Jack woke to the sound of the intercom buzzing with his head jammed up at a forty five degree angle against the arm rest of his red leather couch. He moaned, wiped the drool from the three day growth on the side of his face and sat up.

A full ashtray and a fifth of a bottle of scotch greeted him from the lounge table along with a couple of cheeseburger wrappers and a handful of spare change. Bright shards of sunlight were lancing in through holes in a set of tired venetian blinds above and the low rumble of main street traffic outside seemed to have the whole joint humming along with it.

That was it, thought Cross, as he took in his immediate surrounds. The city was awake and so everybody in it had to be as well. Maybe he'd caught five or six hours of sleep in total from the time he'd passed out. It didn't seem enough, Jack usually slept heavy and late, then did the bulk of his graft in the evening, but what little shut eye he'd got would have to do for now.

The intercom buzzed again and Jack stood. The back of his throat felt like someone had been spoon feeding him sawdust while he had slept and when he coughed once or twice, experimentally, the pressure in his skull made him whince involuntarily. The pain wore off quickly though, leaving him with just the morning haze to shake off before he could get moving again.

By and large, he was mostly in routine shape, though. One night binges were a regular occurrence for Jack, anyhow, and this one had been a good one. All said, he was ready to dust off the cobwebs and sharpen up. There was never any rest in this town. Not for the likes of Jack Cross.

Jack made his way over to the front door. An intercom and a small television wired to a security camera had been propped on a shelf nearby, allowing Cross to monitor access to the ground floor entrance, a steel door with an electric lock. It had made sense to add the extra layers of protection, seeming there was only one way in or out of his place. You never know, one day he might get company he hadn't invited.

Today, though, there was no hassle.

'Who is it?' Jack croaked into the intercom in a dry whisper.

'Hey, Cross, it's McGuane. Open up. Your rents due and I been standing out here for fifteen minutes,'

Jack gave the security monitor a quick glimpse and hit the lock once he had the all clear.

His apartment was on the second story of a disused shop front at the top of a narrow flight of stairs running up the enclosed space between two buildings. It was not exactly a purpose built living area, though it did have a small kitchenette and bathroom, it was more like an adaptable open plan studio type arrangement.

Cross had done the best he could to jazz the place up a bit, but he hadn't gone overboard. He'd just thrown a few rugs over the polished concrete floors and added some manageable furniture to deck things out and that was basically it. He liked that he had maintained the rough edges of the joint while making sure it could service his needs.

It was all sweet. Not strictly legal, of coarse. The fire department would probably have a fit if they knew his digs had no fire escape or back door to speak of. And perhaps there were other regulations or restrictions on having such a dwelling, but that was no concern of Jack's. He was only a tenant. And his ultimate landlord, 'the boss' as he was known, or at least the organised syndicate that ran the streets of this suburb of the city on his behalf, could probably make a problem like that disappear in an instant, whether by bribe or some other form of persuasion.

There was no time to think about that now though. McGuane was here. And whereas unexpected house calls were not Cross' thing, Les McGuane was a welcome guest, maybe even a pal, you might say.

Les was the sort of guy who managed to balance knowing a lot about what was going down in his neighbourhood without getting too involved himself. He ran the odd errand for his people, sure, but McGuane never got too deep into trouble. Least ways, if he did, he never let on. He wasn't the sort of cat who asked too many favours or bother anyone too much for anything. Then again, the people Les worked for ran a tight ship in this part of town, so it might not have been any wonder that he had his shit in order.

McGuane made his way up the stairs and into Jack's lounge, shutting the door behind him as he went.

'Mr Cross,' he nodded as he passed by. 'How's business?'

'Same as always, Les.' Jack smiled.

Les took in the place. 'Did you have a rough night last night or something?'

'Just the usual. A bit of recreation, that's all,'

'Huh. For a minute there I didn't think you were in. God, this place is locked down like a fortress,'

'Yeah. Well, there's no telling when your number might be up in the bounty hunting game,' Jack replied. 'Hey, money is on the counter.'

McGuane took the hint and headed for the marble top counter in Jack's kitchenette.

'I hate to tell you this, Jack. But you're short,' he said almost before he had swiped up the clean rack of piled up bills.

'You ain't even counted it yet,' Jack planted himself firmly back on the couch.

'I know. See the boss is putting the rent up around town this month. So this place is gonna cost you a little extra,'

'Oh, yeah? How much?'

'Two hundred a month,' Les flicked through the cash with his fingers.

