What do you do when the city you live in goes belly up and dies, it's cracked gullet swollen shut after a decade long economic collapse that choked it of the cash that kept it juiced up and breathing? 

    How do you plead when your backwater dive home town shoots itself square between the eyes before you ever had anything worth having, and the executor of her deceased estate comes knocking on your door, ready to chain you to a crumbling ruin along with the rest of your 'too young to bust a gut for nothing or no-one' generation? 

    You do nothing, that's what. You do nothing and you stay put on your own little patch and you don't plead with nobody for nothing worth giving a damn about. 

    If the world wants to throw you and your mid twenties arse in an open air prison and lock it down for good along with anyone else who doesn't know any better, how are you going to stop it? 

    No. 

    You just got to meet the challenge, that's all.

    So, you take it as it comes, that's what. You find a service to provide and try turning your hand at the biggest market in liquidity there is: crime. 

    You set up with gangsters, petty scavengers and the collected fat cat criminal big shots who got the tall end of the concrete jungle sorted. 

    Last but not least you learn how to survive on the streets, when no-one's got your back. And you go looking for a reason not to stop pushing until a stray bullet finds you somewhere in a back alley gutter.

    Jack Cross sat like a tall, bent streak of misery, hunched sourly over a pine stool at the bar of his local pub. 

    Ever ready for action and with his finger always on the pulse, he checked his watch again. 

    It was happy hour for at least the next fifteen minutes. Just enough time to get a good party rolling. If he could get a drink that was. 

    The Bookmaker's Arms was a popular haunt at times, but the service could be graspingly slow even when it wasn't. Cross had already been waiting almost ten. Wasting the last waning ebb of the day's will power picking at the seams of his battered wallet and running his palm over her cracked sides, worn and sleek.

    Lucky this joint was cheap and convenient. Other than that it seemed devoid of charm. 

    A typical Thursday crowd had packed the place. Rolling in off the streets to stand shoulder to shoulder in a sauna of made of concentrated body heat, sweat and testosterone. You could almost see the vapour rising like a putrid mist from the lot. Clawing its way up to the slow turning ceiling fans where it would be graciously mixed together into a torrid soup.

    To one side, a pair of overdressed blow in's moaned on over something dull sounding, clutching corporate beer in pot glasses frosted with condensate which glistened on their stubby, calloused fingers. Meanwhile harbouring the odd glance behind one another at the room, as if to try and catch any microcosm of salaciousness that might secretly be taking place.

    No doubt their banal conversation would give way shortly to whatever neurotic fetish that was rattling around between their ears. You could tell by the way they watched everything out of the corner of their eyes that they were feeling out the room. Counting on a drunken flirt with the cities darker side but wanting to ensure they didn't get in above their heads. Once the grog got them it would be on for young and old. 

    Elsewhere, an unsettled crowds of raucous teenage factory hand good for nothing drop outs were trying to take the piss out of one another, frying their brains with laughter as they burnt off all that youthful wilfulness their vocations had no use for. Howling and choking down the thick blanket of strong liquor and cigarette smoke all at the same time. 

    An elderly Chinese man had taken some issue with them over god know what. They ignored him as he uttered a few short but pointed words under his breath.

    Cross sniffed. He'd almost had enough of petty cheapskates and average fare. He was in a black mood and he knew it. 

    He'd just had a lucrative stint on the other side of the river, getting acquainted with more of the same, small time hustle kind of folk.  There, he'd been chasing up bad debt for a loan shark with too much work on his hands, amongst other things. It had been a grinding and tedious job, but he'd stuck his nose down and met the brief as it was. At the end of the day he'd taken it just for the money. And it had paid well for all that was worth.

    But the bills had piled up while he was away, like they always did. Tracking him no matter how fast he moved and finding him this time an arms length away from having some serious financial problems. It was headache waiting to happen, but not a pressing concern just yet.

    Right now, Jack just needed a drink and a night to blow off some steam. Pretty soon he'd have to get back to business. No rest for the wicked as they say. Somehow he'd have to get his head around the fact that no matter how hard a man worked in this no good city, there was never any getting ahead of the game. 

