Sam Marlowe's Arc

Chapter 1 of 14

Sam Marlowe kept a photograph of the stolen relic pinned above his desk, and every crime boss in the city wanted him dead for chasing it. He'd taken the job three days ago. Now a purple ogre in a black pinstriped suit stood on the sidewalk outside, cracking his knuckles. Sam watched through the blinds. The ogre wore two-tone shoes and a tie loud enough to hear across the street. A big pistol bulged under his jacket. Knuckles Malone. Every hood in town knew the name. He'd trailed Sam from the docks, and now he waited by the only door out. Sam's office had one exit and no back stairs. If he stepped through the door, Knuckles would fold him like a road map. Sam poured a drink he didn't touch. He needed the ogre gone, or he needed him confused. With a brain that size, confusion was easier. Sam found a spare fedora on the coat rack. He set it on his desk lamp and angled the shade to throw a man's shadow on the blinds. From the street it would look like Sam, sitting, working late. Then he grabbed his phone. He dialed the number on a matchbook from a rival boss's club. He kept his voice low and hurried. "Tell your boss the detective's got the relic in his office. Right now. Send men." He hung up before they could ask questions. Then he waited by the window. Ten minutes crawled. A long black car rolled up and stopped hard. Three more hoods climbed out, purple and huge, hands inside their coats. They saw Knuckles. Knuckles saw them. "You're on the wrong corner," one called. "This corner's mine," Knuckles said. His voice came slow, like gravel in a bucket. The first hood shoved him. Knuckles swung. The punch lifted the smaller ogre off his feet and dropped him in the gutter. The other two piled on. Fists cracked against jaws. A gun went off into the sky. Somewhere a woman screamed and glass broke. Sam slipped out the side while all four ogres tore at each other. He kept to the shadow of the building and walked fast, not running, hat low. Behind him a body went through a shop window. He made it two blocks before he let out his breath. He'd bought himself the night. But he'd also told a crime boss the relic sat in his office. By morning, that boss would send men to search it. They'd find nothing, and they'd know Sam had played them. Sam stopped under a dead streetlamp. He couldn't go back to the office now. Not tonight, maybe not ever. And the only lead he had on the real relic was a name he'd overheard at the docks, a name he still couldn't place. He turned up his collar and started walking toward the water.