'I don't have it this month,' Cross turned and threw an arm over the back of the couch. 'Tell your boss I'll pay extra next month.'

Les laughed. 'You know, if anyone else tried to pull something like that it wouldn't go down to well with the boss. But for you, Mr Cross, I'm sure he'll take your word for it.' He opened up the cupboard door and brought out a glass. 'Mind if I join you for a drink?'

McGuane's boss never had a name. He was always just 'the boss'. If you wanted to deal with the boss, you better go through someone that works for him cause even though the guy seemed to have eyes, ears and fingers

in everything the inner west side suburbs had to offer, for all intents and purposes the guy simply did not exist. He was like a ghost. But make not mistake, if you fucked up on his patch, anywhere between here and the bay, you were gonna hear about it, and quick.

People had there own theories as to who or where the cat was. Where he lived in another city, or on the inside - which was a stretch knowing what Graceland's prison system was like. Or if he wasn't actually one person but a small groups of people, a board of directors, so to speak. As far as Cross was concerned it didn't matter. Not to say he cared either. The boss ran things so they worked a certain way, and you had to toe the line where you could. On someone else's patch, in some other part of the city, things where different again. It was all the same really. Once you got used to the way things worked you didn't ask questions that didn't need to be asked.

McGuane was walking over.

'I'll pass but knock yourself out,' Jack handed Sticks the scotch bottle as the other man came around the back of the couch and took a seat. 'So if your boss likes me so much why is he screwing me on rent?'

Les poured himself a short one. 'Well if you ask me there's two possible reasons.' He leant back into the couch and stared out the window opposite. 'He's charging everyone of coarse. But you aren't an exception for good reason. The boss always has a good reason for things, you see. So I figure the first one is reputation. If a guy like you is paying my boss for something he needs, it's makes my boss look good, and that's good for business.'

'That one I figured, what's strike two?'

Les held out two fingers. 'Well, strike two would be, the boss wants a favour. See if you're staying in one of his joints long term he needs to know you can be trusted.'

'Your boss wants leverage, is that it?'

'Well, you could look at it that way, make maybe it'd be better to think of it more like a mutually beneficial situation. See the boss is dealing pretty heavily in protection pay cheques at the moment. Some folks here and there are jacking up over the price of his services. Maybe if you took a stroll out there on the beat with some of his knuckle draggers, once or twice, a few more of the cheques might come in on time. I mean that's the beauty of a reputation like yours, it makes the whole machine run smoother.'

Jack knew what McGuane was asking. He'd had to work a lot a jobs to get where he was. A few too many in fact. The stand over craft was easier than most. Coarse, you were dealing with regular folk that way, not hardened scum. There wasn't exactly much of a thrill in doing it, not for Cross at least, but you could kill a couple of days and earn a few bucks if you were desperate. Maybe have some fun with the crew you were rolling with too. Have a few drinks, breaks some shit, that sort of stuff.

'Yeah, well. I saw an old friend last night and I got a solid job lined up. Tell your boss I'll do him a favour alright but in the mean time I got business of my own to take care of,'

'No sweat, Mr Cross,' McGuane said. 'You know, he likes you, the boss. I can tell when he's got a soft spot for a tough hombre. Tell you what, I bet he'll have something figured out for you in a couple of weeks,'

'Tell him not to worry about that extra rent either. It'll be here waiting for you next time you're here,'

Les took a drink and pulled a clove cigarette out the top pocket of his red work polo.

McGuane had the sort of easy come easy go personality that made a lot of friends in underground circles. There was a rumour going round that he'd down hard time when he was younger, no one seemed to know what for, but he generally came across as pretty mellow these days.

He ran a green grocer that delivered into the city. No doubt some of those deliveries weren't in any way shape or form grocery related, but besides from that he was reasonably straight. Though Cross had also known McGuane to dip his toe here and there into the shadier side of things, just for a little bit on the side.

What made Les McGuane valuable to his boss, in Cross' eyes, was the same thing that made him valuable as a pal. McGuane always had an ear to the ground when it came to dollar signs. He could follow a good money trail right up the the source. It gave him the knack of knowing what was going on around him that was working for folks before almost anybody else knew about it. Les was, in general, a good all-round business connection to have.

'So what happened to you on the south side last month? I heard things got a little deep,' McGuane asked as he lit up.

Jack pushed the ashtray along the table. There were a few things out of the ordinary that had occurred during his last job, but most of it had been run of the mill. So he knew, roughly, what McGuane was asking.

