Sommerset

Graveyard Productions

LucidWorks

Elliot Graves’

City of the Gun

Estranged from his father and fraught with the loosening bonds of his closest personal ties, Dante’s descent into the shadows of Sommerset will force him to come to terms with the agents of justice and retribution across the span of generations and bring to bear any hope of surviving the promise of this city; a place where a gun’s the law and an extremely thin line separates the forces of civilized order and the unrelenting threat of destruction.

Sommerset

[]

Prologue

So what are we looking at here? he asked while standing over the shoulder of the suited gentleman kneeling in front of him; the moist tip of his ink pen poised to begin scratching against the small notepad that he held.

The uniformed officers cordoning off the area in front of the bar managed to keep what passed for a gathering crowd at this hour at bay while the crime scene unit continued to process the scattering of evidence at their backs.  The two detectives had arrived only moments ago and immediately turned their attention on the body splayed across the concrete that had been responsible for dragging them all out here.

Detective Whitaker had been kneeling over the bullet riddled mess in the street using his ink pen to scoop up one of the brass shell casings from the red puddle it was floating in.  Looking at? he said to the small trickle of red that slid down the brass and onto the pen that was hooked inside the open casing.  How about the rest of my night going to hell because some scumbag never learned how to duck.

Looks like a pretty rough character, he said, taking a momentary break from his scribblings to point the top of his pen down at the blood splattered outfit.  You sure we aren’t thinking gang related?

Yeah.  I wish, Whitaker said behind a gruff chuckle and dropped the casing back to the ground.  Nothing better than passing this off to Task and calling it a night.  He came back upright again and produced a handkerchief from inside of his lapel to wipe down his pen.  More like last call and a couple of sauced up assholes who’d rather have it out with each other than going home and playing with their pistols.  Either way, doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere for a while.  Make sure you tell the M. E. to...

Their conversation hit a snag when a set of fresh headlights pulled up in their direction.  Whitaker raised a salute over his eyes to shade his vision from the stinging brightness.  When the lights eventually went out he watched the long overcoat step past the slamming car door and head over towards them.

McKenzie?  What the hell are you doing here? Whitaker said to him.

I got the call over the scanner, he replied, ducking underneath the caution tape and continuing through the crime scene.  Figured I’d come over and give you boys a hand.

You gotta be shitting me.  It’s after 2:00 am.  What do you do, sleep with that thing?

Who says I sleep? McKenzie said, working his hands into a set of latex gloves and kneeling over the body.  What’s with the tag-along?  I thought you were planning on flying solo for a while?

Edwards.  New transfer.  Captain’s got me birddogging him for the next few weeks.

Sucks for him, McKenzie said as the two men watched him carefully pick through the bloody clothing draped over the body.  So what do you think, new transfer?  Self-inflicted?

Guy looks like a regular.  This place is pretty popular with the locals.  He’s ripped to pieces so I’m thinking the assailant was an outsider.

Gang related, McKenzie said.  What’d your mentor think of that one?

Detective Whitaker’s leaning towards something a bit more...random, Edwards said, answering for his partner who opted to remain silent despite being obviously addressed.

Well, Detective Whitaker never was very good at his job, McKenzie said.

Whitaker’s laughter was a deep groaning noise.

Kiss my ass, Walter.  You come slinking down here in the middle of the night like some goddamned Good Samaritan; trying to tell me how to do my job?  Maybe you should be worrying about your own badge instead of running around all night traipsing after the Lock Ness monster.  You ain’t exactly making the Captain’s Christmas list these days.

Lock Ness who? Edwards asked them.  What are we talking about here?

The only real reason that this asshole drug himself out of bed and decided to come butting in on my crime scene, Whitaker answered him.  There’s no such thing as La Sombra.

Sombra? Edwards said behind a genuinely perplexed expression.  Why does that sound familiar?

