The Theater of Emerald Tears

I got soooo stuck on this story... so these couple chapters are draft...any feedback is very appriciated.

Chapter Eight

Cotton sheet felt smooth under the fine calluses of his fingers tips, not as smooth as his abacus, not as clear cut, but real life was neither. Laying there, feeling sunlight warm half his face, he tried to account for his life, for possibilities he didn\'t know he had by moving beads that weren\'t over the sheet. Jimmy. He wanted to find Jimmy, tell Jimmy that everything was okay.

\"Good morning, Mr. Diamond,\" a calm, authoritative voice said. \"It will be acceptable if you wake sometime soon. I would like some proof that my serum is effective.\"

\"I am awake,\" Sunny said quietly. \"Where am I?\"

\"You are in my home, so please remain a quiet patient. I have been trying a new serum made of mold and I am quite interested in it\'s affect on you.\"

There was a clicking sound and Sunny opened one eye. An older man, retired possibly even, in a white sweater and slacks stood near his bed with a syringe, needle pointing up, a bead of fluid catching the sunlight at the top.

<><><><><>


Final Chapter


Smugglers are very good at leaving trap doors and secret exits. Standing in a rowboat, Sunny reached for the rope ladder laying on the hole cut into the floor above him. Obviously, smugglers were tall. Distantly, like an underlayer of sound below the waves smacking against the pilings of the pier, gunfire and breaking glass painted an image of what he had to get Jimmy out of. The rope was impartial, like the gods, and lay just over the edge of the ocean blackened wood like the last sacrament for a body without breath. On the second jump, Sunny\'s broken ribs reminded him being in love does not mean you can fly.

Being in love also does not make a person stupid, but Sunny wasn\'t sure about that one as an alternative idea occurred to him. He could see it so clearly. There the eagle, polished and blue, chrome like so bright like the crosses that warded vampires, yes, that was it. He\'d be doing at least seventy, down the pier, leaning forward. His new hat wouldn’t even come off his head as he barreled towards the cops and Family a like. They\'d be too stunned to even aim at him!

He\'d crash through the blockade, into the warehouse and smash into the crates of evidence against Jimmy. Jimmy would be there, soot across one cheek, shirt sleeves rolled up and he\'d come out of the office, tommy gun against one hip, and Sunny could see himself, leaving the car, climbing the boxes, calling, \'I love you! I love you, Jimmy.\'

Sunny tucked his tongue between his lips, towards the corner of his mouth, and leaned back to look at the rope ladder and the practical plan that he couldn\'t quite reach. Life wasn\'t like the movies. Everything that had happened to him in the last two weeks had nailed that idea to the cross. Getting shot hurt. Beatings weren\'t all better the next day and loved ones did damn stupid things. Nothing was neat like the movies and he knew it wouldn\'t go like that, like in his day dream, but there was either the choice of sitting here, listening to Jimmy get killed, or the chance, how ever tiny, that he\'d be able to reach Jimmy.

Now he bit his lip, trying not to cry. He was going to die, probably should have been dead already. And if he just left here now, he could go to Colorado with Mi Ying. But his heart was up there in that firefight and he was already rowing towards the shore, he had to go where his heart was.

Rowing was only slightly better than jumping, but an excited peace was bubbling around him. One small problem was that Sunny had never stolen a car before and he didn\'t own one of his own. What he owned was a bicycle and somehow, not even his Hollywood colored mind, the outcome just didn\'t seem as favorable on a bicycle. On top of that, as the boat bumped up against the cement stairs that would lead him up to the wharf, he realized he\'d never actually driven anything more powerful than his bicycle.

There were forty steps up to the wharf and Sunny really didn\'t have any better ideas. His palms were sweating as he took hold of his handle bars. It was a new bike, the very best. He left the chain around the post the bike had been chained too. Maybe the sheer unlikeliness of it made it seem more plausible. In a movie, it would be a car, or a motorcycle. This wasn\'t a movie though, it was just Sunny on the top of the dock and it was all down hill to the last chapter. One foot on the ground, break held by his foot pressing the petal backwards. He could see into the warehouse, see Jimmy standing on the railing in front of the office, a tall target just out of reach of the cops gun fire.

Family men held positions between Jimmy and the cops, keeping them from their boss for minutes that he should have been using to escape. But he wasn\'t and Sunny was going to fix that.

\"Hello! Oh Hello!\" he screamed, waving with one hand.

No one bothered to look in his direction, except Jimmy, and even from a distance, Sunny could tell from the way his chin tucked, the way he grabbed the railing that Jimmy was not approving of this tactic. What he needed was… well, a loud noise.

