I.

I don’t wear pajamas.

So, there’s no way I can convince anyone that I ever sleep. For instance, this morning: Couldn’t have been any later than six, and some thug craters my office door with a hard shoulder. Brandishing serious cannon to match a reckless grin, he made it obvious that there would be no time for coffee.

“Drake, right? This is easier than I thought. Kiss it goodbye, bo. Easiest grand I ever made.” The barrel of his gat came into view. I coughed and reached for a cigarette. At the very least I might get a drag in.

My Zippo caught just as I heard the hammer of his gun score. Misfire. I chucked the flame at his mug, followed up with a flying bedside lamp. It shattered on his jaw and Laughing Boy hit the boards. His shadow fell to showcase my contact from the force. Lieutenant Hembeck stood as tall as he could manage for five foot six, a .38 shaking in his pallid hands. He looked a little put out from the whole scene. “Um, jeez, Paulie. Guess I’m a little late on this one.”

“Better watch your back, Loot. A line might form behind you.” I got my drag in and exhaled slowly. Another cough.

I was more right than I cared to know. Hembeck crumpled his mouth, looked down at Laughing Boy, then holstered. “Paulie, clam up for once. We need to hoof it to the docks, and fast. There’s more than this guy looking to bust a hole in that thick skull of yours.”

Death threats. The perfect cure for a hangover. As Hembeck cuffed the thug, I pocketed iron along with a fifth of bourbon. We hit the streets, heading for the pier at a speed long reserved for teenagers with stripped rods.

The docks made for a bleak scene. Hembeck’s black and white rolled up to a mess of bodies, some of them spilling off the pier and floating in the murk. The morning fog was burning off to reveal a massacre.

He glanced over at me before opening the car door. “That’s a big chunk of the underworld out there, Paulie.”

A gang War. With me in the middle. Fun made a bad middle name anyway.

“How did my rep match up with this bath, Loot?” We stepped out of the car as I made quick with the bourbon. My hands were slippery. It was one thing to nearly catch lead first thing in the morning. But this was huge, looming. I don’t like paranoia unless it’s without a reason.

Hembeck led me through the carnage. “Drake, best I can figure is some Don makes you for an easy target and saddles blame. Our ears on the street already have it that you set half of these floaters up to sing. Cut it any way and it’s still the same steak. Adding your corpse to this pool is the biggest ticket in the city right now.”

The fifth grew pretty lean after that one. “Can you score me protection?”

He glanced away, out into the bloody murk of the harbor. Not really lamping much from what I could tell. “Drake, we’re stretched thin just sniffing tracks on this scene. I didn’t mind dogging for you this morning, but that was payback and you know that. I gave you the news.”

Pause. “I’ve only got three words for you, Paulie. Back to Mexico.”

“Or I could stay and do your job for you. Find out who wants to punch my ticket on this one.” The guilt angle was my last shot.

Not that it worked. He didn’t want to be my vest on this one. I was too hot an item. Not that I could blame him. Hembeck turned his back to go jaw with the coroner. “Suit yourself, Drake.”

That’s all. I was left out to dry. Only one place to go.