Because you own a television, Whitaker answered him.  Some kind of Jack the Ripper spook story that this community put a name to in order to convince themselves that they’re not the root of the problem.  And that some members of the department ran with to cover their own asses from a piss-poor conviction rate.  There ain’t no goddamn Sombra!

Any particular reason you think this is more than just some random shooting? Edwards asked him.

Well..., McKenzie said, taking a look back over both of his shoulders and then down at the body again.  For starters, I’ve got two weapons here on the ground, but it doesn’t look like our vic got off any shots.  He reached out, peeled the man’s right arm away from his body and rotated it.  Gunshot wound, inside right wrist.  Back of the left hand, he said, indicating the second wound.  Not too shabby, McKenzie spoke, coming upright again and moving around the body.

Whitaker just gave a snide grin and quiet huff at the detective’s efforts.

Scrapes across the concrete behind one of the downed guns, McKenzie went on.  He reached down, collected the weapon and brought the ejection port up to his nose.  A pretty sizable dent in the side of the barrel.  I guess getting both pistols shot out of his hands wasn’t enough to convince our guy to call it quits.  He leans down to make another go for it; perp knocks it out of his reach.  Shot number three.

He showed the damaged weapon to Edwards who had once again taken to frantically scribbling against his notepad.  Whitaker remained unfazed by the discovery.

McKenzie continued to step through the crime scene.

Shot number four to the top of the left shoulder stands our guy upright again.  Number five; upper right chest to square him up.  And number six...

Right between the eyes, Edwards finished for him.

Look, asshole, Whitaker said.  I’m writing this up as just another night on the town for a couple of losers in this city.  You wanna chase ghost stories; you do it on your own time.  So if you really wanna help I think there’s still a couple of waitresses inside waiting to give a statement.  Either way, get the hell off my crime scene, Detective.

Walter McKenzie handed the gun he held off to one of the crime scene investigators that walked by while holding Detective Whitaker’s lingering stare.  Another couple of moments passed and he gave him his back on his way towards the entrance of the bar.

Any chance that guy’s right? Edwards asked once McKenzie was well out of earshot.

Honestly? Whitaker said to him.  With this town...who the hell knows.  He headed off towards a group of uniformed officers standing near the coroner’s van.  Welcome to Sommerset, kid.

1

The midday sun that managed to squeeze through the roving cloud cover above made the chill in the air tolerable enough for Dante to opt for a seat on a park bench while he perused through the evening paper.  The unseasonably cool weather wasn’t the only factor involved in his decision.  This setting outside certainly made for a much better environment conducive to a quiet read than the one he was headed for.

Not that the daily news in Sommerset, New Mexico made the extra effort worthwhile.

One particular article that caught his eye involved a late night shooting at a bar not too far from this park.  It was a strikingly brutal act, according to the reporter’s description, and, from everything that Dante could gather from the rest of the article, the suspect was still at large.  He glanced up from his paper and looked around at the serene setting that he had planted down in the middle of.  Packed playground sets, cluttered picnic blankets, several dozen individuals that had obviously come to the same conclusion about this seemingly placid location as he had.

Dante drifted back into his newspaper.

He would continue to sift through the pages until a brand new distraction struggled to get a hold of his concentration.  It came in the guise of a set of bicycle tires that had veered off of a nearby sidewalk and moved across the grass in the direction of his bench.

It wasn’t the bike so much that succeeded in garnering his attention as it was the swiftly pumping pair of jean covered legs that moved it.  When the bike landed just shy of a few feet away from the bench the brakes were applied and the tires were spun out into an abrupt stop.  Dante took quick stock of the rider for a moment before taking up reading again.

Hey, Chucky, he calmly responded to her while flipping over the folded newspaper he held.  New bike?

The young girl took a moment to catch her breath before replying, It’s new to me.

Alright.

Dante continued to pay her little mind as he kept up with his reading until he was once again distracted by a set of tires.  This time it was a set of four radials coming to a screeching halt halfway down the block from where he sat.  Dante craned his head over and watched a car sitting still in the middle of the street start moving backwards towards the intersection that it had just crossed until it found room to spin out and start heading in their direction.

