Long Way Down
The speakeasy was a haze of smoke and music. The jazz band in the corner of the room played a melancholy melody, accompanied by a singer mourning a lover lost to her sister. Laughter rang out, the opposite of the song, from a group of gamblers who were watching one of their own storm away from the table. The percussion to the song of the illegal den was the sound of glasses being set on the hardwood bar, and liquor being poured. The orchestra of illegal, dirty, and bad played in one of many of Charlie’s speakeasies. This was just one in an empire of many. In fact, this was one of the more disreputable ones, where men and women alike could go to forget themselves in the clutches of the devil for a night. Blacks and whites could find sanctuary in the bed of one of the many girls that worked for her. Charlie didn’t care what her patrons did, so long as they had money and kept their mouths shut.
She sat in a corner, surrounded by her subjects: patrons and prostitutes, surveying her rugged kingdom. Even the Queen of the Underground, as she had dubbed herself, needed escape at times, and the disreputable hall was exactly the place she could go. Here, she donned one of her many fake personas: Angel, the favored girl of the owner. Of course, nobody who came really cared who owned the joint. Or that here, and all their favorite places were owned by a woman. Charlie had conquered the entirety of the illegal alcohol industry on her own, by posing as a man and killing everyone who stood in her way. Even the mob bowed under her. Because in a man’s world, if she tried to take over as little Evelyn Martian, the men would’ve laughed their asses off… She knew from experience. All of their graves had yet to be found.
After a few failed attempts to purchase property for her businesses as herself she donned Charlie’s persona, a rich man who sent his servant everywhere for him. After a while, businessmen accepted her, and gave her ‘Charlie’s’ deeds. Anyone who questioned her, or looked to closely at her papers found themselves six feet under.
So, Charlie sat in the overstuffed, smoke scented chair, smoking and waiting for someone to cause trouble. Tonight she was just antsy for a fight, but her mama had always told her “ladies don’t start fights, that’s a man’s job. We’re better off finishin’ them.” Her mama’s advice had never steered her wrong.
If she got truly desperate for a fight she could always just accuse a man of touching her wrong, or join a game of cards just to accuse someone of cheating. Those always got the people riled enough to brawl. Especially the former option; she loved using her beauty to her advantage. The best part was always after everyone simmered down. She would hunt down the person who she accused, declare herself the owner, and kick them out while they were still spitting. Once, a man had even told her, after she’d spat in his face, “That face is as beautiful as an angels, but it hides a damn devil underneath.” She only grinned at him when he said that, then batted her lashes sweetly at him.
His words struck a chord in her, inspiring her to take on the prostitute persona of Angel, alongside Charlie. These days she had so many fake identities, she almost forgot her given name. Until her Cousin came around.
Speaking of her Cousin, she scanned the room for him. He was late, an unusual occurrence for him. She didn’t waste her time worrying for him, as he could take care of himself. There was no love lost between them; they weren’t even technically related. Cousin had only become a coin of phrase between them in the past months. He’d tried to get her into bed with him, and she’d laughed in his face and told him that she would sooner sleep with her own cousin than him. Overall, they were nothing more than business partners. She kept the booze cheap for him and his men in exchange for protection and cash. Charlie stubbed out her cigarette and stood, fully aware that her tiny skirt had ridden up further, and then men’s eyes around her were glued to her legs; men were funny, they always acted like they’ve never seen skin before. She pitied their wives. If only one of the men would try and touch her, so she could finally get into the fight she’d been spoiling for all night.
But when none of them did she frowned, and walked away from the dim corner over to the bar where she was supposed to meet her Cousin. He still hadn’t shown. He was late on his payments, and if he didn’t show tonight, Charlie would hunt her down to get her money. She didn’t want to, and finding a replacement for him would be tedious but… she couldn’t afford to look weak. Her gaze darted between her watch and the entry. It was nearly midnight, and he was over an hour late.
“Looking for someone?” A man’s cool voice asked from behind her. She turned on her barstool to face her, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder.
“Ryan Mendoza, you’re late.” She scolded, but her Cousin only grinned.
“A king’s never late, sweetheart.”
“He is when he’s answering to his queen,” She shot back, only serving to make his grin grow.
