The clock was ticking.
The urban streets of 1940's Italy shined brighter than any other. The engulfing black cement served as a mirror to the promiscuous air above. A thick atmosphere intoxicated the patrons that walked in and out of La Cabala; a hip nightclub found in the pits of the red lantern district. The only thing found on the minds of those that partook in the establishment was how much sex and alcohol it would take to forget about the problems that encapsulated their day to day lives. War was on the forefront, with Dictator Mussolini on the verge of declaring his siding with the Axis powers.
Across the street of this cesspool of a nightclub, a car slowly pulls up. Its appearance is nothing more than scrap metal on wheels, but with the right driver, she can blaze her way out of any situation. Both front windows are cracked open and a veil of cigarette smoke rises into the night air.
In the passenger seat of the vehicle, sat Luther. A mid-forties bounty hunter with the appearance of a fantastical creature. Their nails resemble that of claws; torn and sharpened by the digging and piercing of countless bodies. They have shrapnel wounds on their forehead that have transformed into dark steel horns. Years of dried blood and grime have morphed into a fur-like texture that covers their body from head to toe.
Luther sat beside their partner Jack. A late thirties, suit wearing, and strait-laced bounty hunter. He's handsome in that rugged, noire leading man style. Despite the sturdy charm that often serves as a weapon beside his trusted revolver, the man still has an uncharacteristically bright gleam of hope in his eyes for better days ahead. Even if he knows they are too few and far between.
"Intel says this is the place," Jack said as he exhaled another cloud of smoke from his lungs.
"Place like this? You sure?" Luther replied.
"Why do you always have to second guess the intel?"
"Why do you always have to follow it?"
The two hunters glanced at each other with a mix of playful frustration and slight agitation. Luther began to load their revolver as Jack looked over the dossier. Jack is quick to take notice.
"What are you doing?" Jack questioned.
Luther, carrying over their agitation, sarcastically retorted, "The job would be a lot easier if you let me go in and shoot the bastards."
"The job would be easier if you didn't bring attention to every room you entered."
Luther sighed while putting the gun in the glove box, "When you look as good as I do, it tends to bring a bit of attention."
Jack takes another hit from his cigarette. "It doesn't matter anyways. Just lay low." Jack and Luther both open their doors to exit the vehicle. Jack reaffirms, "We'll go in and arrest the guy. Keep it none-lethal because-"
"Pay is better that way. I know," Luther interrupts while slamming the metal frame shut.
There is an icy pause as the two partners walk in front of the parked vehicle. Jack stands under the flickering light of a street lamp while Luther remains off to the side, clouded in darkness. Indistinguishable from the environment that surrounds them, Luther resembles a silhouette of a trench coat and fedora. Incognito clothing.
Luther flicks their cigarette along the sidewalk. As Jack adjusts his suit jacket, he pulls out his own revolver and begins loading it.
Luther takes notice of their partner's actions. "What happened to non-lethal?"
"Just a precaution, in case," Jack states before briefly pausing. "You know."
"I know?"
"You do."
As Jack finished loading his firearm, he spits his cigarette onto the street pavement and extinguishes it with his shoe. The two hunters huddle together as they walk towards the nightclub.
Inside La Cabala live music can be heard from across the room. Men and women take to the dance floor to drown out their worries in a flurry of passion and rhythm. The layout of the bar is simple, but effective, in serving guests. Along the right side of the building, a bar stretches out; serving people a mixture of bottles and cocktails. On the left side of the room are a couple of booths, with tables that surround the dance floor, and a stage that encompasses the far end of the establishment.
On that stage is a jazz band. A trumpet player, no older than 18, centers the stage in a wild solo. His talent on the brass far outweighs that of his older peers, and the swagger he enchants brings the room to life. In the trumpet's reflection, two figures can be seen entering through the front doors.
The two bounty hunters look at the entertainment ahead. As they trench forward in unison, Jack begins to loosen up his step and break left towards the dance floor. Luther, leaving their disguise intact, slums towards the bar on the right.