Compared to the tommy guns disposing of good French champagne below, there wasn\'t much a guy on a bicycle could do. So… Sunny tapped his fingers against the handle bars, and then the great idea occurred to him. It was a spectacular idea, perfectly smashing. He put the kick stand down, dismounted and searched for prey.

There wasn\'t anything really spectacular, just a delivery truck, abandoned out of fear of bullets, and the police chief\'s car. It was a nice car, a Rolls Royce. Sunny knew whose car it was because he remembered sending payment to the company for this particular car. It had been a very nice bribe and now it would be a different kind of bribe, or at least a distraction.

He\'d teach them not to ignore him. He paid for this car for that lying servant of justice, who would now arrest Jimmy Caravello, and he, Sunny Diamond, would take said car back. That is, if he could get the gas cap open. Quickly he unfastened his cuffs and stripped off his shirt. Under that he had a tee-shirt which he peeled off. Before a feeling of vulnerability could set in, he slipped back into his shirt, rolled up the cuffs and left it untucked. He had his hat, he didn\'t need to tuck his shirt, but getting the tee-shirt into the gas tank took a little bit of aggression. Then it started soaking up the gas.

His fingers fumbled with the lighter in his pocket. It was a very nice Zippo he\'d pocketed at Dr. Jefferson\'s and the first thing he\'d ever stolen. Fifteen feet between him and his bicycle, but he didn\'t know how many seconds he\'d have once he lit his now gas soaked tee-shirt. Lighter out, he triggered it, the flint sparked, but didn\'t catch the wick. He tried again and a tiny flicker of Hell woke to greet him.

\"What\'cha doing,\" a young voice asked. \"Why you wanna blow up dat car?\"

Sunny killed the flame and glared at the kid, a little freckle faced red head with his hands in the pockets of his rolled up jeans. \"Go away! Its dangerous to blow up cars. You could get hurt.\"

\"Are you a Nazi? My Da just came back from Overseas and says that they gonna fix everyone up real proper.\"

\"I am Japanese,\" Sunny said, indignantly. He didn\'t know what a Nazi was and didn\'t want to, \"And an American. Now get lost.\"

The kid pulled a marble out of his pocket, a big cat\'s eye, \"Now see this? This is my shooter and ten to one I say yer a Nazi.\"

Sunny pushed his new hat down on his head and glared at the kid. \"If I tell you I\'m a Nazi and I\'m gonna blow up this car so I can fix everything straight, will ya go away?\"

\"Naw! Then I wanna help. Yer the best Mister!\" The kid shoved sho shooter back in his pocket and leaned forward like he was gonna hear the best secret in all New York. \"What I gotta do?\"

That little bit of Hell flicked back alive in Sunny\'s hand. \"Run home and tell your father that,\" Sunny paused, \"That something big, real big is about to happen. Hurry so he\'ll know!\"

Nodding, green eyes narrowed with concentration, the kid stuck out his hand. Sunny blinked, then understood and shook the kid\'s hand back. \"Thanks Mister! God bless America!\"

Sunny let the kid get across the street, then whispered, \"Hail Mary, Mother of God.\" That was all he could remember from his school days in that moment and really all he had time for. The cotton shirt went up like the last trace of the devil leaving the building and Sunny made for his bike.

Kickstand up, push off with the right foot, and the blast hit him in the back, hot as Hell and about as unforgiving. Sunny leaned forward over the handle bars, imagining red flames chasing him down the pier towards the warehouse and dozens of startled cops. This time his imagination was not far off as the nicest Rolls in town sprayed shattered glass and roiling flames in all directions. It lifted up off the ground like a big black rabid steel rabbit when the flames hit the two hundred bottles of whiskey in the trunk.

All eyes turned to the burning Rolls. Sunny\'s hat took flight, leaving black hair flying behind him and in that moment he didn\'t believe that a bullet could hit him, even if someone fired. He was a dragon on a bicycle for the two minutes it took him to race down the hill, across the pier, barely miss the cop cars that did not have the decency to get out of his way, and into the warehouse of shattered glass and spilled champagne. His tires went first, blowing like party balloons in the finale of a magic show. The sound of them echoed in the warehouse, making the lack of gunfire even more striking.

Maybe the cops thought he was a kid. Maybe the gangsters thought he was who he was and that Jimmy would kill them. Breaths held as the bicycle grated over the broken glass for the last five feet, and there he stood at the base of a mountain of shot up crates, looking up at a seriously speechless Jimmy Caravello.

Jimmy held the butt of his tommy gun against his hip dark hair stuck to a sweaty face. Shaky, Sunny dismounted from his bicycle, letting it fall into the debris. Someone coughed and one of the cops stood up. Sunny smiled. Jimmy\'s laughter echoed. A couple of other gangsters laughed. Sunny ran up the stairs to the railing that Jimmy stood on.