    For every dollar a rough cut mongrel like Jack Cross earned off his own back, slugging it out where ever and when ever he could, there was always some greedy motherfucker waiting just around the corner ready to pounce and pinch that coin right out from under his finger tips before he'd had so much as a thought of what he might do with the shit. That was just the way it was. And that was the way it had always been. It was the way it had to be in a run down shit hole like Graceland City. It was just that the last few months had stretched the purse strings a little more than usual. 

    Needless to say, it wouldn't be too long before Cross was short enough on cash again to have to get back on the beat. Fresh currency was what kept the city oiled and moving, greased it's gears, so to speak. And a man needed to keep his options open when it came to raking in the good stuff. There would be no vacation this time round for Graceland's hungriest lone gun for hire.

    Sulking bitterly, Jack watched the bartender edge ever closer. The other was serving them one by one, taking as much god damn time with each as he pleased. God, the bastard could malinger. 

    Cross leant impatiently back in his seat and sucked in a mouth of foul pub air between gritted teeth. His reflection stared back at him through the din, cast back by a spattered mirror lining the wall behind bottled rows of deep amber spirits and bright liqueurs. His image was sharp. You could see the salt and pepper stubble breaking its way through on his jawline, and the thick strands of chocolate brown hair combed neatly back from his eyes. Handsome eyes, some might even say. But the hard edge around his mouth told the real story. 

    Jack Cross was the rugged sort, muscular and ready for anything. Someone who could handle himself in a tough scrape. Not someone to be fucked with. To all intents and purposes, he was a stranger you'd rather not have to bargain with. And to those who knew him better, he was far worse than all that.

The bartender shuffled along, keeping his own time. As if the world had a mind to accommodate such a wet sop. 

    Finally, done prizing the last few coins worth of government benefits from a destitute beggar, the balding, gelatinous mess sized up Jack from across the bar and gave a nod.

    'What do you take?' 

   Cross pinched a twenty dollar bill out from his wallet and laid it cold on the varnished wooden bar. 'I'll take a double. Scotch and ice, and I want the good stuff. Black Label. And throw me a tequila shot for the hell of it. I need a kick in the arse to get started.'

    The other bent ponderously and produced a shot glass from the counter below. Superfluous fat rippled as he straightened up and leaned in toward the rack of drying pot glasses. 'You planning a big night?' There was a quiver in his voice, as if he knew he was compulsively about to probe a man who'd make him regret it.

    'That's right,' Cross replied, his stare level. 'I'm gonna sit right here and I'm gonna drink till this fat little wallet of mine is empty.' He waved the thing under the barman's nose. 

    The other's eye's shifted nervously. Then he turned to fetch the double shot from the dispenser behind.

    Cross almost sneered. It may have only been an opener, a simple question to some, but he knew there was more to it than that. This overweight arse wipe was going to test the water. Make some trouble maybe. Jack knew it as soon as look at the bugger. 

    It wasn't as if provocation was something new on Cross' radar. He had to deal with his sort of thing day in day out. So he had a sixth sense for it. And it was the god damn same every time. Some whine bag, figures he's man enough to take the harder sort, wants to start something over his own issues with self importance. Well, it never ended well for that guy. Cause there was only one way to deal with it, that's why. Short and sharp. Like cutting the head off of a damned snake. Shit stirrers just weren't something a man could tolerate when his trade was the streets and all that came with them. 

    The bartender ran his chubby fingers over his football shaped head. He had become suddenly tentative. 'Well if you say so,' he muttered, letting the sentence hang tensely.

    Cross didn't let that slide. He had very little sympathy. 

    Jack leant forward, a razor sharp edge to his voice. 'You gonna finish that sentence, buddy?' 

    The barman lowered his voice to just above a whisper. 'Well. Just between you and me, the head of security is on tonight. He's a real live wire, they say. I mean, if we have to throw you out before closing time, you just make sure you go quietly, right?'

    'I'll keep that in mind,' Jack smirked. He could have laughed, honestly. He'd dealt with enough meathead's in his time to know they were all piss and wind.

    The drinks were slid across. 'I'm not joking. You see that guy by the door. The big one. Yeah, he busted a couple of rough types up last night. I wasn't here so I can only tell you what I heard, but he's a mean customer.'

