Frank raised an eyebrow at the newcomer as he opened his pocket knife. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yup. The Ghost of Las Vegas.” he burly man replied, tightening his grip on his weapon. “Honestly thought he’d be taller.”

“I get that a lot.” the man said dismissively. “Sorry, but can we move this along? I’m on the clock at the moment.”

“Cops?”

“Yeah. So you guys should probably go, too…unless you want to be caught flying your colors.”

“On the contrary, my friend. The cops ain’t gonna care what we’re wearing if we hand your scrawny ass over to them.”

“Hmm…sounds risky.”

“Worth it, though. Or haven’t you heard how big the price on your head has gotten since that incident at the bank?”

“Goodman can tack on all the zeroes he wants. He’ll never catch me.”

“Whatever you say kid.” Baird said before charging at him. Frank stayed back, content to wait until the stranger had his back turned so he could take him by surprise.

He was caught off guard, however, as said stranger rolled under Baird’s wild swing and attacked him first. He barely managed to duck under the elbow aimed at his head, allowing the Ghost to completely pass by him. Then he pivoted and aimed a slash at his opponent’s back, only to have his arm grabbed and painfully forced behind his back, his knife clattering to the ground.

He heard Baird roar as he prepared to take another swing at the Ghost. “Get him, man!” he yelled encouragingly.

Suddenly, he howled in pain as the dagger sank into his thigh, then panicked as he felt his attacker disappear. “Wait, wait, wait-!”

PANG

Baird stepped back in shock as Frank hit the ground, unconscious. “Shit!”

“Nice aim, slugger.” Ghost said, Frank’s knife ringing against his own as he proceeded to applaud him mockingly.

The clapping stopped, however, as he jumped out of the way of a diagonal swing from Baird and slashed at his exposed side. He grunted in pain, but otherwise ignored the light gash and swung again, horizontally this time. The other man simply ducked under the bat, rushed forward, and slammed the pocket knife into his leg.

As the bruiser howled in pain, Allen spun and drove the brass pommel of his knife into the back of his head. The man fell to the ground, but continued to struggle.

“Oh, for the love of God! Just stay DOWN!” he yelled, emphasizing the last word as the knife pommel met the base of the other man’s skull and he finally fell still.

“Thank you! Geeez…” he muttered as he sheathed the knife and turned his attention to the victim.

She’d gone unconscious while he’d been busy with the three stooges, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest given her injuries. Her head was already beginning to swell and her right leg was bent awkwardly, obviously broken. There was also a small cut on her neck from the first man’s knife, but it didn’t look to be too bad.

“Nothing a quick trip to the hospital can’t fix.” he thought out loud as he made to exit the disgusting alleyway, sleep once more taking a position at the front of his mind.

Then he stopped, listening.

The sound of distant sirens came to him, still miles away. He spun around to look at the girl seated against the wall, unmoving.

He turned to look towards the alley’s exit, then back to the girl on the wall, then looked down and sighed. “Fuck my life.”

He walked back and picked her up, muttering an apology as she groaned in agony at the sudden movement before once again walking towards the exit.

He quickened his pace as the sirens in the distance grew louder. “Wow, you guys are late. I must’ve whacked poor White like…what…twenty minutes ago?”

He reached his car and quickly deposited the girl in the passenger seat before circling around and getting in himself. He started the engine, then paused with wide eyes as he saw two cruisers roll by in his rear-view mirror. He waited for a full minute to see if they were going to double back then, finally deciding they hadn’t noticed him, put the car in drive and headed for the hospital.

Another groan sounded from his right. “Hang in there, lady.” he said tiredly. “I’ll have you in an ER in no time.”

For the next few minutes, Allen navigated the streets of Vegas with precision born of years of dodging thugs and police alike. The cops were searching every back alley and side street in the district for anything suspicious, not realizing that the guilty party was actually casually rolling down the main street. That was how the LVPD operated: if you weren’t acting like a suspect, then you probably weren’t one.

Before long, the hospital came into view and Allen began to turn into the front lot, only to turn back onto the main street with a small screech of his tires.

An ambulance sat in front of the hospital’s double doors with its lights flashing, MTs carrying a man in a blood-stained white tuxedo out of the back on a stretcher. The ambulance itself was surrounded by patrol cars, their occupants guarding the front door to the building. One of them shone a flashlight in his direction, making him instinctively duck down a little.

“Shit.” Allen swore under his breath. He knew the girl needed medical attention, but he wasn’t willing to risk getting arrested for her. “Well, I guess you’re not going to the hospital then. Not today, anyway.”

He turned down another street, heading for his house now. He kept a fully stocked medical kit in his bathroom, and not just the simple modern family kit for everyday cuts and bug bites. His kit covered injuries ranging from said cuts and bites to broken bones and major gashes, and even contained antidotes to commonly used poisons. It certainly saved him from having to register himself at a hospital.