Is that new to you, too?

They’re bastards, Dante! she yelled at him after tearing her angry grimace away from the street and aiming it back in his direction.

She was still sitting up on the bicycle leaning to one side using one outstretched leg as a kickstand.  Dante took a moment to take note of the raging expression beneath the backwards turned baseball cap that struggled to corrupt what could’ve easily been a set of soft, feminine features colored pretty by her youthful glow.  But instead he felt his own face crease over with the age and weariness of having to constantly contend with this hellion.

Do I even want to know?

Dante managed to keep his voice and demeanor composed, in direct contrast to the volcanic temper that his company had been quickly fuming towards, all the while alternating his glance between the newspaper he held and the vehicle gradually pulling to the curb in front of them.

It was Sheila’s cousin, stupid Jimmy Allen, told me he’d give me forty bucks if I play lookout for him behind the fieldhouse while him and his friends shoot dice!

Let me guess.  No forty dollars?

That was a week and a half ago and he won’t even pick up the phone when I call!

By now three guys had exited the car on the curb and were steadily stepping in their direction.  From where Dante sat he could already see that the three of them were several years her senior but still a small stretch behind him in age; each one of them wearing a look on their faces that spoke to their exhaust and frustration with this chase.

That bike looks like it cost a lot more than forty dollars, Chucky, he said to her while still keeping an eye on the approaching party.

I don’t care!  He owes me money!  You get my back on this, Dante!

He listened to her hysterics and turned another fleeting glance towards the trio closing in on them; the eerie solace that was the glum read of his newspaper further fueling the growth of his dismissive attitude towards the entirety of this annoying disturbance.

Chucky had climbed off of the bike and let it drop to ground behind her between her and Dante when one of the menacing trio moved forward from the group to approach them.

Alright, kid.  Time to give it up, he said to her.

Go to hell! Chucky immediately fired back.  That son of a bitch owes me and he wouldn’t pay up!

That’s not my problem, he continued.  But you’re not stealing my cousin’s bike.

He moved forward again and she took a step back holding her place between his advance and her prize.

Then how about we come to some sort of settlement, Dante said, coming to his feet and moving in behind Chucky’s back.

He had to make an awkward step over the downed bicycle to do so but he eventually made it in to position over her shoulder.

Look, I ain’t got time for this shit.  Whatever’s between her and Jimmy is between them two.

And it looks like that’s already been settled, Dante said to him.

He took a step forward and moved past her shoulder, coming between Chucky and her aggressor.

What I’m talking about is between us.  You and me, Dante said.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? he said, his eyes taking a moment to alternate between the menacing stare of the girl standing over the bicycle and the oddity standing between them.

What it means..., Dante said, fishing a hand into one of his pants’ pockets, ...is that I’ve just so happened to run into some financial luck here recently.  The trio in front of him, very visibly bracing themselves for the emergence of some sort of weapon, watched his fist pull out of his pocket heavy one small roll of paper currency.  ...and was in the market for a bike.

Once the three of them composed their demeanor the front runner stepped forward from the huddle again.

Dante!

He held his composure as best he could against the explosive voice that had emerged at his back, throwing a hand back and gripping it against her shoulder to silence all of the rage boiling behind him.

How does a hundred sound? Dante went on.  We get the bike, Jimmy gets his work..., he said, peeling off twenties from the roll while they all eyeballed him strangely.  ...and you...you get to buy him a brand new whatever this is, Dante said, taking a look back at the bike at Chucky’s feet.

Or we could just take the bike and your money.

You see what I mean?! she exploded again.

Dante breathed a sigh.

Not long after he caught a glimpse of another car pulling up next to the curb in front of them.  He recognized it immediately and the picture did nothing to encourage any sort of calm in his demeanor.

The driver’s side window scrolled down and Walter McKenzie turned a look in their direction.