Luther pulls up a stool besides a crowd of guests. They try to act small besides the loud crowd, hoping perhaps nobody would take notice to them. As they adjust in their seat, the allure of the liquor ridden bar back begins to entrance them.
Luther looks towards the Bartender and orders for a whiskey. The Bartender, a midlife geezer and owner of La Cabala, who remains nostalgic for the simpler times of his decade turning youth, glances at his new patron.
"Humid summer night like this. Want me to take your coat," The Bartender paused momentarily while deciphering his new customer. "Sir?"
Luther smirked at the Bartender's attempt at hospitality.
"The coat stays on. I'm looking for a friend. Do you think you can help?" Luther asked.
"Does the whiskey come with a tip?" The Bartender responded.
On the other side of the room, Jack has mingled his body halfway across the dance floor. Sliding his feet to the beat, Jack moves from one dancing partner to the next; all the while scoping the tables and booths for his target.
That target is Giuseppe Camorra; a middle-aged kingpin that runs a couple of shady practices in Italy's underworld. His thinning hair and sunken ghoulish eyes exfoliate a life of stress and constant looking over one's shoulder. Though he's always known that those in his profession rarely see retirement, it doesn't lighten the load on him mentally. To compensate, he hires the strongest, youngest, talent he can find to help prop himself up.
Jack locates his target from across the room. At a corner booth, Camorra sits surrounded by a small population of goons and women. Everyone at the table is relaxed and enjoying glasses of champaign, save for the clear muscle that sits at the end. There to lighten any potential burdens that might come in Mr. Camorra's path. One such burden begins to make his way towards the table. Yet as Jack began to exit the dance floor, a hand grips onto his shoulder and pulls him back.
At the bar, Luther is continuing their conversation with the bartender. The bartender continues their relay of information, "Yeah, Mr. Camorra is here often. Has a soft spot for the women. Lately though, he's been bringing in a little extra heat. He's been a bit on edge.
"What for?" Luther questioned.
The Bartender goes cold and begins to clean a glass on the counter. They clear their throat to highlight the need for additional compensation. Luther begrudgingly placed another bill on the table and slid it over.
The Bartender pours another drink for Luther and continues, "Whispers from the walls say he's been moving livestock."
Luther's ears prick up, "Bulls or cattle?"
Raising an eyebrow, the bartender responds, "The one that actually pays." As Luther's demeanor begins to show disdain, he continues, "Some say he's also been moving crops into Italy. Illegally of course."
"I don't recall Italy being in season right now."
"Times are changing."
"That so..." Luther says finishing their second glass.
As the bartender is placing the whiskey back on the bar back, he gives Luther some final advice, "You better act quick though. You're not the first to ask for him tonight."
Luther subtly adjusts in their chair to catch a glimpse at the dance floor.
Back in the crowd, Jack is pulled back into another dance by a familiar face. Simone Jackson, a 27-year-old, African American, bounty hunter from New Orleans gives him a smirk. The two lock hands with each other and begin a tactical slow dance.
Simone whispered in Jack's ear, "What brings you out here tonight handsome."
Jack whispered back, "I could ask you the same thing. You're a long way from home, aren't you?"
"Baby my home is where the money is."
"Looks like we might've been double booked."
"I'm just a contingency. Anderson needed someone a little more, subtle, in case you caused a commotion."
"Please, I'd never start something I couldn't finish." Jack said smirking.
The music begins to hit a faster tempo. The couple move from a slow dance and enter a tango.
"We'll see." Simone responds while following Jack's lead.
The floor begins to clear out for their dance. Across the room Luther notices that their partner is occupied and walks away from the bar. "Should've known he'd get distracted," Luther mutters to themselves.
Luther, having enough of the subtleties, begins to head over to Camorra's table. The kingpin takes notice of the looming shadow making its way over and snaps for the muscled goon at the end to handle it. As the goon walks over and places a hand on Luther's shoulder, Luther deflects and slams the man through a nearby table.
A brief silence from the commotion breaks through the room. Simone is being held in an off-axis move, "I was wondering where your partner was," she subtly laughs.
