Falcon City Blues will be a (hopefully) long running serial piece posted here on the VSN.  If this is well-recieved, I'll be posting new chapters at least once per week, so, without further ado,

Falcon City Blues, Part I

    Falcon City was, by some standards, a foul hive of sin, greed and misery. By the standards of post-America Nevada, though, it was a mecca of culture and refinement. Outside the city, in the Big Empty, there were wandering road gangs, little food and water, no electricity, and horrific predators both man and beast. Falcon City, though, had all the amenities and comforts one could ask for, so long as one didn’t mind paying tribute and respect to the Crow.
    Now, the Crow was a formidable man. He’d managed, with his small band of raiders, to drive the road gangs out of the city and into the Big Empty and completely take over, establishing his own currency and some semblance of law. Just where he’d come from was a matter of debate. Some said that, before Anarchy, the Crow had been a politician. Others said he was a general, and still others named him gangster. The truth, however, was that the Crow was born a kind man, and was made cruel by the world. This made him a perfect leader for Falcon City, a man powerful enough to keep her wolves in check, but fair enough to command the loyalty of her sheep.
    Of course, perhaps more important than the Crow is his Murder, his own personally army of enforcers. It’s up to them to punish the Crow’s enemies, collect his debts and guard over his assets. Wearing black jackets, carrying sawn off shotguns and driving the fastest cars in Falcon City and the Big Empty both, the Murder was respected and feared by all, and two of them in particular had built a reputation for ferocity.


    “Come on, Auntie, you know I’m good for it! Just gimme a day or two, I’ll get it together!” Twitch begged his assailant. The man had a pinched, weaselly face, he was unwashed and he smelled like a walking speed lab.
    “Cough it up, Twitch. I know you’ve got it.” Auntie said to him, her right hand not far from the shotgun hanging at her hip. She was tall and lithe, with fiery red hair and green eyes.
    “But Auntie, I-”  The double-barrels of a shotgun hit him in the teeth, Auntie drawing in the blink of an eye. She placed a hand flat against the scrawny man’s chest and shoved him back against the wall of the dingy alley they occupied, giving him a chance to speak again.
    “You sell speed in Falcon City, you pay the fucking Crow. That’s how this always has and always will work, you fucking rodent. Give me the money.” Auntie said, her eyes colder than ice.
    “But-”
    Click. The shotgun’s safety disengaged.
    “Shit!” Twitch hissed, the groveling facade vanishing as he fished out an envelope of cash from his back pocket. “Take your fucking money, bitch.”
    “You ever try holding out on the Crow again, and I’ll feed your lungs to my dog. Now, fuck off.” Auntie turned away from his, quickly counting the money from the envelope as she walked back to the car where her partner waited.
    “You get it all?” Nero asked as she opened the door of the old red Barracuda.
    “Every cent.” She replied, stashing the envelope in the glovebox. Nero grinned, and crossed Twitch’s name off the list of people they had to ‘visit’ today. Nero was tall, like Auntie, but their similarities ended there. He was broad, with tanned skin, and brown hair and eyes. He kept his hair and beard well trimmed, and his face was usually grinning. “Who’s next?” Auntie asked him, noting his attention to their list.
    “Oh, it’s a good one. Rich guy from Up Town, name of Elliot Romero. Asshole decided to get richer by counterfeiting. Knocked over one of the Crow’s printing houses last week to get the presses, you probably heard about that. Boss wants us to show him the error of his ways.”
    “Sounds like fun. Where is he?” She asked, buckling her seatbelt.
    “Lucky Lucinda’s.” Nero said with a sly smile, then threw the car into gear and took off, laughing like a madman.


