Raindrops splattered on the windshield of the Ford Fusion as Alyssa and Flat sat watching the entrance to Muff's Tavern, as it was the building in which all of this mob's business dealing went down. However, it was only a short time until a pair of local bruisers began to stir up the hornet's nest, which was the tavern. A couple of hired guns or "Torpedoes" as Flat would call them, had been guarding the door when the bruisers came strolling up looking for a fight.
"Drop me off around the block, Alyssa."
"Flat, you know the rules."
"Fine toots, drop us off around the block." Flat gritted his teeth. Of all the things in this modern world that he didn't need, one was a babysitter. As Alyssa pulled around the block, Flat put on his Fedora and began walking back.
"What's the plan here?"
"If one of us don't get them bruisers away from the hornet's nest, you can forget that egg cream."
"Meaning?"
"Alyssa, those bruisers are gonna pinch our day and ensure we're left holding the bag."
Alyssa, having been one nerd to have actually studied 20s-era slang, was one of three people who could actually understand Flat's words and phrases.
"Got it. I'll see if my feminine charm can't get them away."
As they continued walking, Flat ducked into an alleyway and watched Alyssa. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her button-up shirt to expose her cleavage as she got closer. Once the Bruisers and torpedoes saw her, it was game on.
A catcalling whistle came from one of the torpedoes. "Well now, why didn't you dense morons see that there's a lady present."
Alyssa giggled, playing the part of the dumb blonde. "I'm just lost. I can be such a ditsy thing. Does one of you men have directions?"
Much to Alyssa's surprise, the bruisers weren't interested. Rather, one of them threw her to the ground.
"Beat it, bitch. If ya know what's good for ya."
The two torpedoes, once perverted grins, had become scowls, eager to beat these two into a pulp, but Flat beat them both to the punch.
"Think yourselves a couple of big Bruno do ya? Well, so do I." The Private Eye took off his hat, shoved it onto the first bruiser's face and socked him square in the jaw. Flat dodged the swing of a knife and clocked the second bruiser in the jaw.
"Aye, get the boss." said one of the torpedoes as the other kept the door guarded. Alyssa was helped up off the ground by the mob boss as he walked out.
"Who did this to you?" His voice was sharper than any blade.
She pointed to the man Flat was boxing in the street. The mob boss looked at the bruisers as Flat held his own. One managed to cut off his tie and rip his trench coat in several spots. The other slashed at his cheek but found Flat's brass knuckles to be a far less tasteful sandwich than the movies had made them sound.
"Come on man! Just knock him out already!"
"I got it, I..."
Flat's fist knocked the guy out cold. "Bruisers like you make me wanna upchuck the bagel I had. Best pipe down. You'd sooner find a fight equal to your moxie at the bottom of a dead soldier."
"The fuck is your deal, dude. Get away from me!" The bruiser took off running to find the Private Eye hot on his heels.
"Beating up on a dame just to flee... you're nothing but chicken shit. Scram before you become the chin gossip of the papers!"
Once the bruiser ran off, Flat picked up his crumpled and ripped fedora and then returned to check on Alyssa. "Here, put on my coat. You'll catch a cold." Said Flat, taking off his trench coat and draping it on her shoulders. "They hurt you, miss?"
"No, these men came out and kept them back. You knocked this one out cold! You saved me!"
"No need for all that ducky talk. These streets ain't what they used to be, so I'd be careful when..." Flat stopped talking as the mob boss walked up to him.
"Now that was some chivalry Mr...."
"Flanagan, Flat Flanagan. Just a diner-joint owner in this city."
"Ah, Mr. Flanagan. I gotta say, if you hadn't jumped in when you did, these two would be in a world of pain. Nobody beats on women around here." Said the Boss as he adjusted his suit blazer.
"If that ain't the cat's pajamas." Said Flat as Alyssa stepped away to make a phone call. She made sure she was out of earshot when Gresson picked up the phone.
"Yes?"
"Agent Flanagan may have saved my life, but is getting buddy, buddy with our mutual friend aiming for D.C."
"WHAT?! Is he..."
"Flat's fine. Orders?"
"Have him do exactly as we planned. No sense in trying to keep this hidden much longer. I'll leak it to the press… Poor guy is in for it."
"Understood." Said Alyssa just before hanging up. As she returned, she looked at Flat. "Truly, it is a pleasure to know your name, sir. I want to repay your time."
Flat had studied their codes for months. This meant... "No need to, toots. I'd want someone out there protecting my little girl if I was a father or even a mother for that matter. Consider that, on the house. No need to..."
Before Flat could finish, reporters swarmed the small group, all eager to learn about the 1920s man living among them and what the Presidential Candidate was going to do.
"Flat! Flat! Is it true you're really from the 1920s and the FBI is responsible for this?" Shouted one reporter.
"Mr. Beckdette, what will your administration do to prevent such travesties like that of Mr. Flanagan being ripped from his own time by a government agency?" Asked another.
The Mob Boss looked at Flat, who was clearly a bit overwhelmed by the sheer flood of questions he was getting.
"Flat, are you a misogynist?" One question rocked him, then came "Flat, Flat, are you aware you can't say certain words anymore?" Each reporter was eagerly licking their chops to prove this 1920s Private Eye was racist and misogynistic and then came the final blow... "Flat, are you aware you can't hate people of color anymore?"
Before Mr. Beckdette had a chance to intervene, Flat decided to answer them. "While this is all very new to me, allow me to answer a question will ya? For one, No I'm not a misogynist and would never hit a woman. I was a private eye back in the day, but now I just serve up egg creams and old dishes forgotten by the lot of you. Also, you, the reporter in the purple top, yea, I fucking know you can't hate people of color as I am a person of color. However, never fucking call me that. I am Flat Flanagan, owner of Flanagan's Diner and More. You can call me Flat or decide to be a racist live-wire. Holy Toledo does it seem like that question has your with the lights on but nobody's home."
The report scoffed, "Did you just call me dumb? It's clearly because I'm a woman..."
"Listen... whoever you are, I said what I said because you clearly don't know your onions. You must be hitting the giggle water harder than I ever did. For the love of Mike, I beat up two bruisers for trying to go flat-shoes, or..." Flat paused mid-sentence as he tried to find the words to make them understand. He nodded then said, they were getting aggressive with that poor Jane over there. Tossed her something fierce, but she's a tough tomato."
The reporters watched as Mr. Beckdette and Alyssa made their way over to him. As they did, Alyssa spoke. "It's true! Flat there saved me! He's a hero! Why are you belittling him?"
The reporters' looks of panic became solidified when Mr. Beckdette spoke. "I saw the whole thing. Mr. Flanagan is a hero and as such, I will take him to my personal tailor to pick out a new coat and hat as those thugs ruined the ones he willingly gave this young lady here due to the rain. You all should be ashamed." The mob boss motioned for his driver to come get him. "Miss, do you need a ride?"
"Oh, no. I have a car, I'll be fine."
"Alright then. Please get home safely, and don't hesitate to give me a call, Nickie, my nephew will get you squared away." The two watched Alyssa get round the corner and vanish. "Now then Mr. Flanagan," boomed Mr. Beckdette, "let's get you some new clothes. Price is no object, please get something you'll use and like." As the black SUV drove off, Flat was now two feet away from the most notorious mob boss in all of history, heading to his tailor's shop for new clothes.