The Patron : Part 4

Man in the fog

Here comes part 4 of my entirely enjoyable to write cliche fest of an attempt at light hearted noir, The Patron.   Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 can be found by clicking here.  The mystery of The Patron may never be revealed, but today we get a slice of the kind of man he is when things get tough.

The Patron : Part 4

There were three of them by the car, crowded around the driver’s seat like vultures around a corpse. In the mist The Patron could just make out their silhouette as he approached. They were big guys, the kind that think they’re tough until you make them scream. They were using what looked like pipes to batter against the window. They were probably confused as to why it hadn’t broken already. You don’t live long in this game without sensible precautions though.

A thunk of another attempt bouncing back was quickly smothered by the fog. If they scratched the paintwork there would be hell to pay. More hell that is. Hell was already coming for them.

The Patron jumped out of the shadowy mist and straight into the first thug. He was the bigger of the three and he wanted him going down hard. Maybe the other two would run, save him some trouble. The case of The Patron’s cane lashed against his knee with a crack. Then just for good measure and because he might have scratched the car he caught him one between the legs, hard. There was no time for pleasantries. The thug stumbled with a cry of agony. The butt of The Patron’s sword rapped against the side of his head and he was out. He fell heavy to the tarmac. The other two turned at the quickly muted call of pain.

“Nice motor,” The Patron whispered in the heavy silence after.

“Not when we’re done with it guilo,” the little guy said. Well, call him little. He was little like a polar bear is little if you stand it next to an elephant.

The elephant himself turned and The Patron wondered briefly if he’d maybe taken the wrong guy out first. It was hard to tell sizes in the mist and he thought the hulk that loomed over the back had been thrown bigger by the light in the gloom. It really wasn’t. He must have been seven feet up and five across. This was going to be fun The Patron thought. The Elephant’s arms were bigger than his head which linked onto huge, muscled shoulders without the need for a neck in between.

“The boss wanted to say an early hello,” the little guy said. Must have been the one who did the talking. The Patron the guy who did the talking. “You’ve got once chance to…..” The Patron stepped in quick and smashed him hard in the nose with liver bird. He fell back a little with a shocked look and The Patron took a step, spinning on his forward foot as he turned to crash his elbow against the side of the thug’s head. The Patron really hated the guys who did the talking.

The elephant chuckled as he moved towards him. It echoed in the fog like a machine gun going off.

“Nice weight work, but how’s your speed?” The Patron stepped in slapping a one two at his face, barely moving him. He swung the pipe and The Patron took it on his blade, twisting as he did to stop it snapping. He flicked it up and under but the thug dropped his pipe quicker than The Patron thought he could. It took the blade and pipe off to roll out into the shadow beneath the nearby bins. So much for that line. It was one of the Patron’s favourites.

“Any snappy dialogue before we go?” The Patron asked. He’d run out of his own.

The thug swung his cannon of a fist. When that thing appeared out of the gloom The Patron thought he was toast, not the good kind, the ‘Apocalypse Now’ kind. His first reaction was to take it on a shoulder but he flinched instead. He was glad he did. It smashed a dent in the bin half the size of the Aston. Big lad, probably ate babies for his protein.

The Patron charged in, a kick to the inside of his leg that landed on what might as well have been steel. He was built like the Empire State and half as big. Another one two just left The Patron with an aching hand. He wheeled around smashing the cane case against the side of the elephant’s head but he just chuckled again, another machine gun bursting out of the dark.

The elephant stepped in, trying to grapple. The Patron stepped away. He kicked out again with his leg, a side kick, and again, something gave a little but it wasn’t a rib. It was the elephant’s patience. He lashed out his own one two like a jack hammer smashing The Patron’s head back and leaving blood dribbling down his face. It wasn’t so fun any more, with the lights beginning to blur through the pain.

The Patron feigned another blow. The elephant stepped back to get room. The Patron pulled out his pea shooter from his pocket and shot him in the leg.  One shot rang out.  Who needed a laugh like a machine gun and a punch like a pro heavy weight.  The elephant screamed as he fell, clutching at a hole just above the knee. You have to be an idiot to play fair in this game. He wasn’t a kid any more, smooth face and smoother ideas of how these things go down. You just have to get things done. He raised his foot and kicked down hard, once, but the beast still stirred, so again. The elephant finally lay still. The Patron stepped over him and opened the door to his car, careful to wipe the blood off his boot on the thug’s shirt. The interior was like new and he worked hard to keep it that way.

He moved the stick into reverse, gunned down on the gas and backed up the alley, out towards the streets and what waited. He knew where he had to go now. More than that he knew who was there waiting for him. It had been a long time coming. Payback was a bitch.

In the alleyway the first thug turned over, rubbing at his aching head. He laughed through his bloody teeth as he blinked the red out of his eye.

“We were just the welcome idiot, the real party is later.” The sound was lost to the roar of an engine.


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Posted in The Patron, Writing

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