint off his brown polyester suit. "Ready to rock and roll, partner?" Jimmy grimaced. He had spent a week with Taggart, listening with false patience as he rambled on about politics, and how he planned to run against the present sheriff in the next election. That's what the city needed - a damn cowboy for sheriff. Right. "Crap, Taggart. All I'm ready for is to get as far away from McMann as possible. What's this about going to Utah? I asked for Mexico, at least." Taggart continued to chew a big wad of tobacco. "That's Deputy Taggart to you, asshole. You're lucky not to be in the cross-bar hotel playin' drop the soap." "And you want me to be a farmer? A farmer? That's stupid. I've never been off concrete my whole damn life." "Shove it, pard. Let's go." Loan shark David McMann owned the entire south side of town. Every vice, every drug deal, every piece of illegal business went through his chubby fingers. Jimmy had been McMann's closest confidant, but he had betrayed him. It was a matter of survival. It had started as a crisis of conscience. Jimmy had reached a point that some things were really bothering him. When his brother died of a drug overdose and Jimmy found out he had bought the dope from McMann, something within him snapped. Slowly he gathered evidence, cracking McMann's computer system - a system that he himself had set up. He had gone to the authorities, and now the D.A. was sure he was about to put an end to McMann's empire. At ten o'clock that morning Taggart and K.C. Davidson, a detective on the city squad, escorted Jimmy into court. The courtroom's noise increased threefold and the judge pounded his gavel as if he were trying to break the desk. McMann, seated at the defense table between his two lawyers, glared at Jimmy as he took the witness stand. Jimmy felt damp all over. He was on the witness stand three days. All the time he did his best to avoid McMann's piercing gaze. He explained, point by point, procedures he went through to find the incriminating evidence. Jimmy was on the stand so long his rear end had gone to sleep, and the jury looked like they were ready to knock off themselves. The lead defense attorney, a short, dark haired man, looked like he was barely out of law school but he proved his mettle as he hammered away at Jimmy in cross examination. Jimmy hemmed and hawed as he attempted to explain himself. The lawyer knew computers front and back. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally was dismissed. The feeling didn't last long. Slowly, witness by witness, the prosecution's case began to unravel. Jimmy himself was discredited when the attorney brought out an earlier case where a former employer accused him of breaking into their computers. Although there was no proof, the attorney made sure it sounded damning to his character. The crowning blow came when the judge disallowed the computer evidence. Jimmy looked at the faces of the jury and saw only growing disinterest. The jury was out only two hours. Not guilty. Taggart James grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder as they exited the courtroom. "Walters, you must be a loser. That's all I can say." Jimmy watched as McCann left, being patted on the back by smiling well-wishers. He felt a queasy lump in the pit of his stomach. "We had a deal, Taggart. You promised to get me out of town. Maybe Salt Lake City won't be so bad this time of year." They entered Davidson's office. The broad shouldered cop was seated at his desk, sharpening pencils. He opened his desk drawer. "Well you're shit outta luck, Jimmy boy." He pulled out his wallet and laid down a twenty. "There's cab fare to the airport," Davidson said. "You'll have to supply the rest." "What?" "You heard the man," Taggart drawled. "Hit the road like Jack. You didn't tell us about any trouble you'd had before. We cooperated. You lied. It cost us the case." "I didn't think it was important. Besides, how come you guys didn't find it?" Davidson's face turned three shades of scarlet. "Get out," he said. Taggart put another hand on Jimmy's shoulder. He jerked it off. "Don't you touch me," Jimmy said. Taggart grabbed Jimmy by the cuff of his jacket. "We go by the book. That crooked lawyer probably bribed somebody to get that information. Hell. That's probably why he didn't clean your clock before the trial. He knew he had you." "Damn it, you promised to get me out of this two-bit town. Give me a new start. Damn it, we signed a paper to that effect." Adamson pulled a piece of paper out of his desk. "I'll admit that," he said. "It's right here." He ripped it in two and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. Jimmy lunged at Davidson, but Taggart stopped him cold, throwing him against the nearby wall. "He'll kill me!" Jimmy shouted. Taggart pulled his pistol, a .357 magnum that looked like a cannon to Jimmy. He gestured with it. "Scram, boy. Now." He pulled Jimmy out of the room and gave him a shove down the hall. "And don't come back." Jimmy exited the courthouse