The headlights of a big black Buick hit Kramer full in the face, picking him out in front of a brownstone tenement. The car stopped. It's occupants, four tall, heavy-set men in trenchcoats and fedora hats sat there and watched. Then a figure, the biggest of them all, opened the door on the passenger side and got out.
Tarantino time!
Game over! He shouted in a hoarse and gravelly voice, but Kramer was long gone. The left side rear door was flung open and another man got out. He held in his hands a shiny black plastic sub-machine gun which he pointed in Kramers direction and squeezed the trigger. A trail of sparks erupted off the paving stones and followed his path. But Kramer had turned and the sparks danced their way harmlessly into the night.
Kramer made for the nearest bar and walked in. On a small raised platform a girl danced. The sign outside had promised nudity but she was fully clothed. Kramer hid his disappointment and moved to the bar. He surprised himself by buying everyone in the place a drink and surprised himself even more when he came to pay as each of his many pockets was now stuffed with dollar bills. Big denomination notes, some loose and crumpled, others held neatly in small stacks by elastic bands.
Kramer was loaded.
From the hotel opposite the neon light flashed on and off, shining through the window and advertising its pleasures in the rear mirror of the bar, only now reversed.
It was then that Kramer felt the blunt end of a snub-nosed 45 pressing into the small of his back. He froze.
"OK Shorty", a voice said. "The games up. We know about you and we know about the girl, and to top that we know all about Doyle." Kramer swallowed hard.
"Now without any fuss, drink your little drink and come with us" the voice continued and Kramer complied. The crowd was thicker now and Kramer had to push his way through. As they reached the door Kramer looked back, but the man with the gun pushed him through. Not before Kramer had caught a glimpse of the girl on the stage. She was now naked. Just my luck he thought.
Kramer was forced into the car by the scruff of the neck and found himself sitting between two of the biggest men he had ever set eyes on. Play it cool he said to himself.
"OK Shorty" the man on his right said. "The games up. We know about you and we know about the girl and to top it all we know all about Doyle." This man had obviously read the same script or they both watched the same films.
"Drive on" he said and the driver obeyed.
Rain was coming down heavily now and the streets glistened. Neon reflections filled the large puddles that had formed in the gutters. Steam drifted up from metal gratings in the road as only happens in New York City.
Elliot Ness, where are you when I need you most?
Wrong city, sucker.
Then suddenly the car braked and slewed sideways only to be broadsided by another coming from a small side road. Both cars came to halt and the occupants of both spilled out into the rain.
Shots rang out. Bullets hit the cars, puncturing the bodywork and shattering windows. Bodies fell in slow-motion. Sam Pekinpah to Kramers rescue. Kramer was on the floor now, wet and scared. He was dragged to his feet by a pair of large, strong hands and was thrown into the back seat of the second car. A voice in the darkness spoke to him.
"OK Shorty" it said. "The games up. We know about you and we know about the girl and to top it all we know all about Doyle."
Kramer laughed and Kramer fired. Once, twice, three times, four. And the men laughed back. The car was full alive with bullets. The bullets laughed. The car laughed, the streets guffawed, the traffic lights giggled and Kramer ran. The car, its occupants, the bullets and the rain all faded, slowly at first then quicker. He was running in a swirling mist.
Check pockets. Rich!
Now run. Run for your life if you can little girl, hide your head in the sand little girl, catch you with another man, that's the end, little girl.
Do you feel lucky punk, well do you?
Kramer tripped and fell. This devinitely wasn't his lucky day.