Gotta remember to thank Arnie again. he thought distantly.

Suddenly, police lights started flashing behind him.

He began to panic, then forced himself to calm down. You’re innocent. You’re innocent. Just remember that you’re innocent. he thought as he gently came to a stop. He watched as the cop did the same, got out, and started towards him; all the while trying to think of a good cover story. Naturally, he had a stock excuse for situations like this; but that story didn’t cover the unconscious girl in the passenger seat, so he’d have to think of a new one, fast.

There was a knock on his window, and he promptly rolled it down. “Good evening, officer. Is there a problem?” he asked cheerfully, right before realizing who he was talking to.

“Hey buddy!” said the officer, just as cheerfully.

“Oh, hey Mr. Sully!” Oh, thank Christ it’s you.

Sully had been a close friend of Allen’s stepfather before he died, and since then he’d been like an uncle to Allen. A fact he was quick to exploit as he shut the engine off. “Busy night?”

“You could say that.” the older man said with a tired sigh. “You know Eli White, right?”

“Yeah. Rich guy. Opened an opera theatre recently. What happened to him?” Allen asked, feigning ignorance as best as he could.

“Take a wild guess.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it’s a…it’s a real doozy.” said the officer with a cringe, casually leaning on the roof of the car and looking at him a little more seriously. “Look, I’m sure you had nothing to do with it, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask why you’re out so late.”

“We’re coming home from the bar.” Allen replied, gesturing toward the girl in the passenger seat. “Also, before you breath-test me, I’m sober.”

“Don’t worry, I can tell.” Sully said with a chuckle. “But what happened to her?”

“She got drunk, lost her balance, and knocked herself out on the counter. That wouldn’t have been my issue, except that her ‘designated driver’ got drunk and passed out in a booth.” he said in feigned annoyance. “And, of course the rest of her friends were either drunk or can’t drive even when they’re sober.”

Sully shook his head. “That’s sad. Which bar is it?”

“You know where Pablo’s is?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep an eye on those kids.” he said, then asked as an afterthought. “Hey, why does it seem like you’re always the designated driver?”

“Well, I am only nineteen.” Allen replied innocently.

Sully raised a brow, conveying to the smartass in the driver’s seat an unspoken request to actually answer the question.

Allen chuckled, then looked back at the officer with a sad smile. “You know I’ve had practice with Skeeter.”

“True. Poor kid…”

“Probably the only person in this city with a genuine excuse for being drunk all the time.” Allen agreed.

Sully nodded sadly, then stood up. “Well, I won’t keep you anymore.”

“Yeah, I better get her to my house and get a pack of veggies on her forehead. She’s going to have a long-ass day tomorrow.”

“Give her my condolences.” the gray-haired officer said, walking away.

“It was nice talking to you Mr. Sully!” Allen called.

“Likewise! Have a good rest of your evening! Take care of yourself!”

“You too! Don’t work too hard!”

With that, Allen re-started the car and resumed his journey home. He silently thanked whatever powers that were that the old man hadn’t questioned the presence of an instrument case in his back seat.

((((((*******))))))

It took another fifteen minutes for Allen to get home. Naturally, the farther he got from the scene of White’s assassination, the easier it was to avoid the police until he finally reached the southern district.

He always felt safer whenever he entered the southern district, and not just because of the slight decrease in gang activity in the area. Officially, the surveillance systems for the district had suffered a catastrophic malfunction and were beyond repair. Only Allen and his boss knew that they had been intentionally disabled, specifically for the purpose of providing a place for him to hide.

Sometimes it was a good thing to work for one of the most powerful people in Vegas.

Sometimes.

He soon pulled into the weed-covered driveway of an old two-story house. The blue paint was faded and chipped, there were a few shingles missing from the roof, and the lawn and beds were overgrown and overrun by weeds. As he pulled in, he also could’ve sworn he saw a striped tail disappear under the porch, and silently prayed that whatever creature it belonged to didn’t have rabies.

All in all, it was an ugly little shack. But it was home.

Allen shut off the engine and got out, circling around and retrieving the girl and his rifle case before heading to the front door. He managed to find his house key and unlock the door despite his burden, then proceeded to deposit the girl on the couch and locked the door behind him. Sighing, he went downstairs and laid the case down on the worktable in the basement before heading to the bathroom upstairs and grabbing the med kit.

As he came back downstairs, he checked the box’s contents to make sure he had everything he needed. “Anesthetic, alcohol, cotton balls, gauze, 3-0, bandages…okay, good.” he muttered.

He pushed the coffee table out of the way and knelt down next to the makeshift hospital bed, setting the case down nearby and extracting a small pre-prepared syringe. He then exposed the broken leg and injected the numbing agent into the affected region, the patient giving another pained groan as he did so.