'Ah, it was nothing, really,' Cross started. 'I was working for Young's, you know, that cat's always needs a strong arm for something or another. Anyway, he had this kid come in off the street. Let him borrow ten grand as part of some coke deal that eventually went bad. Just about everybody involved got screwed. So Young sends me out to reclaim some collateral. Recoup his losses. It was nothing big. And at the end of the day I even jagged myself a hot pair of wheels to sell on for my own bottom line. But the rest of the time of was just banging skulls together over a couple of hundred bucks or so.'

'Yeah,' Les took that in. 'Have you heard that some cat got shot up on the south side last night?'

'Nah. But I ain't surprised. There was something bad about that drug deal before it even started. I'd be surprised if it wasn't over that to tell you the truth. There were a few too many players involved from what I gathered. At least my job wasn't that hard, and I got paid no questions asked,'

Les puffed out a smoke ring. 'If you ask me I'd steer clear of the south nightclub district for a month or so. Don't get yourself implicated. I wouldn't want to be the one to tell my boss he's lost his favourite tenant.'

'Don't worry about it. I'm in the clear,'

Jack stretched out his neck. Last month had been a good paying job but he wasn't having it coming back to bite him on the ass. Usually he worked alone but word always travelled fast when a loose canon like Cross was on the prowl.

Enough people should have heard of what his business was last month for him stay above suspicion for last nights goings on. Then again, there was always Lailor Rose and the fact he'd been drunk out of his mind in a crowded bar all night.

'Well, I continue to hope so,' Les tapped out his butt. 'I better get back to that grocer of mine. The shop ain't going to run itself.'

'I gotta get moving too. I got a meet up,' Jack stood along with McGuane. 'You let me know what your boss needs from me.'

'Too easy, Mr Cross,'

'And let yourself out, McGuane, I'm gonna take a shower.'

Jack took maybe a half hour to clean himself up a bit before he hit the bluestone alley beneath his digs. He was all the better for it too. A quick rinse under a hot shower head and a few run throughs with his electric shaver had made all the difference. Not to mention the lightning stopover on the porcelain pony to drop anchor and lose that mongrel, sluggish feeling that had been weighing him down.

In a relaxed mood, he tossed a canvas haversack to the pavement and knelt to unlock a small storage bay roller door opposite the empty shop he slept above.

Inside were a few boxes of miscellaneous and his prize possession; the Harley Davidson wedged snugly amongst them. The old girl looked mean today. She was sat there in the dark like a black cougar on it's haunches, waiting to stalk forward into the alley and pounce on her prey.

The thought of it made Cross smile inwardly. He was going to enjoy taking her out on the hunt. Blowing away some complacent Graceland traffic in the dry early afternoon sun was just the hangover cure he needed. And aside from that he had everything he needed packed and sorted for the day's action.

After rolling the Harley out, and shutting up shop behind him, Cross stuffed the contents of his bag into one of the embossed leather saddle bags behind the seat.

They were quality material, and well made, those bags. Jack remembered how it had cost him a mint to get them made exactly to his specifications, with all the seams hidden at the back and the entire front tooled into a flaming skull design. But they had been worth it. They'd added a nice piece of customised individuality to a beast he'd more or less kept stock from the day he'd first seen her, waiting there all brand new and dangerous for him, on the shiny shop floor.

When he was done prepping his bike, Cross tightened up all the straps and swung a leg over. He was on the way to a close buddy's pad. He needed to run a small transaction, tying up the last loose end from the past month. Then he'd pick up some necessary equipment, the sort of day to day stuff he went through like cheap toilet paper. Nothing too advanced. An excuse to get outdoors, really, or something like that.

Ready to leave, Jack Cross rocked back and kicked his beast off of her stand. But it was as he reached for his helmet that he realised he suddenly wasn't alone.

Two grizzled, middle aged, suits were coming silently up the alley on him. One was tall, one was short, but both had a particular purpose about the way they strode towards him. They oozed the sorted of unspoken power that a man sometimes carries when he's spent a few years on the streets taking people out. And all that with a kind of nonchalant disregard for what onlookers may think of their methods.

But they were a little too regimented to be crooks, these two. Too well kept and neat. You could see it in the way they took everything around them in. They thought too much about the situation before them to be the sort that was hell bent on damaging whatever was in their way. And, for all it was worth, Cross knew them as soon as look at them. Cops. More than that. Detectives.