Jack lifts her up and replies while loosening his tie, "Yeah, me too."
Onlookers begin to gaze in the direction of the violence before thinking critically. Not to be upstaged by this moment, the trumpet player and band hit a quicker tempo as all hell breaks loose.
Camorra's men break from the table and begin their offense. Some charge towards Luther while others ready their weapons. Jack is quick to draw out his firearm and shoot out those with guns.
Luther dodges an oncoming fist and throws a guard over their shoulder. As the muscled goon lands on the ground, Jack runs up and stomps on his face. Jack looks towards his partner as they fight off another guard, "What happened to laying low?"
"I got bored," Luther replied as they gave a hook across their opponents' jaw.
Jack gets socked across the mouth. He hawks out a sputum of blood on his opponent to temporarily blind them and knees them in the midsection. Luther comes from the side to give a crossover blow.
Simone, watching as the chaos continues to ensue, steps back into the crowd as they begin rushing out of the nightclub.
"Have fun you two," she said nonchalantly while leaving the establishment.
Meanwhile. over at the bar, the bartender is already on the phone with the police.
Luther lunges forward and hits another one of Camorra's goons. The bodyguard is rocked backwards. A woman, who was previously partying at Camorra's table, is knocked over in the commotion. Taking notice of this, Luther dodges their next opponent in order to slide over and help the woman to their feet.
"Sorry about that," Luther apologized, reaching out their hand.
As the woman is helped up to her feet, Luther is stricken in the back by another thug. Jack grabs the man in retaliation and charges him into another booth. The thug flips Jack over and the two fall onto the booth seat. As the thug begins to overpower Jack, he reaches onto the table for anything to grab. He feels the rim of a bottle and uses it to hit the thug on the temple. Despite the bottle shattering, the thug continues to apply pressure to Jack's windpipe.
He reaches up again in desperation. His hands hover over a mild source of heat, as an ashtray holds a recently lit cigar. Jack grips onto the cigar and uses the lit end to jam into the thug's eye. The thug falls backward out of the booth in pain. Jack takes a moment to regain his breath and composure.
Luther who was knocked to the floor and has their hat fall off of their head. Camorra, who had remained confident behind his bodyguards is suddenly stricken with fear. He instantly recognizes the creature who is coming after him and he begins to push his men away as he retreats towards the emergency exit.
Luther realigns themself back up and catches their breath. They turn to Jack.
"Target is getting away," Luther informed.
Jack socks another goon on the nose before replying, "You better get moving then!"
Jack tosses Luther his pistol as Luther dashes towards the emergency exit to give chase. The emergency door slams open, gusting away the summer night fog. Luther breaks through and scopes out both directions before locking onto their target. Camorra, not far ahead is breathing heavily as panic begins to set in. He turns a sharp corner before coming face to face with a dead end. The footsteps behind him ring louder by the second. A deafening sound of terror.
Camorra attempts to climb over the fence blocking his path, but he is immediately thrown down by his pursuer.
"Where the hell do you think you're going Giuseppe?" Luther exclaimed as they tower over their mark.
Upon slamming on the alleyway cement, Camorra makes an immediate attempt to unholster his weapon and shoot Luther. This would be the first in a chain of mistakes.
Upon removal of his firearm, before he could pull on the hammer back, the gun is shot out of his hand. The smoking barrel is raised along Luther's side as they raise it further to take aim at the trembling target.
Camorra grasped at his blood-soaked hand in a moment of agony. The gun wasn't the only collateral of his actions, with his index and middle finger being consequently blown away. Camorra looks up at the creature that stands before him.
"I know who you are demon! There's no point in reasoning with the Witch of Verdun." Camorra stated in a concoction of anger and torment.
Luther paces forward into the light of an alleyway lamppost. Hat removed; they can finally be seen in full view. They exfoliate power, intimidation, and a daunting capability provoked by the whispers of urban legend. They're chilling, but not haunting; calculating, but not manipulative. The definition of a beautiful egg wrapped in a nightmarish shell.
"So, you know my reputation then," Luther asserts.