    There were many brothels in Falcon City, but Lucky Lucinda, so named because she was lucky to be alive after suffering as many grievous injuries as she had, did not run a brothel. She provided a valuable service to clients a bit more deviant than the average, as Nero could see through a gap in the one-room building’s curtains from his vantage point outside the front window. There was a bed in the middle of the room, and tied down to it was a broad man, with a terribly ugly face, stark naked and being loomed over by Lucinda herself, a horrifically scarred woman with but one good eye. In Lucky Lucinda’s right hand was a bullwhip, in the left a rather crude device of impressive length and girth. Nero gave a small chuckle at the sight, but turned away to avoid witnessing what would come next.  Sure enough, soon a cacophony of moans, groans, screams and the regular snapping of a bullwhip permeated the air. Auntie’s curiosity was piqued by this din of terrifying sound, and took a peek through the window.
    “He’s having Lu’s two-for-one special!” She laughed, being careful to keep her voice down to avoid alerting their quarry.
    “Auntie, make sure you never tell me how you know what Lucky Lucinda’s special offers are.” He murmured in return, an amused smile on his face.
    “I will tell you this, if you don’t get in there soon I think Lucky Lu’s gonna finish our job for us.” She said.
    “Why do I have to go?” He complained, but halfheartedly.
    “You watched the car on the last pickup, it’s my turn to sit around in the shade watching someone else work.”
    “Shit!” He cursed, resigning himself to the task before him. He checked his shotgun’s load and prepared to knock on the door.


    “Stop.” A rough voice said from behind Lucinda, who had the whip raised above her head, and her other hand doing something highly unmentionable to the bound man before her. She turned to peer at the intruder through her good eye.
    “What’s going on?” Romero said from his place on the bed. “Untie me!” He cried, raising his head to get a view of the man before them. The man intruding was short, narrow and wore a mask. In his hand was a long, rusty butcher’s knife, and he was clothed in burlap rags.
    “Is this man Elliot Romero?” The masked man asked, his speech halting. Lucky Lucinda nodded her answer uncertainly. This was certainly not one of the Crow’s men.
    “What the fuck?” Romero protested, and began snatching and pulling against his bindings.
    “Let him go.” The man growled.

    Thump! Thump! Thump! The door shook at the weight of Nero’s knocks as he heard the masked man’s words from outside. The man spun around, first looking at the front door, then at the back one he’d broken into. At that moment, Lucinda’s experienced hands finished their work, and Romero sprung to his feet and began trying to get dressed.
    Thump! Thump! Nero was kicking the door now, at any moment it would fly off of it’s hinges.
    “There’s no time! Come with me or die!” The man said, taking his first step towards the back door, just as the front one came open with the crack! of splintering wood!

    Boom!
    Boom!

    Nero’s shotgun announced itself with a sound like thunder. The first round of buckshot tore past the masked man, putting Romero, still half naked, on his back. The second was meant for the intruder, but went wide as he scrambled for the back door of the dominatrix’s cluttered little shop, slamming it shut behind him.

    Nero was more concerned about his target than chasing the masked man. Romero was lying on the floor in a pool of blood and refuse, gutshot and gasping his last breaths. Nero walked to his side, calmly reloading his shotgun.
    “Who was that?” He asked quietly, pointing to the back door. Romero choked and shook his head. “You don’t know? Fine. Elliot Romero, you are found guilty…” Romero’s eyelids fluttered. “Stay awake for one more moment, please!” he said, giving him a little nudge with his boot and continuing. “Elliot Romero, you are found guilty of counterfeiting the Crow’s… Fuck.”

The man was dead.


    “Another name off of our list?” Auntie asked him as he returned to the car.
    “Yeah, but barely. Some punk tried to stop me.” He said with a sigh, feeling a bit tired as the adrenaline rush faded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep.
    “Stop you? A friend of his?”
    “I don’t think so. Some stunted cockroach with a mask.” Nero started feeling around the back seat for his flask of rotgut whiskey. He knew it was there, somewhere.
    “A mask?” Nero didn’t pick up on the worry in his friend’s voice as his fingers closed on the cool metal flask. He spun the cap off and turned back around in his seat, taking a long swig of the crude liquor.
    “Yeah, one of those old theatre things. With the frown or smile? This one was frowning. Drink?” He replied, offering the flask to her before noting the terrible agitation on her face.
    “Save the booze, Nero. We’re going to see the Crow.”