No Good Men In The City

"No Good Men In The City"
a crime novel
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"There ain't a bridge we can't cross in this town," Bruzzo said, ignoring the noises of the seaport below. "This is a territory scuffle. It's not some random gunshots in the night. These aren't just bullets ricocheting of the stars, Johnny. These are people that want wars between the lines. You want Poland? You have to go through Germany now. You have to take the big ones down first before the small ones. That's where every big shot when wrong, when we went weak. You start strong, you finish strong. And I'm not talking about this stupid city, where carjackers can actually make a decent living, or the faulty countries in Europe, where you can't forget history, even if you tried. This is about mankind. This is about humanity. This is about the lives of human beings, from womb to gun to stroke. No gangster thinks he's going to live forever. But he tries to cheat death as often as he can. From a stomachache in a pizza parlor to cancer creeping around a man's bones, every gangster in this city knows that he's gonna die from a gunshot he didn't think was coming. But he'll be on the lookout with a search party until his body hits the ground so hard that they bury him where he once stood. Now, you're a smart guy, am I right? Then don't ever think that a car accident is going to be what kills you, Johnny. Unless of course it's a semi driven by your worst enemy. Then, well, you could die that way."

The wind was slapping Johnny's coat against his cold legs. His body hurt. From years of apathy to years of violence, everything ached.

He stared at the river. The bridge, the seaport, the ships that come in and out like swimming mice, all of it could burn in an instant, he thought. Bruzzo was right. There was no eternity, no lifetime, no patron saints to look out for gangsters like him. He'd be dead before he knew how to live. Unless, of course, he started doing Bruzzo's dirty work.

At least he could always eat. A working man could starve, but a gangster had the feast of kings every night without the bothersome drool of a lackluster court jester. There may be no saints to look after me, Johnny thought, but there's some sinners out there that would take bullets for their own, and then throw them back.

"I want in," Johnny said, finally looking at Bruzzo. And all Bruzzo did was grin.