in a run. He didn't have much time. Hours, probably. McMann's goon squad would be on him like ugly on an ape. He had to get out of town. The cops had impounded his car, but he had enough change for a bus. What a comedown. He had dreams of lying on a sunny Mexico beach, drinking something with an umbrella in it while watching bronze-skinned girls walk by in skimpy bikinis. He got off the bus a block from his apartment. He had money there, and secret tapes of conversations between him and McMann that he had kept back. Maybe he could use that. Maybe. The door was unlocked. He gave an involuntary shiver. Standing aside the door, he pushed it open with his foot. A quick glance told him all he needed to know. Clothes were all over the floor. The computer screen was smashed, and his computer books were scattered everywhere, pages ripped from their bindings. Jimmy shook his head. McMann wasn't taking chances. This must have happened during the trial. No use looking here. And the goons are probably already on his trail. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet. A couple of women were taking loads of clothes in plastic baskets to the apartment's Laundromat. A lonely car went slowly down the street. A little too slow? Jimmy looked around, hoping he would recognize somebody. No luck. If they were watching him, they were damn good at hiding. He went to his bank. They had taken all his credit cards, and had frozen his account. At least maybe he could swing a small loan. Anything just to get out of town. As soon as he entered the door he stopped in his tracks. Rudy Wallace, one of McMann's henchmen, was sitting on a waiting room couch reading a newspaper. Rudy had been a friend. No longer. If McMann told Wallace to shoot his crippled grandmother, he'd do it without a thought. He was halfway down the block when he gathered the courage to look back. He didn't see Wallace, but he recognized his car. He had to find transportation. The bus wasn't going to cut it. The sky had become overcast, and he could smell rain off in the distance. Just what he needed. He ducked down an alley and headed for what he hoped was some transportation. Freddy Nichol's garage was a flat-roofed, three-rack place that smelled of grease and cigar smoke. Freddy was in his office, a five-by-five cubicle that smelled of dust. He looked up as Jimmy filled the doorway. "I know what you want, Walters." Freddy said, puffing a cigar. "Can't help you." Jimmy's heart sank. "They already got to you, Freddy?" "Who you think I got the loan from to set up this place?" "Come on. You owe me five hundred for fixing your computer." Freddy shook his head. "No can do. Ain't got it, anyway." "At least let me have a car. Any old wreck will do. I gotta get out of town." "Sorry." "I won't tell a soul. Please. We used to be friends once." "Were we? I thought it was pretty much one-sided myself." Jimmy felt his body grow cold. He leaned on the desk, his face inches from Freddy's. "Get the shit out," Freddy said, his voice low and threatening. "Now." Back out on the street, it had started to rain. What next? Hail? He ran up another alley. All he had in his pocket was the twenty from the cops, a few dollars and pocket change. He hopped a bus again, at least to get out of the rain. His coat jacket was soaked, and he sneezed. Probably catching cold, he thought. He tried Billy Hammond, his cousin. No juice. Couldn't even depend on relatives. He thought of Judy, but dismissed the thought. His ex-wife would call the cops if he even knocked on her front door. After their last fight she had an injunction issued against him. Maybe Carol. She worked at Ribbons and Lace, a topless club south of the river. A bus couldn't get there, though. He thought of calling for a cab, but the trip would cost him half his money. He started walking. The rain had stopped, but it was getting dark-thirty and he jumped at every shadow. He avoided the streetlights, and cringed every time a car passed. By the time he reached the club his feet were sore and he was exhausted. The place was noisy and crowded, and he picked a booth as close to the back door as possible. Carol was on stage for her performance, tonight swirling around a stainless-steel pole completely naked. At least she looked naked. Could have been a sheer body suit. He ordered a whisky. He couldn't afford it but he needed it. His whole body was tight as a knotted rope. He waved to her, but she didn't seem to notice. He waited until she had finished and caught her as she was going to her dressing room. "I figured you'd show up," she said, but she didn't look happy. "I heard the news on the radio." Jimmy tried out a smile. "I just need to talk for a minute." "Sure. How much you need to get out of town?" "Now Carol, you know --" "Cut the crap. Come on back. There's no one there right now." Jimmy relaxed. Maybe here was help, finally. When they were alone, she turned to face him. "Why you came here, I don't know," she said, lighting a cigarette with a disposable