Casually, Jack, rolled bike bike back onto the stand, not taking his eyes off the two new comers for even a moment. He meant to straighten out this little hitch in the rope in short order and get on with his day, and that meant keeping his poker face and not giving anything he didn't need to away.

In this town, meeting with the police was meeting with trouble, no matter what your vocation was. They were a criminal enterprise all of their own, running any number of rackets right across the city. Graceland's constabulary were, all unbeknownst to their interstate colleagues or the government authorities through which they were overseen, one of the hardest firms in town. Not to mention they were organised, diligent, ruthless and efficient. Hardly the kind of company a man would welcome at any time of day.

They spoke first.

'Are we interrupting anything, Mr Cross,' the tall one with the harder face asked.

Jack grimaced. 'Nothing more than a bit of recreation. What's it to you?'

His gut instinct told him something was up. For starters, he hadn't found himself in the headlights of the law for a long while. Secondly, whoever these two detectives were, they knew exactly who he was. They might have something on him, some kind of leverage, and Cross wasn't in possession of the kind of cash that could buy his way out of trouble right now.

The two policemen approached and stopped before him. The taller one was built like a tree trunk. He had crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest and taken a wide stance as if he was sizing Jack up.

Tall looked like he could do some serious damage with those fists of his, which was always something in the back of Cross' mind when he came across the tougher sort.

Jack's mind started ticking over. Best to start planning of how to deal with a problem before the man behind it started thinking he could lay down the law. That way, Cross would stay one step ahead.

'I'm Detective Mason, this is Senior Detective Snyder. We're following up on some information we've received. We'd like to ask you a few questions.'

'Fire away, boys,'

Thick set Detective Snyder came along side. 'We're investigating a homicide. A man was found dead this morning over on the south side. The murder was execution style,

right in the back of the head. Our records say you were sighted over south side last month on two occasions by uniform patrol,'

'Sorry guys, this ain't my beef. Hell, I don't even know the guy that got popped. Got told the news this morning, myself. If I'd have known the cat I would have heard,'

Jack tried to sound as relaxed as he had been before these two had showed up. But he was now too tense for that. He had to admit it, he came off like a bit of a smart arse when he spoke.

Tall snorted roughly. Mason, his name had been. He was not pleased. Jack knew whether they believed him or not was irrelevant, they were going to continue probing anyway.

Mason circled around a few steps.

'You know, that's a nice bike, Mr Cross,' he almost cut Jack off. 'What does a man pay for a piece of art like that?'

Cross and Mason's eye's met. There was steel in both men's stare, but Snyder came in over the top of his partner.

'Mr Cross. The victims name was Marcus Condelli. He was a convicted drug pusher. A crook. But he was rumoured to now be working on police books. Now, you may not have known him personally, but seeming you were in the area for an extended period leading up to the murder, you may have overheard something regarding the victim or be otherwise aware of the circumstances or motives leading to his death. Is that the case?'

'No,' Jack broke the stalemate between him and Mason by looking away. 'Like I said. I never knew the cat. Never even knew his name until you mentioned it. I think you two are barking up the wrong tree. And if you ask me, nobody else is going to care particularly if you lost one of your own snitches. What I want to know is, other than the fact I was generally in the area last month, why are you asking me of all people?'

Snyder replied. 'Mr Cross. We'll chase up every damn damn lead we have if we have to. But we are going to get to the bottom of this matter. We're just hoping to rule you out of any involvement, that's all.'

Jack took that in. He was a little dubious, though. It was widely known about the traps, and there was talk of it happening time and time again. Graceland Police Department only got involved in underworld business these days for one thing; the bribes.

The economy was that bad, after all. Government, both local and on the state level, had hit ever public sector with cuts or 'efficiency dividends' as they were branded. And that included emergency services. And over time this had pushed the majority of Graceland's thin blue line over to the darker side of town.

These days, they had their revenue raising tentacles in about as many criminal deals as they could. And they were making dirty money hand over fist, so everyone said. About the only thing they still did for the public good was keep the peace. But, then again, that was mandatory. If Graceland had become completely lawless, then their would have been questions from further up the food chain. Legit police from other department would have started pressing had for answers and the whole deal could unravel.

They had to protect their investments, these Graceland Detectives. Perhaps, after all, that was what this Condelli business was about. Maybe the law was missing out on its slice of the profits from an underground cash train somewhere. Maybe, whatever this Condelli got shot up for, had left a trail of bank notes and the cops wanted to know where it led.