“I’ve missed your sass, Evelyn,”
“Where’s my money, Ryan,” She replied, holding out her hand.
“I don’t got it,” He said, then quickly covered with, “But I gotta better deal for you,”
“I don’t want a deal, I want my cash.” She sighed, “I’m sick of making deals with the mob. Y'all get your booze and I get my money and protection. I’ve already let yalls past three payments slide.”
“What if I had a way to expand your empire? Outside of the Oklahoma City area?” He was persistent, she had to give him that. It was the part of the reason she got him into the mob. Evelyn bit her lip, contemplating what he said.
“I’m listening…”
“A fella out in Tulsa is lookin’ to get out of the moonshine business. He’s sellin’ all his shit off for a decent price. I had my boys look into it and he’s got a few nice places. With some cleanin’ and renovations, we-- er uh-- you could take over there too.”
“How do I know he doesn’t already have a buyer?”
“If he does, get rid of ’em. I taught you how to.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You better think fast, sweetheart. This guy wants to get the heck outta dodge.”
She scoffed, “I don’t blame him. Cops are cracking down on people like us. Bribes ain’t enough anymore.”
“Come talk to me when you have an answer. You know where to find me,” Ryan tipped his hat and stood to walk away.
“Oh, and Ryan?”
“Yes, Miss Evelyn?”
“I want my payment, in full.. Or I’ll pick a new boy to replace you.”
Ryan laughed, “Good luck finding someone as handsome as me.” He winked at her and strode for the door. She only rolled her eyes. Once he was gone, she turned back to the bar and glared at his unfinished drink. She hadn’t even realized he’d been drinking. He knew she despised being called her given name inside her Empire, and he used that against her. The glass was cool against her fingers when she wrapped her hand around it. She started down at the brown liquor, then launched it across the room, straight at a group of men playing cards. Their girlish screams were enough to make her grin, and she turned giddy as soon as the first punch was thrown.
The fight didn’t last nearly long enough, but she somehow made it count; and found someone to blame to pay for the damages. Somehow it curtains caught on fire… It didn’t have anything to do with her throwing a candle at all… She almost felt sorry for the poor man she singled out; it would be a hefty bill to pay.
It was a cold, long walk from the edge of the city to her apartment. The walk this time, took her twice as long because some jerk got the bright idea to throw a knife into the mosh pit, and she was the unlucky one who got cut. Though, she could say she was fortunate for only getting a long slash down the inside of her thigh, instead of being stabbed. It still stung like a bitch every time she moved.
The doorman didn’t say a word about her obvious bruises and cuts when she approached, and she was grateful for that. The doorman had demanded to know why she looked like shit once, and wouldn’t let her pass until she told him… He found himself without a job the next day. The new doorman, a kind looking, elderly gentleman just nodded and opened the door for her. She didn’t acknowledge him, but stalked straight for the elevator, pulling her coat tighter around her.
Her building wasn’t the nicest, or anywhere close to it, but it was good enough for her; easy to hide all of her in it. The tower stood on the edge of downtown, just on the outskirts of the slums. Here, nobody asked questions, and to her landlord, she was nothing more than a spoiled, little, rich girl whos daddy paid for everything.
The elevator was slow and old, but she couldn’t complain since it let her off inside her apartment. It was made special, and she was the only one who could access her floor because of a special key. The old doors slid open and she stepped into her dark apartment. Immediately, she could tell something was off. Her gut instincts told her something was wrong, and those instincts never steered her wrong before. The hairs on her neck and arms stood straight as she fumbled for the knife in her pocket. Once she’d flicked the blade out she went for the light switch, ready to attack the intruder.
The empty room flooded with light. Charlie couldn’t hold back her sigh of relief when she saw the empty room. Then she heard the faintest sound of glass hitting wood from the next room. Gripping the blade tighter, she made for the kitchen. It felt like a rope had wrapped around her gut, and it tightened with each step. She pushed the kitchen door open, and saw who’d broken in.
He didn’t even look up at her, but mumbled a mere “Good evening, Miss Martin,” over his drink.
“Who the hell are you.” She demanded.
“A friend,” He said, turning to face her. “So you can put that knife of yours away.”