lighter. "See this?" she said, holding the lighter in front of her. She tossed it in a trashcan. "That's what my life's worth if I give you any help." "Carol. Sugar. I'm a dead man if you don't help." She shook her head. "Go to hell, Jimmy." "You've got to!" She pulled a gun from her purse. "Out. Get out now. You can leave from the back door." Color drained from his face. He grabbed the gun. She fought back but he was too strong. They struggled a minute, and she scratched his face. He grabbed the gun, but as they struggled, the gun went off. Carol collapsed, a bloody hole in her shoulder. Mike, the club bouncer, appeared at the doorway. "What the shit? You killed her!" Jimmy pointed the gun at Mike. "You stay here. If I see your face at the door in the next five minutes, I'll shoot it off." Jimmy plunged out the back door into the darkness. He tripped over a curb, landing in some broken glass. His big toe hurt like fire, and he wondered if he had broken it. Now he was bleeding from his arm. He limped away, each step more painful than the last. He heard sirens. Were they after him? Was Carol still alive? It didn't matter, he had to get away. The wind had picked up, and a few big raindrops pattered on the empty sidewalks. The temperature had dropped also, and the wind chill factor felt like it was below freezing. He pushed on, wondering where he could get the money to escape the city. His head started to pound, and he felt with his hand where a lump had risen on his head. He had stolen before, but it had always been impersonal. Now he had to do something he really didn't want to do. He waited in a parking lot until someone drove up. He came out of the shadows and stuck a gun in the man's ear. "Car keys. Now." The man's face turned ghostly white. "B.. but" "Shut up." Jimmy got behind the wheel and took off. He had only gone a few blocks when he say smoke coming out of the engine. The car jerked, and he pulled to the side of the road. He lifted the hood. Steam poured from a large leak in the radiator. Enraged, he slammed the butt of the gun into the windshield, shattering it. All he got from it was another cut on his arm. He started walking again. He wondered where they were, why they hadn't already gotten to him. Maybe they were waiting until he self-destructed. Well, if he didn't do something, they wouldn't have to wait long. He found an all-night convenience store. When he entered a small bell tinkled. The counter-man, a dark-skinned oriental, looked up from his magazine. Jimmy pointed his gun at the man's face. "All your money. Now!" The man didn't change expression. "So sorry. All money in lock drawer. Only have small change." "Give it to me." Jimmy limped out the door. Thirteen dollars and seventeen cents. He was sure the man had tripped a silent alarm. He walked away quickly. Five minutes later, he heard alarms. He picked up his pace, turning into some nearby woods. The wind howled through the trees, and he felt the splash of raindrops on his skin. He had only one place left to run to. Two hours later he found himself at McMann's office. Thinking the loan shark might still have some of the incriminating tapes, he broke a side window and crawled in. He knew he had to hurry. After thirty minutes, he found the tapes in a filing cabinet. He knew it was close to dawn. He hadn't slept since the previous night, and he was at the edge of collapse. Something had kept him going. Hate. Fear. Revenge. He started to crawl back out the window when Rudy Wallace entered the room, gun drawn. "Thought I heard noise," he said, but before he could fire Jimmy pointed the gun. Click. Nothing. Wallace smiled and cocked the hammer of his pistol. Jimmy tried again and the gun exploded, tearing a hole in Wallace's gut. At the same time the bodyguard's bullet plunged into Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy grimaced in pain. He felt dizzy, and for a second he thought he would fall down. He leaned against the wall. Just then McMann appeared, dressed in his usual blue suit and red and white striped tie. Strange. McMann was smiling. "Go ahead and shoot, Walters. I don't think you will. Don't have the guts." Just then another man filled the doorway, gun drawn. It was Taggart, gun drawn and ready. The last thing Jimmy heard was the magnum roar of Taggart's revolver. "You showed up at the right time, deputy Taggart." McMann smiled, looking down at Jimmy's lifeless body. "No problem, Mr. McMann" Taggart said, holstering his revolver. "We figured he'd be heading here. I came in the back way." "Quick action like this sure won't hurt your career," McMann said, lighting a cigar. "I appreciate that, Mr. McMann." "If there's anything I can do to help in the next election let me know." Taggart smiled. ### A. H. Stewart has been writing for several years, and has published several poems. He also won second place in a contest sponsored by the North Texas Prefessional Writer's Association. Currently he's writing a mystery novel that mixes politics and murder.