He got up and walked into the kitchen while he waited for the drug to take effect, retrieving a small bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer. He came back and laid the bag over her swollen forehead, then returned to his prior position by the med kit and gave the break an experimental flick. He smiled when she didn’t react.

“I love anesthetic.” he said to himself.

The bones appeared to be merely split, a fact for which Allen was thankful. If they’d been totally shattered, he would’ve been there for a long time trying to fit all of the pieces back together properly, and he didn’t have enough anesthetic for that…or enough skill to perform an operation of that delicacy. The break also hadn’t penetrated the skin, which eliminated any possibility of infection. All he had to worry about was making sure that the leg was straight as it began to heal.

For the next few minutes, he worked the leg back into its proper position, doing his best not to puncture or pinch anything in the process. When he felt satisfied with its appearance, he wrapped the area tightly with bandages to prevent the bones drifting out of place again. He stood up to scrutinize his handiwork, giving the leg a few flicks. The anesthetic had almost worn off by now, meaning she would’ve groaned painfully again if he hadn’t done his job right.

Her only reaction was to shift slightly away from him, and he smiled triumphantly. “Who needs a medical license anyway…” he muttered as he turned his attention to the cut on her neck, quickly cleaned and bandaged it, and then packed everything back into the box. His job done, he went upstairs and took a shower to remove the night’s grime and tensions.

He came back downstairs, still combing the water out of the shaggy brown mat on his head, and turned on the TV. As he flipped over to the ten o’ clock news, he also dialed a number into his phone and held it to his ear, listening to tonight’s biggest headline.

“…casino where millionaire theatre owner Eli White was brutally murdered just over an hour ago. Doctors are working to do what they can, but the lead surgeon has already called the operation a lost cause, given the sheer size of the wound and the amount of blood lost. Police have named the culprit as the infamous Ghost of Las Vegas, due to the fact that the bullet retrieved from the scene was bare of any distinguishing features or fingerprints and therefore impossible to trace back to the manufacturer. This is not the…”

Suddenly the dial tone ended and an artificially deepened voice answered. “Admin.”

“Channel thirteen.” Allen said simply.

He waited patiently as his boss found the specified channel and read the headline.

“Nice work. I’ll wire your cut to your bank account and get back to you on Wednesday.”

“Wow, two whole days off? You’re so generous.” Allen replied sarcastically.

The Administrator paused. “What crawled up your ass?”

“I’ve been awake for forty-eight hours straight locating a man so I could blow his brains all over the sidewalk. Pardon me if I sound a little cranky.”

“Just make sure that’s all I hear out of you.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll put another hit on you.”

Six months ago, Allen had made the mistake of refusing a job from the Administrator, who had responded by painting a fifty-thousand dollar target on his forehead and broadcasting his location. He’d been forced to run all over Vegas for three whole days, hiding in every nook and cranny he could find, before his boss had called him back to “renegotiate” the terms of his contract.

Physically, he’d managed to survive the ordeal with minimal injury. However, he was now unable to sleep unless he had his revolver on hand, and had also taken to sleeping in the armchair in the living room rather than his own bed.

Allen growled in annoyance. “Fine. Just for the record though, you pay me to do my job. You can’t pay me to like it.”

“Noted.”

“Goodbye.” Allen answered before hanging up.

He went into the kitchen and sat his phone on the counter, then retrieved a bottle of brandy, ice, and a glass and made himself a drink. He only drank after a successful assassination, in an attempt to ease his conscious. It was a personal rule of his that kept him from going insane with guilt while at the same time preventing him from turning into an alcoholic wreck like his best friend.

He walked back into the living room and flipped the channel to see if he could find anything to take his mind off tonight.

“Our top story tonight, the millionaire murder-“ Next.

“-died shortly after admission. Guards were helpless to-“ Moving on.

“-better pray, because when I get my hands on them, I’m gonna-” COME ON.

“-wanna add a few dashes of cinnamon to give it that little kick, ya’ know?”

Allen paused for a moment, then shrugged and took a sip of brandy. He probably wouldn’t find anything better and, quite frankly, he had nothing against cooking shows. And that cake did look pretty good…

“We interrupt this program to give you a shocking news update. Millionaire theater owner Eli White has-“

“Screw this.” Allen growled, switching off the TV. “The universe just won’t let up, will it?” Only silence answered him.

He went back into the kitchen, angrily downing the rest of the brandy on the way, and dropped the cup in the sink. Then he went around the house, checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked tight, and finally picked the revolver up off of the coffee table. Then he settled into his recliner and waited for sleep to take him. He didn’t have to wait long for the weight of the past few days to begin closing his eyes.

Before nodding off, he cast a glance at his new house guest.

“What the hell were you thinking, going off on your own in Vegas?” he asked her quietly. Naturally, she didn’t answer.

He shrugged wearily and leaned back in the chair. Within just a few minutes, he was sound asleep.

Author's Note

Hope your enjoying so far!
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