    Cross slowly rocked back and forth on his stool. 'Right. I got you. But let me put it to you this way. If I have a problem tonight with that jerk, you can tell your boss that there won't be a cheque coming in for the damages with my name in the small print. You hear me? And when I break things I break them good, understand?'

    Jack hated having his time wasted. More than that, he hated ever having to deal with soft skinned wannabe's who thought they could take a man of his caliber out. It was one thing kicking drunks up the arse once in a while with a posse of friends behind you and another thing entirely when you were going hammer and tong out there on the street, with nobody to back you up if you bit off more than you could chew.

    Football head was eying him sideways now. As if he was wondering whether or not to leave it at that or continue. 

    Cross had a feeling this bloke was the kind of cat who needed to get on the wrong end of some punishment every now and then to remind him where his place was and to stay put. The nerve of some people. It was enough to make a man grind his teeth to dust.

    A hand suddenly clamped down on Jack's shoulder. Firm and uncompromising.

    Cross didn't flinch. He never flinched. Jack Cross was the sort of man who played his cards close to his chest even when situations were tight. Nobody ever got the better of him. 

    If he was hell bent on doing things the hard way, then so be it, he knew how to get results. Jack Cross was a very dangerous man when put to the test, and he knew it better than anyone else.

   'Never mind that,' 

   Jack recognised the familiar voice and turned in his seat. 

   'This cat ain't gonna be no trouble. He's as cool as they come.'

    It was an old friend. Lailor Rose.

    In a place like this Rose stood out like a sore thumb. Expensive clothes, premium aftershave and manicured head of sandy, blonde hair cut short at the back and sides and left longer on top so as it old be parted at the side and brushed over. He looked like a go getter, the forever young sort. 

    Then again, mused Cross, Rose had always had a certain style. It fitted with the circles he mingled with and the women he chased. It was a mixture of money, power and danger in entirely different degrees to that of Cross'. But just like Jack, Lailor Rose was what you see is what you get. Nothing on display was for show purposes only.

    'Well. If you don't say. Lailor Rose. Long time no see. How you been doing round the traps?'

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

    Rose squeezed his thin line suit in besides Cross and shook his hand. 'Just fine, Jack. Just like the old days. Making mischief wherever I can, you know the score. How about you? Still dangerous?'

    Jack grinned. 'It comes with the territory. I've got a reputation to maintain, after all.'

    'That's good to know,' Rose turned to the bar. 'Bourbon, honey and water. No ice.'

    Casually Rose reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a small roll of notes, reeling a couple off in short flicks of his thumb and tossing them carelessly in front. 

    'For shit's sake, Jack. It's bloody hot in here. I'm baking like a pig in the desert,'

    Cross snorted a laugh. 'Yeah. We're slumming it, alright. But, hey, this is the sort of joint a guy can get kind of messy in, ain't it?' 

    Rose wrinkled his nose. ' You're a real desperado, Jack.'

    After blasting down his tequila, Jack tapped the shot glass back down and took a deep breath, letting the warmth fill his nostrils. The burn brightened him up a little. Regardless of the unexpected company, Cross was still planning a big night in. 

    It must have been almost a year since he'd seen Rose last, though, as tight as they were, that was not uncommon. They were both cut from the same stone. Both lone wolves who didn't fit in with the crowd and preferred carving out a living on their own terms.

    They went way back, Cross and Rose. Even back to before Graceland had gone belly up on the economic front and the crime bosses had taken over. They'd done their apprenticeships together after the shift happened, learning what would and wouldn't cut it in the underworld, and where the line was that a man had to toe. That wasn't to say they were mates. They just had a healthy respect for each other's deal.

    Cross spun his shot glass on it's side like a top, watching the sticky droplets of backwash fly out in a spiral. 'So. How'd you find me?'

    It was a legitimate question. Like most folks nowadays, Jack kept of the grid as much as he could. No traceable bank accounts, no fixed address', a shifting group of contacts that grew ever smaller with each passing month. He had made it his business to be hard to find. Nevertheless, Rose had come up trumps over him again.