Maybe in the best movies the characters aren\'t thinking about what they\'re doing, they\'re just acting. It was 1933 United States though and some things were just illegal. Champagne and love could get you time in a box. Half way up the stairs, a cop moved forward and a gangster opened fire. Violence is like fire, feeding on itself, swelling after a moment\'s breath. Bottle fragments, wood splinters sprayed and Sunny ducked, arms over his head.

\"Sunny!\" Jimmy\'s yell was no competition for the resumed gun fire.

Looking up from where he crouched. Smoke billowed up behind Jimmy, a spark having caught the liquor on fire, perhaps. Sunny\'s tall Italian prince, collar undone, seemed to be done in black and white to Sunny, except for the blood lining down one cheek, the growing red on the once white shirt. The movie had skipped frames and it took Sunny a moment to realize he\'d passed out for a moment, such a short moment if so important. Jimmy rained bullets into the fire in the contraband. That was the only sound in the place now, Jimmy\'s gun and the crackling of the fire.

\"Jimmy! Jimmy!\" Sunny pushed himself up onto his hands and lunged. He hit Jimmy in the shoulder and knocked him back against the railing.

Rage darkened eyes didn\'t see Sunny. Whatever Jimmy\'s eyes saw it was Sunny\'s face that Jimmy\'s fist backhanded. Sunny hit the wall, his ribs screamed at him and he sank to his knees. Darkness rose around him, no matter how bright the fire was, the air was too hard to breath, the world too hard to understand. On his knees he looked up at Jimmy, tommy gun in hand as his idolized boss looked back down at him, and didn\'t see him. \"Jimmy?\"

Slowly the tommy gun lowered and flames rose like a wall behind Jimmy who dropped to his knees before Sunny. \"You were supposed to go to California, to Hollywood. I bought you a theater.\"

Sunny inched closer, nervous now and touched Jimmy\'s face. \"I can\'t go without you.\"

\"So we die together? You\'re an accountant,\" Jimmy accused, not pulling away as Sunny touched his cheek. \"I thought you could add, idiot.\"

\"Come to California with me,\" Sunny said. Coughing interrupted him and whitened out his vision. Another moment of fast forward followed, but when he sucked in air, he found himself held in Jimmy\'s arms, strong fingers caressing his hair.

They\'d moved into the office and the flames filled the railing outside, danced along the walls of the office with nothing but brick around them and soon to be burning floor below them. \"Why did you come back? God, Sunny, on a fucking bicycle! Are you insane? And you\'re hurt. God, Sunny, I\'d give my life for yours, why didn\'t you let me?\"

\"Life not worth anything without you,\" Sunny said, not trying to fight the smoke filling the room and his lungs now. \"One more minute with you, Jimmy. But Jimmy, we can go together.\"

Dizzy, Sunny pointed to a trapdoor under the desk they were sitting by. He was laying against Jimmy now, rather unsure of if they were going to try to get out or not. \"Rum route. Don\'t be angry at me, Jimmy, please.\"

\"I\'m not angry, Sunny,\" Jimmy said, \"I\'m not angry.\"

\"Okay,\" Sunny said, feeling like the film was going to skip frames again. \"Okay, Jimmy.\"

Jimmy took over the story for both of them then, dragging Sunny across the floor where the best air was to the trap door that he really wouldn\'t have noticed if Sunny hadn\'t pointed it out. Sunny never made rum runs, Jimmy knew that, but Sunny knew who to pay for storing or moving, which means he\'d know who would have trap doors. Jidecidecided he loved accountants, especially his.

From outside the warehouse, the cops were rounding up most of the gangsters, taking photos with journalists and proclaiming the end to the Mafia in New York, the end to the Family. The warehouse burned, destroying the sinful liquor and anyone left in side, obviously. Jimmy Caravello\'s power in New York was broken, over, finished. The cameras flashed. Headlines were being written proclaiming the notorious gangster dead.

But under the burning pier, one Italian gangster boy held his unconscious Japanese lover above the water, swimming steadily towards lights that flashed several piers down. Jimmy pulled Sunny up to the stairs, arms around his chest, hauled him up and then holding him lovingly, he carried him up the stairs towards where the car waited. He didn\'t know how he knew the flashing headlights were for them.

Mi Ying ran forward with a blanket and Dr. Jefferson sat behind the wheel, tapping his fingers nervously.

\"Come. Come. Car now,\" Mi Ying said impatiently. Jimmy just accepted, which seemed to work best in relation to Sunny.


Notes… this story is not finished… it\'s in draft mode… and well.. feed back is GREATLY appreciated