IT HAD BEEN A WHOLE MONTH since Captain Victor Slade had returned to his home town of New Orleans, Louisiana. He was proud to know that the sprawling city had not lost any of its culture and charm that made Louisiana the unique state that it was; virtually a foreign country to outsiders. It was the only place Vic really ever felt at home, no matter how many European countries he had tracked his way through with the 101^st Airborne. The war was over and he was ready to get back to the life he had put on hold when the Japanese attacked. He vowed that 1946 would his year of rebirth.

Sitting behind his large oak desk in his new office, a small storefront in the French Quarter, he watched Will Tapard, a local sign artist, put the finishing touches on his large plate glass window facing the street: ‘VIC SLADE - Private Investigation and Protection Services'. Will finished, Vic paid, Will bid him a good day. Vic sat back and took a deep breath of pride. He had waited five years for this day; five long, muddy, bloody, battle-filled years.

Somewhere outside, the sounds of sirens filled the air. Ah yes, Vic thought with a smile, home again.

Not too far away, three gunshots broke into the air, causing Vic to hurry to the window. The street was alive with excitement as bystanders screamed and scrambled for cover; some looking down the street to his left. Vic craned his head to see but it was in vain, he went to the door instead.

Opening it he quickly saw what was happening: a block away, on the other side of the street, a young man was being chased on foot by three large thugs in suits. The first thug was leveling for another shot. The young man wore khaki pants, a dirty T-shirt, a black cabby-hat and carried a small, leather saddlebag and was running in Vic's direction - weaving in and out of the sidewalk traffic nonstop. He was a full block ahead of his pursuers. Fast kid, Vic thought.

When the kid was directly across the street, he stopped, hiding behind a large mailbox and looked around, spotting Vic's storefront window.

KRA-KOW! The large man fired. The bullet sparked off of the metal mailbox with a WHING!

Vic caught the young man's eyes and immediately knew what he was thinking.

"****," Vic said aloud. The boy dashed across towards him as Vic disappeared into the office. He opened the top right drawer, grabbed his black Colt .45 automatic and flipped the large, heavy desk over onto its side. He ran back to the door just as the young man dashed through it.

"You're hired!" the young man spat out.

"Behind the desk, kid," Vic replied. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

KRA-KOW! KRA-KOW! The first slug ZINGED through the open doorway and buried itself into the hard oak desk top that had shielded the young man from being hit. The second shattered Vic's newly decorated window.

"Sonofabitch!" Using the doorjamb as cover, Vic found his target crossing the street and quickly responded.

Vic's .45 let out two deafening BLAMMS!, plugging the Bruno twice in the chest. The man's gray suit jacket exploded with two bright crimson splotches, then he stumbled backward and sprawled in the gutter across the street. The other two men fired, filling the office with .38 caliber rounds. The doorjamb shuttered with every hit. A few of the rounds WHIZZED past Vic's face and splintered into the desk top.

Vic recognized the sound of the revolvers and tried to count how many shots were fired: eleven. The firing stopped but a new sound hit Vic's ears: size thirteens running towards the door.

He didn't hesitate. The sound was right outside the door when Vic emerged, coming face to face with the big ape. Quickly hooking one arm behind the man's head, Vic pivoted his hips and flipped the large man over onto the floor. He let the Bruno have two slugs in the chest and quickly recovered to the doorjamb.

Silence. Vic figured the other man must be reloading or hauled ass. He chanced a glance across the street and sure enough saw the man reloading. He could easily have run up and put the palooka on ice, but knew at this point that, by law, he was safe in his office. He could no doubt argue self defense this way.

"I just want the kid!" the man's gruff voice came from across the street; a street that was now clear of everyone but him and his dead buddy. "Send him out and you live!"

Vic chuckled. "It's just me and you, now shithead. Trust me the odds are in my favor!"

"I'll take him if I have to, mister!"

"Cross the street with that bean-shooter of yours and I will kill you. Take a look at your buddy out there and see what two .45 caliber slugs does to a man's body at that close range!" Vic waited for a response. "Walk away and live to see me another day, pal!"

The welcome sounds of approaching sirens filled the air. Vic chanced another look and saw the man running back the way he came. He let out a sigh of relief and released the hammer of his pistol.

"He's gone, kid," Vic said.

 The young man stood cautiously. "You sure?"

"You wanted by the cops, too?" The kid shook his head ‘no'. "Good, then sit tight. I'll handle this... then you." Vic walked over to the remnants of his beloved window. He kicked some of the glass with the toe of his shoe. "Sonofabitch," he mumbled.

To be continued in THE SLADE GENESIS - Chapter 2...

Keyword: detective pulp adventure pulp private eye truman gun colt 45

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Posted by Vango 2008-03-05 15:15:21 .... This was a great story. With all of the sound effects it was like reading a comic book. I'm looking forward to the next one. + Report this comment
Posted by thirteen 2008-03-05 15:32:50 .... It was good, mr grimm. + Report this comment

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