Blood Street

Blood Street Chapter 1

Blood Street 

By Carl Alves

Chapter I

The Goat was worried, though he tried not to show it. He checked his watch again for the fifth time in so many minutes. Never let them see any weakness. But inside there was no hiding how he was feeling. He had been waiting an hour for Johnny Gunns inside the restaurant. Johnny was never late. He didn't always have the money, but he always showed.  

Where the hell was Johnny? They met here at Frankie's Steaks every Tuesday night at nine, with Johnny always arriving first.  

Something must have happened. The Goat checked his cell for messages. Nothing. He dialed Johnny's cell, but there was no answer. Then he paged Johnny. Doing his best to keep his cool, he finished sucking down his soda. He took a bite of his greasy cheesesteak, but his anxiety only grew like a three-alarm fire.  

Frankie Angiolini, the owner of the joint, came over to The Goat's booth, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everything okay?" 

"Yeah, no problem, Frankie," The Goat said. 

In his late fifties, Frankie made payments to the organization The Goat worked for in exchange for protection and other favors. The Goat was also Frankie's bookie. So far he hadn't had to hurt Frankie, which was good because the cheesesteaks at his joint were off the hook. That's why the place was always packed even though the place was a wreck with peeling wall play paper and cracked tiles on the floor. 

"No sign of Johnny?" Frankie asked.  

The Goat shrugged. "He had to take care of something. Just running late. Should be here soon." 

Frankie smiled. "That's good." 

The Goat had to find Johnny. Besides his concern for his friend's well being, there was the matter of the four grand he owed. The Goat was responsible for the book from Delaware Avenue to Oregon Avenue. Johnny Gunns worked for him and had to pay him four thousand every month, part of which went to The Goat's superiors. If Johnny was short with the money, things could get ugly. His boss didn't tolerate his workers coming up short.  

Enough sitting around. It was time to do something. He left without paying as usual; he was a bundle of nervous energy. Something was going down. He could feel it.  

The Goat got into his BMW and drove the city streets toward Pattison Avenue. Johnny frequented a strip joint called the Cat House. He was a big spender and a favorite among the dancers. Besides cash, he provided them with clothes, furniture and the occasional cosmetic surgery.  

He walked into the gentleman's club and found Joe Senneca, the owner of the joint. Joe also worked for The Goat's boss.  

"Yo. How ya doin, Goat?"  

"Not bad. Not bad." The Goat didn't want Senneca to think he was feeling a bit jumpy. "So, ya seen my boy Johnny Gunns lately?" 

"Of course I seen him," Senneca responded. "Like he ain't in here all the time." 

"Yeah, I know that. I mean, ya seen him today?" 

Senneca's brow furrowed. "I think so. Hey, Sam, Johnny Gunns in here earlier?" 

A dancer at the club, Sam was a classy gal, studying part time at LaSalle and majoring in Psychology. Petite and small breasted, she was different from the other dancers. Sam possessed a genuine innocence to her that was atypical of most dancers The Goat knew. Her school girl good looks made her popular with the customers. She turned down The Goat flat, making her all the more desirable.