    'I followed a trail of bad credit and broken women,' Lailor uttered, giving Cross a stiff nudge with his elbow. 'Knew they'd lead me to you eventually.'

    Rose had always had his own way of summing up Cross' escapades. He'd always been a smart arse. Even back when they were kids, rolling around in the same shit.

    Jack laughed. 'Yeah? Well you better not be chasing money. I've already paid the debts I care to pay.'

    Lailor's drink arrived and he took a sip. 'No, Jack,' he said. 'I got something for you.'

    Now, Rose had a bit of a habit doing this. Dropping in on Cross now and then when there was some decent contract or other up for grabs. He liked the idea of using an old pal to do the heavy lifting while he skimmed the cream off of the top of the pail. Lailor knew Cross was dependable, no matter the job, and could handle just about anything that could be thrown at him. And he had the upper hand too.

    Whereas they had both started out in the same place, they'd both taken different routes to surviving Graceland's harsh and crooked landscape. Rose had managed to work his way under the noses of the higher ups and had styled himself as a middle man or go between, making connections and building partnerships between people with mutual goals. Setting up dirty deals, that sort of thing. He had the gift of the gab and could sweet talk just about anyone when he wanted to. But he had a habit of hanging Cross out to dry. In fact, when it came to Lailor Rose, there was always a catch.

    'It's a good deal,' Rose continued. 'Someone's been asking for you. Specifically for you. Someone who doesn't mind throwing down some decent cash when they need a job done right.'

    'Yeah,' Jack spat. 'Am I gonna get all shot up again this time?'

    Rose faltered, offering a hesitant, half smile. 'Well. I didn't say it wouldn't be dangerous. But it's shouldn't be anything you can't handle.'

    Jack shrugged. Another ice cold scotch went down like a silk handkerchief and he turned to look Lailor in the eye. 'I told you last time, Rose. If you're gonna fit me up with one of your big shot friends to run around like some errand boy who doesn't know what he's getting himself into, then the pay off better be good, you hear. Damn good.'

    'Well. If you ask me, the money is good this time round. If you're not interested I'm sure I can find someone else, but I think you'll find your pay packet worth the effort. Besides, cash will keep you alive day to day, but it's a man's reputation that keeps him going strong. And this job, shit,' he trailed off.

    'What?'

    'Let's just say, some day soon you're gonna have to make your mark, Jack. And this job, it's worth so much respect out there in the big league it's practically got stocks in your reputation creeping out it's arsehole. That is if you'll take it,' 

    Rose was baiting him. Dangling the carrot. Jack knew that, but whether or not Lailor was overselling the deal, Cross had no idea. 

    There was a short silence. Jack pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep draw and shaking his head. The smoke was mournfully dry on his lacquered tongue. He coated it again with the whiskey then reached for a bronzed glass ashtray close by. 

    Lailor Rose leaned in, enough so Cross could smell the mint on his breath, and smiled eagerly. 

    'Listen. You handle this job, all well and good, like you always do, and you ain't ever gonna have trouble finding work, you hear. Not for a long time. I'll see to it myself, you got my word. You in, or not?'

    Jack tried not to let on what he was weighing up. He seemed to remember Rose had promised something similar before. A couple of times in fact. That final job that would give Cross the break he needed. Something that paid well and would get tongues talking about him in a serious way. Hard won experience had taught Cross that Lailor Rose was a dab hand at embellishing the truth sometimes. And most of the promises he had made had disappeared like a smoke ring into thin air.

     But the only thing that really counted in Jack's line of work was respect. With respect everything got easier. Word travelled fast in criminal circles. Pull off a big job and there was someone waiting to tap you on the shoulder and offer you an even better paying one some place else. And at the moment, good paying jobs were as rare as hen's teeth. It was tempting to take the damn work. 

    Cross shot Rose a sideways glance. 'So. The payoff's good, right?'

    Rose nodded. "Top dollar all the way. Easy money if you ask me. And I'm telling you, I know it is.'

    'How about you lay the details on me, give me some time to think it over. Maybe I'll sleep on it or something,'

Lailor wrapped both hands around his bourbon glass and leant his elbows against the bar. 'Deal.'