That was none of Jack Cross' concern, however. He just had to get these two men out of his hair so he could get to work again.

He watched as Detective Mason ran a thumb across his mouth and spat on the pavement a couple of inches from Jack's boot. Cross could feel some sort of provocation was coming on.

'Don't play dumb with us, Cross,' Mason lurched. 'We know what kind of business you are in. You're just a lucky son of a bitch it hasn't caught up with you yet. Now, something went down on the south side last month, and we've got a case busted wide open as a consequence. So head office is giving us a little head room to fix that situation. Maybe we can drag a scrubber like you in just for the hell of it and confiscate some property as well. What do you say, Snyder?'

'I say, you could get real beat up on a short stay behind bars, Mr Cross. And that bike of your's could do weeks in the impound. I hear the paperwork is a nightmare these days. And maybe things will turn out that way if you don't drop the act and tell us if there is anything you know about Marcus Condelli's murder,' Snyder followed.

Jack Cross looked both men up and down. Mason had a look in his dark eyes that said he wanted to go toe to toe. Sort out who was boss right there in the alley. Old school style.

And why not? Away from prying onlookers and passers by the two of them could fix Cross up real good right there. Then, when they were done, they could drag him off to the cells and write him up on some bullshit wrap and keep him on ice for further manipulation.

Would have been all too easy if Cross had taken the bait. Instead, he sat like a stone, ready to move if he needed to, but showing no outward signs of how prepared he was to take these two to task and make a break for it.

It was Snyder would forwarded the conversation again.

'Look, Mr Cross. What we are trying to say is that someday, whether it's a bullet or a badge, something is going to put a stop to a cowboy like you, and you're are going to find yourself dead in the water. If you are prepared to scratch our backs on this one, that won't be forgotten, understand? All we need to do is paint a picture of what went on last month on the south side. Head office is pissed about this situation, and when they ride our arses, we ride folks like yours, got it? So, if it comes to that, the big guys upstairs may have us drag in every connection to Condelli we can find for some close examination. Ok. Like I said before, if you could be a little more forthcoming about your activities last month, we may be able to eliminate you entirely from our investigation.'

Jack pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He was going to have to embellish the truth a little. Maybe just tell the easier part of the story. He wasn't going to take the heat for the

real perpetrator, that was for sure.

'Look. All I know is I was employed as a stand over man. A couple of punters were up to their eyeballs in debt and that money had to be reclaimed. I don't know a Condelli. Never heard of him. Some money was owed, I was there to make sure it got returned in one way or another. That's it. I can't help you on this one, boys,'

Snyder leaned in. 'Were you aware of a cocaine deal that went down a fortnight ago as an aside. We believe there may be a connection with this deal and the murder itself.'

'Look. There may be something to that. There may be a relationship there. But I sure as hell didn't go asking my boss questions about this or that or what he had going in other quarters. Not my deal. And dope, for the most part, I stear well clear of in any case. So I don't know. If I hear anything, I can be sure to pass that on, but at this stage, you're talking to the wrong cat,'

Jack lit the cigarette and fixed his eye's on Mason again. If these two were going to drag Cross in today, it would be by Mason's say so almost certainly. You could tell he already had a strong dislike of Cross. But as Jack took his first drag of the morning and met Mason's cold stare, there was a little bit of thrill that came out of knowing the other had no idea Cross had a nine millimetre beretta and a big brown paper bag full of cash stashed in his saddle bag.

Jack Cross was no hitman for hire, but he had once or twice had to put a man down for good. He knew how to handle himself, especially when his back was against the wall.

'Well. We encourage you to do that. If you hear or see anything, just remember we need your eyes and ears. You'll be dealing with us at a later date, Mr Cross,' Snyder motioned to leave.

It was then that Mason made his move. He leant in close to Cross and wrapped a thick row of knuckles around the bike throttle.

'And if we get the feeling, Mr Cross, that your are in this one a little deeper than you'd like us to know about, we'll be coming for you sooner than you think,' he sneered. 'With the game you're in, it won't be hard to write you up on a few charges and then we'll get what we want out of you. The hard way, if you insist. You just remember my face, Mr Cross. Cause if I'm the one that comes for you, I'll have you sweating so hard your teeth will bleed.'

Jack's eyes narrowed. 'I'll keep that in mind.'

He kicked the starter over and the Harley roared to life like a lion that had just been poked in the mouth by a kid with a stick.

'I guess we'll be seeing each other around.'