She started at him for a long moment, then huffed and shoved her knife into the pocket, though leaving the blade out, incase he caused any trouble. The man smiled and finished off his drink. He had certainly made himself at home in her apartment. Charlie took the time to study him, see what kind of threat he would pose.
Although he claimed to be no threat, he looked like one. Even hunched over the counter, she could see he was well over six feet tall, and built like a bull. God had certainly blessed him with looks. His light brown hair was cut short and his beard was almost non existent, save for the faintest trace of stubble on his cheeks. Why, if he hadn’t broken into her home, she might’ve found this man attractive.
“Finished staring?” Her face flushed red. Damn this man.
“You got a name?”
“I do,” He smirked at her. This bastard was toying with her, and enjoying it. Charlie’s hand itched for her knife.
She rolled her eyes, “I’m about five seconds from killin’ you and makin’ it look like an accident.” She snapped. He didn’t even try to look concerned.
“I’ve heard you’re all bark and no bite,”
“You can ask all the other men who thought that when you’re buried with ’em”
Two steps. She only had to take two steps to bury her knife between his ribs.
“Name’s Everett Blake, but my friends call me Rett” He smirked at her, his eyes roving over her body like he was looking at a feast. Pig.
“We’re not friends, Mr. Blake.”
“We could easily become friends, Miss Evelyn.” He stood, pulling off his coat and tossing it on the stool where he’d been sitting. “I know quite a bit about you. I know that you’ve got a rich daddy, I know that you’re still unmarried, despite being the prettiest girl I’ve laid eyes on,” He walked closer to her, until he’d backed her into a corner. “And I know you’re not who you say you are, Miss Martin.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” She glared at him. This man was giving her the creeps.
“You have many names, Miss Martin, or should I say, Miss Cox?” She flinched when he said her fake surname.
“What do you want, Mr. Blake?”
“Call me Everett.” He told her.
She glared at him. “What do you want.” She spat.
“You’re the most powerful person this side of the state. Rumor has it you’ve even got the mob under your thumb.” He said, completely closing the gap between them. Everett placed his hands on her waist, sliding his fingers just under her shirt. “I’m the boss over in Tulsa, and I want a little taste of power over here.”
“I’m not sure what you mean…” Charlie swallowed, praying her wouldn’t notice her slipping her hand down into her coat pocket. She relaxed slightly when her fingers curled around the grip of her knife.
“You and me would make a formidable pair, Miss Charlie. Though, once we married I want you to go by you’re given name. It suits you much better than a man's,”
“You wanna marry me?” She fought back the bile rising in her throat.
“I don’t wanna. I’m gonna.” Everett smirked and lowered his head to her neck. The feeling of his stale breath on her skin was repulsive. He’d cornered her like a cat, and when cats are cornered, they strike. Charlie ripped the knife from her pocket and slashed upwards at his face. He shouted, and his hands flew up to the right side of his face; red was already leaking through his fingers. He was shouting obscenities at her, but it sounded muffled, like he was yelling underwater. The edge of her knife was scarlet.
A savage grin spread on her face. “You shouldn’ta messed with me, Mister.” She twirled the knife. “I’m not some helpless bitch you can use as you please.” Everett was backing away from her now. His hands fell slack at his sides and she could see the deep gash across his cheek. “You were right, I am the most powerful person this side of the state, but I work alone.”
Something like fear lit up in his eyes. “What are you going to do?” terror turned his voice to a harsh whisper.
“I claim the Tulsa mob as my own, as I am about to take power from the boss.” She giggled, actually giggled like a schoolgirl. To his credit, he looked like he was fixing to soil his pants.
“Don’t kill me, please. I won't tell no one what I know!” He begged, tears lined his eyes.
“Damn right you wont,” He relaxed a little. “Because dead men tell no tales.”
Evelyn Martin threw her knife across the room, she had never thrown one before, but tonight was her lucky night.
“What the hell, Cousin? It’s nearly two in the morning!” Ryan’s groggy voice crackled over the telephone.
“Send a few men, Ryan. I got another body to get rid of…” She said, wiping her knife on a towel. “And how do you feel about a promotion?”