    Jack finished up with his smoke, stamping it out methodically with a pointed index finger. He'd barely tasted the damn thing, but he was done with it. He needed another drink too, but that could wait. Rose wouldn't hang around for small talk once he'd made his pitch. It was just a business call, after all.

    'When was the last time you heard from Billy Flame?'

    'Shit. That bastard? Way back. Why?' Jack thought a moment. 'Last time I was on Flame's payroll he had me chasing down some punter who was making a little too much on the horse to be legit.'

    Cross knew Flame's enterprise. His operation centred around Graceland's thirst for gambling and money laundering. That meant he and Jack had crossed paths on a few occasions. Flame had a network of crooks in his employ, whether they be card dealers at the Casino Centrale or race stewards

at the track. He was about as shifty as they came, dealing purely and exclusively in cold hard cash itself. Making money out of money.

    'Well you must have impressed. He remembered you. He made mention of a problem he was having with one of his staff, and when I put your name up, he flew at it. Told me to make contact as soon as I could. So, here we are,'

    'Yeah, right. What's Flame got himself into now?'

    'He's being screwed by one of his own. Best you hear it from him of coarse, but from what I could gather his longtime accountant has made off with some money and assets. He wants him found and snatched up before the bugger gets up to any mischief,'

    'That it?'

    'You got it. A little runaway that Flame ain't finished with quite yet, that's all he's asking. You find him and bring him in. Maybe there's a few bumps in the road along the way, maybe not. But whatever his bookworm's has got his hands on, he and it are worth a lot to Billy Flame. What do you say?'

    Jack smiled. 'Give me a couple of days.'

    'Alright. But, listen. I know you need the work so don't go losing this one. If you are interested, get onto Flame soon,'

    'Right. You know me, Rose. I'll probably end up taking the damn thing. Shit, my trigger finger gets all seized up when it ain't in regular use anyway. Just promise me one thing, Lailor,'

    'What,'

    'That this time you're telling it straight. It's just a snatch and grab job, right? No catch. I ain't messing around this time. I want my money nice and easy,'

    'You got it. Nice, easy money,' Rose laughed and finished his drink. 'Listen. I got a little extra for you. See, I already did some leg work. Who know's maybe it might wet your appetite. There's this chick. I'll send her around. I heard she knows this problem child Flame's after. You can start with her, if you are interested that is.'

    'Sure,'

    'She's a smart cookie too. Street smart, you know. Pretty as a picture. Top shelf piece of arse,'

    'I'll keep an eye out for her,'

    'Yeah. So, let me know once you've thought it through,' Rose slipped a tattered business card with an address and phone number typed in small print into Jack's hand.

    'That's Flame's details. Ring him if you decide you're in. He'll want a meet and greet,'

    Cross nodded and pocketed the card. 'No sweat, Rose. Now get out of here and let me drink in peace.'

    Lailor slapped Jack on the back as he propped himself up to leave. 'Remember, Nice, easy dough. And by the way, clean up your act a bit, you look like you're going into retirement.'

    'Can it, Rose,' 

    'Don't mention it, Jack. I'll check back with you later. Stay Loose,'

    'Alway's have, alway's will.'

    It was late by the time Jack Cross figured he might need to get along home. He'd had a decent skin full too. It had been just the ticket he was after. A solid unravelling of his wound up mind, enough to wipe the slate clean somewhat before he started out on whatever Graceland had to throw at him next.

    Groggily, he heaved himself up off a seat besides where a battered old jukebox hung against the back wall. He'd relocated there about an hour or so ago so as to get out of the way when the bar had begun to slowly empty and tossed a few coins down the gullet of the beaten thing. Johnny Cash always put him in a relaxed kind of mood and, besides, the music had drowned out the last throws of conversation his fellow drinkers had had left in them. 

    There was hardly anyone left to speak of by this stage. The last few hangers on were slowly losing the will to keep going. Even the obese bartender had his feet up on a stool out the back, beer in hand and a towel around his sweaty neck, exhausted after a hours of pacing back and forth. Last drinks should be only a short call away. 

    It was time to get. Maybe shell out at a fast food joint for a late night meal and then head back to whatever booze was still left in the kitchen cupboard at home. But as Cross dragged his feet across the sticky, beer soaked carpet to the bar one final time, he was after something else before all that. 

