Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

long. The door to the bar opened a few seconds later. Augie and I both sat up a little straighter and watched as a man stepped out onto the sidewalk and stood under the small awning over the door.
    He was immediately followed by another man. Even across this distance and through the rain I could tell that the one who had exited the bar first was Vogler. The second man had black hair that hung halfway down his back. Neither of them was a terribly big man. They stood face to face and talked.
    Augie reached down and turned the ignition. The starter motor cranked twice, then the engine caught. A burst of exhaust tumbled down the dual exhaust below the rusted-out floorboards.
    Gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, Augie rested his right over the knob of the gear shift. I could see it shake from the vibrations of the motor. He sat completely still and waited, watching the scene at the end of the block through the driver’s door window.
    “Someone’s not happy,” he said.
    The kid, Vogler, and the guy with the long black hair were going at it, arguing and yelling at each other, their faces just inches apart. Vogler pointed his finger in the second guy’s face, but the second guy swatted it away and pointed back, only at Vogler’s chest. He jabbed Vogler hard, and Vogler just took it. He stopped yelling and listened to whatever it was the second guy was telling him. Then Vogler turned and stepped out into the street. The second guy yelled at him as he went, but Vogler just kept going without looking back. He crossed the rain-swept street and got into an old Dodge Rambler. The lights came on and I heard the sound of its motor start, and then the Rambler backed out onto Main Street.
    Augie flipped on his headlights and shifted into reverse. He waited till the Rambler was moving forward, then let out the clutch and backed us away from the curb. He shifted into first and we moved slowly forward. I listened to the transmission whine.
    But before Augie could shift into second gear an old black Caddy whipped around the corner, turning from Bay Street on to Main, skidding to a sudden stop in front of the Rambler, cutting it off. The Rambler barely stopped in time. It and the Caddy formed a perfect t shape, the driver’s door of the Caddy facing the windshield of the Rambler. The instant the Rambler stopped Augie pushed in the clutch and down on the brake pedal. His truck slowed, twenty-five feet from the other two vehicles at the end of Main.
    The brake lights of the Rambler reflecting off the rainy street looked to me like an illustration of fire. I sensed something and my stomach tightened. Just seconds after the near collision, the driver’s side window of the Caddy rolled down far enough for a hand to extend out. Augie and I immediately saw the gun it held, but there was nothing we could do.
    Six shots, one right after another, punched holes in the Rambler’s windshield. The first shot sent a jolt through me. My muscles flexed hard. The same jolt tore through me with each successive shot. When it was done, when the revolver was empty, the Caddy began backing away, its tires slipping on the wet pavement.
    I said, “Jesus,” and reached down for the door handle. I jerked it up, and the door swung open and I stepped down to the street, into a good inch of water. I heard Augie call my name, but I ignored him and started toward the Rambler.
    The Caddy backed onto Bay Street, the driver cutting the wheel sharply. The vehicle spun around, then paused long enough for the driver to shift into drive, after which the vehicle sped forward, heading toward the bridge to North Haven.
    I looked for a license plate but the Caddy was moving too fast. The scratches on my face stung in the rain and I felt my legs turn a little hollow from fear. I kept running, though, toward the Rambler. It was the only thing I knew to do.
    By the time I reached the vehicle, its driver’s door had swung open and Vogler had slumped out from behind the wheel and was lying on the street. The water around his head was dark with blood. The darkness was spreading out fast.
    I came to a stop and crouched to see his face. I had to lean around him to do so, and my chest touched his shoulder. His body was lifeless, his limbs falling to a rest at odd angles. I saw his face, or what was left of it. One bullet had creased his temple, the other shattered his cheekbone. Part of his right ear was missing. There was another bullet wound in his chest, and I