Dante, he said, singling him out from the small crowd.  What’s going on here?

Everyone else in the immediate vicinity was familiar enough with his presence to at least try and make an attempt at remaining on their best behavior.

Afternoon, Detective, Dante replied in kind.  The newspaper that he had left resting on the bench at his back seemed like a fond, far off memory now.  Just enjoying the break in the weather.

Really?

Dante had gathered from the detective’s tone that no actual accusation was being made; just Walter reveling in the misfortune of having crossed his path out in the open again.

Dante pulled open one side of the jacket he wore and then the other in order to show off his shirt and waistline underneath.

See?  I’m not even carrying, Dante said.  Just purchasing a few stolen goods.

"Because it looks like you dealing.  Is that what this is?  You dealing in my park?"

Dante removed the jacket altogether and held it up in the air beside him with a set of fingers.  Still standing at Dante’s back, Chucky’s eyes swiftly went wide once he’d gotten the jacket unwrapped from around his shoulders.  No sooner than that, she cut a glaring look over at the three boys standing with them.

You wanna pat me down? Dante asked.  It’d mean getting out of the car.

A small moment of silence existed between them before Walter finally offered up somberly, Don’t be here when I get back.

Wasn’t planning on it, Dante replied to the scrolling window.

When the car pulled away from the curb Dante threw the jacket back around his shoulders and pushed his arms through the sleeves as he turned back to his waiting audience.  He had to flip out the bottom portion of the hem in order to get the material to slide comfortably over the twin forty caliber semiautomatics holstered at the small of his back.

Alright, fellas, Dante started up with them again, brining all of their attention back to the money he held.  As you can see, we’re up against a bit of a time issue now.  So let’s just get this over with.  I believe we’d settled on a hundred.

From what Chucky remembered they’d settled on an out and out robbery of them both; the money Dante held as well as the bike she’d so recently commandeered.  But that was before she’d noticed that Dante was packing a hell of a lot more than just a pocket full of money.  And they were well aware of it, too.  Having had the good sense not to rat him out to the cop that had pulled up, now that he was gone and they were back at the negotiating table, she was curious to see how aggressive they were planning on being with their tactics.

A hundred dollars? he replied.  That thing cost two hundred brand new.

Chucky’s lips curled back into a sinister sneer at one corner.

Dante peeled off a few more bills.  It’s used.  One fifty.

A couple of questioning glances passed between the trio before the money was eventually snatched from Dante’s hand.

Whatever, man, were the last words uttered between them before Dante and his companion were left standing alone again.

He turned around and looked down into her judgmental expression.

Congratulations, he said to her.  Guess you got a new bike.

I already had the bike, she scolded him.  What’d you give ‘em the money for?

I don’t know, he replied.  Guess I thought you were worth it.  Despite the constant pain in my ass.

Yeah, but you had the gun, she quickly fired back at him.

What’d you want me to do, shoot ‘em?  C’mon.  Get your stuff and let’s get out of here before Walter comes back.

She gathered up the bicycle and walked through the park alongside Dante.

Don’t be stupid, Dante.  You know what I mean.  You didn’t have to shoot anybody, but you didn’t necessarily have to pay either.

Maybe I didn’t think the bike was worth it, he continued to jibe at her.

The two of them walked until the park was well in the distance at their backs.  They moved through a collection of residential neighborhoods until Dante finally reached his destination.  Chucky dropped her bike by the front porch and followed him up to the door.  Dante knocked and was soon greeted by a rather burly individual that looked him up and down with a small measure of speculation before stepping aside to give him room to pass.  When Chucky tried to follow he suddenly became a bit more abrasive.

What the hell is this? he asked, halting her walk.  This ain’t no daycare.

Give me a break, Dante said to him.  I couldn’t find a babysitter.  He didn’t need to turn a look behind him to sense the heat coming off of Chucky’s stare.  Besides, I’m not staying long.

When the sentry