    The bartenders attractive female understudy, quietly going about her business cleaning up the joint, had caught his eye a little earlier. The cute, blonde pocket rocket, maybe a couple of years younger than he, was just the sort he needed the company of. 

    Maybe not tonight, Jack had, after all, gone a little too hard on the drink for that, but there would be other nights. And Cross was forever the smooth talker once he had a few pots in him. It stood to reason at this point that she wouldn't be able to resist Jack Cross' charms. Women were seldom able to at the best of times.

    Jack approached and leant into the bar.

    'Hey, girl. You got a name?'

    The waitress shot him a sharp glance. Her hands were fast at work stacking the drying glasses into their rack. 

    'Depends on who's asking.'

    Cross smiled. Her work uniform was neat, tidy and clean. Jack was encouraged by her elegant vibrancy and the smell of cheap perfume.

   'How about a good looking guy who couldn't take his eyes off of you all night?'

    She regarded him coolly. 'Sure. It's Jeanie. Jeanie Parker.'

    And just like that, he was in.

    Jack set his empty glass on the bar and rustled the now crumbled cigarette packet out of his pocket. 'Hey, Jeanie. I'm Jack. Jack Cross,' he paused, making a play at fondling around for a lighter, the one he knew damn well was in the back of his jeans. 'Can I bother you for a light?'

    'Sure,' came the answer.

    Parker drew one out and held it over.

    When he was done, Cross returned it, pausing just slightly as her hand reached out to grasp it.

    'Say, Jeanie. Listen. I'm just on my way out. See, I don't come round here too often. But when I do I'm a work hard, drink harder kind of animal. So it's been a long night, but I got to tell you, a girl like you makes a place like this worth dropping into once in a while,'

    Jeanie's eye's narrowed. 'So that's your sell, is it? You figure you wanna take me home tonight, hot shot, is that it?'

    Jack took a draw. She had some fire about her, this one, for sure. 'Nah. It's just that I'm coming into some money soon. Got offered a good job tonight. And I thought it would be nice to have a pretty girl like you to splash it around with. Maybe we could have dinner or see a show. Hell, if I could get you on the back of my bike we could head out one night when you're off work and find a cabin in the sticks somewhere. Have a real romantic time of it,' Cross smoothed his hands through his hair casually. 'It'd be a sweet thing getting to know someone while I'm having a little time off for a change. Maybe have someone to paint the town red with. Does that sort of thing interest a girl like you?'

    'Come on,' Parker took his pot glass to the full sink. 'What's a handsome guy like you really doing getting drunk on his own on a Thursday night? You got any issues I should know about?'

    'Issues? Honey, the only issue I had tonight was how to keep drinking so I could stay in house late enough to catch you alone.'

    Jeanie laughed. 'Is that a line you've used before, hot shot?' She teased.

    'I don't do line's sweetheart. The only line I know is the one I walk straight down every single day, if you take my meaning. So what do you say? You wanna be seen getting around town with a guy like me in your down time?'

    'I guess I'll think about it. What's a girl got to lose, right?' She suddenly sighed. 'Am I gonna see your back in here sometime? You aren't gonna chase me are you?'

    'Nah. I'll give you your space. Like I said, I only come in here if it's a special occasion. Say, if you want to reach me, try over at mine. I live right next to Bobby's Cafe. It's two blocks from here, you can't miss it. You should come round. Maybe next week once you've thought it over. I'll shout you dinner or something,'

    'Maybe,' she gave him a cheeky smirk. 'If you get lucky.'

    Jack nodded silently and smiled in a lop sided kind of way. 

    'Well I'm a lucky sort of guy, in case you're wondering,'

    'Huh,' Parker snorted playfully.

    Cross half turned for the door. 'So I guess I'll catch you round. I got to shoot through,'

    'I hear you. Take it easy,'

    'No worries,'

    With that he headed out. 

    As he was passing the security guard by the door, she called out to him.

    'Hey, hot shot. What did you say your name was again?'

    Cross gave her one last smile. 'It's Jack. Oh, and don't worry. No one ever forgets the name Jack Cross.'