The night felt colder than usual as Jack and Samantha slipped back into the shadows of the city. The explosion at the clock tower had sent ripples through the underworld, but it hadn’t scared them off. Jack held onto the silver pocket watch like a lifeline. The faint engraving still whispering secrets in the back of his mind. Samantha walked beside him with her coat pulled tight against the chill. Her eyes scanning every corner for trouble.
They ducked into Quinn’s Diner. A quiet hole-in-the-wall where truckers and night owls went to escape the storm. Jack ordered coffee, not for the taste but for the comfort of holding something warm. Samantha leaned back in her seat, watching the rain streak down the windows.
“You’ve got a plan, right?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
Jack didn’t answer immediately. He was still turning Rourke’s cryptic warnings over in his head. Salieri wasn’t a kingpin; he was a puppet master. Pulling strings that reached into places Jack hadn’t even dared look.
Before Jack could respond, the diner door jingled. Rourke stepped inside, shaking rain from his hat. He moved with a deliberate calm, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Jack and Samantha.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Rourke said. He slid into the booth without waiting for an invitation. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him.
Samantha bristled, her gaze sharp. “What do you want, Rourke?”
Rourke smirked, tapping ash into the saucer of an empty coffee cup. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m here to help. You want Salieri? So do I.”
“And why should we trust you?” Samantha snapped, her tone hard.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Rourke replied, his grin fading. “But you need me.”
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. “Enough. What do you know?”
Rourke reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He spread it on the table, revealing a list of names—judges, cops, syndicate enforcers. Some were circled and others crossed out.
“This is Salieri’s network,” Rourke explained. “The crossed-out names are already dead. The circled ones? They’re next. If you’re not careful, you’ll be on this list, too.”
Jack studied the paper, his jaw tightening. The Paramount Club was marked with a note: Meeting, Friday at 9 PM.
The Ambush
They didn’t make it to the club right away. The rain had slowed, but the night air was heavy with tension. Jack and Samantha were heading back to Jack’s office when the sound of footsteps echoed behind them.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, their movements deliberate. Jack’s hand went instinctively to his revolver, and Samantha followed suit. The men weren’t thugs—they were off-duty cops, their badges tucked away but their guns drawn.
“Well, well,” one of them sneered. “If it isn’t Marlowe, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Jack didn’t flinch. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”
“Hand over the watch,” the other cop growled, his voice low and threatening. “Or we’ll take it off your corpse.”
Jack exchanged a glance with Samantha, their silent understanding firing like a spark. “Sorry, boys,” Jack said, his tone dry. “Fresh out of favors.”
The alley erupted in chaos. Jack ducked as the first shot rang out, his revolver barking in response. Samantha moved like a shadow, her pistol snapping off precise shots. One cop went down, clutching his leg, while the other dove for cover.
Jack fired again, the bullet grazing the second cop’s shoulder and sending him staggering. Samantha finished the job with another shot, her aim as sharp as her tongue.
They didn’t stick around. Jack grabbed Samantha’s arm, and they sprinted into the night. The city blurring around them in streaks of neon and shadow. When they reached the safety of Jack’s office, they slammed the door shut behind them. Their breaths heavy and ragged.
Jack leaned against his desk, his revolver still in his hand. “This goes higher than I thought. Salieri’s got the cops in his pocket. If we don’t shut this down, he’s gonna own the whole damn city.”
The Showdown
Friday night arrived, and the Paramount Club gleamed like a beacon of sin. Its neon sign flashing above the line of patrons who were more vice than virtue. Jack, Samantha, and Rourke slipped in through the service entrance. Weapons hidden but ready.
The main floor packed with Salieri’s peopl. Dealmakers, enforcers, and politicians drowning their morality in whiskey and smoke. At the back of the room, Salieri sat in a private booth, flanked by two hulking bodyguards.
“There he is,” Rourke muttered. “But this isn’t a social call. Salieri’s making a deal tonight, something big.”
Jack’s resolve hardened. “Let’s not give him the chance.”
They wove through the crowd, sticking to the shadows until they reached Salieri’s booth. Jack’s revolver was steady in his hand, but before he could act, Salieri looked up, his smile sharp and cold.
“Marlowe,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise. “I wondered how long it would take you to show up.”
The room fell silent, every eye on them. Salieri leaned back in his seat, his smile twisting into a smirk. “You’ve come a long way to die.”
Salieri’s bodyguards moved first. Their guns snapping up in the same instant that Jack fired his revolver. Rourke tackled one of the men, wrestling his weapon away. Samantha dove behind a table, her pistol barking as she covered Jack.
The chaos spilled into the back room, where crates of contraband lined the walls. Jack chased Salieri through the shadows, dodging bullets and overturned furniture. He caught up to him, the silver pocket watch still ticking in his coat.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Marlowe,” Salieri sneered, his gun aimed at Jack. “You think you can stop me? You think you can save this city?”
Jack’s revolver snapped up, his shot clean and precise. Salieri staggered, clutching his chest before crumpling to the floor.
The Aftermath
The Paramount Club was quiet now, its patrons either scattered or slumped in defeat. Rourke emerged, bloodied but alive, his smirk intact. Samantha joined him, her coat torn but her eyes sharp.
Jack stood over Salieri’s body, the silver pocket watch heavy in his hand. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the night. The clock had struck midnight, but Jack knew it would strike again.
Together, they walked out into the rain-soaked streets, their resolve unshaken. There was still work to do. The city wasn’t ready for rest.
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