"And you know mine," Camorra replies as Luther begins to tread around their prey. Camorra crawls himself up against a light post, "Are you going to do it or what?"
The offer to end the life of another lowlife is tempting. Luther even ponders on it before remembering what Jack said.
"Bounty is larger if I bring you in alive. You've made your bed, so now it's time for you to lay in it," Luther decided.
"Take me in alive and I'll be out within a week."
"Not my problem."
"It'll be just a small inconvenience for my business... You know what I do, right?"
Camorra, who has become numb to the pain in his hand, looks up into the light above him. The low hum of electricity is angelic. The warmth of the summer night air reassures him.
"I've heard a bit about your weapons dealing."
Camorra laughs, "Please. That shit just pays for my nights out. Guns have always been good business, but since the war began, there has been a new stream. Ammunition is great, but do you know what pays better for those lonely soldiers in the cold of the night?"
"Humor me," Luther responds as they readjust their aim.
Camorra smiles. The grin of the devil himself. As he continued to speak, his words became drowned out by Luther. The ringing in their ear growed ever more piercing. Their face went from cool and collected, to a fury of rage and disgust.
Meanwhile, Jack rams through the emergency exit of the bar. He's short of breath and alarmed by the sudden bang of a gunshot in the distance. Jack takes a full sprint in the direction of Luther and their target. As he approaches their location, Jack's sprint begins to slow until it becomes a complete stop.
Luther approaches and passes by him. They hand back the revolver and mumble to Jack, "Couldn't help myself. You can have this one."
Jack slowly walks over to the dying man. Camorra, still momentarily breathing and sitting upright, tips over to his side. Blood begins to spill out of his mouth and sputter with the force of a cough. He looks upwards at Jack as he stepped in front of him.
Camorra whimpered out, "What did that thing do to me?"
Jack bends down and examines the target.
"Damn," Jack said
"What do you mean, damn!?" Camorra yelled out in agony.
Jack raised himself back above Camorra. Far off in the distance, sirens for both ambulances and police could be heard approaching.
"Long story short, you're dead. No way around it. If I leave you as you are it will be slow and painful."
Shock began to set into Camorra's eyes. Grief and hysteria are on the verge of breaking through. If he was going to die, he was hoping for something quick. Not a slow bleeding out, withering in pain.
Jack continued, "Your organs will fail as you continue to bleed out. Paramedics might arrive quick enough to keep you alive for longer than a few minutes, but the outcome won't change within the hour. Your fate's sealed."
Camorra violently continued to cough. Clinging onto what ounce of life he had; Camorra clawed his way to Jack and raised his arm for help, or perhaps mercy.
"Please," Camorra pleads.
Jack holsters his weapon once again. He looks off to his side and notices Camorra's firearm, and couple of lost fingers. Jack moves away from the man.
"You aren't worth one of my bullets, but I can see some justice, and maybe even irony, within your own."
Jack picks up the revolver and looks it over. The steel is scratched and stained with a light hue of red. There's an engraving on the handle. It reads: Stay safe, Ramona.
Jack winces a bit as he reads out loud the engraving. He lets out a sigh as he reapproaches the beating corpse. As he stands over Camorra, he uses his free hand to pull out a cigarette from his pocket.
"I hope it was all worth it man. We only get one shot at all of this, and only the selected few seem to make it count." Jack says as he lights his smoke.
With a quick puff, Jack bends down again besides camorra. The coughing has subsided and his grip on his abdominal wound had lessened. Jack places the cigarette in Camorra's mouth. He lets out a final inhale as Jack rises back up. Jack aims at the main below him as Camorra exhales.
"Arrivederci," Jack says as he pulls the trigger. Firing a round into the head of his target and putting the man out of his misery.
Jack goes to toss the gun away, but he hesitates. Instead, he places it in Giuseppe's hand, and bends his arm so it laid next to his chest. Something for his soul to part with as it begins its long journey to what lies ahead.
Jack turns back down the alleyway to look at his partner, but they've already vanished into the night. Sirens grow louder and a mixture of paramedics and police officers make their way into both the alleyway, and La Cabala.