The Chameleon

By Rachel Ann Michael Harris

If I’d been smart, I never would have taken that dame’s job. Never should have left the office.

With the afternoon sun blazing down, I watched from my window as Mrs. Malloy strode down the street with her blond hair caught up in a net, a knit cardigan over her shoulders, and plaid skirt skimming her knees. She glanced back once more with those Bambi eyes. Who could have refused her? Unfortunately, she thought her husband had gotten mixed up with Johnny the Chopper. It was a bad time to be mixed up with mobsters as they were being popped one by one. Lucky for me the coppers were offering a pretty penny for dope on the murderer. What better place to catch a killer than standing next to the victim?

Grabbing my coat, I left the office. While I was no snitch, I knew plenty who were. The mobsters had gone underground when the murders started, but I was pretty sure I knew who could give me the information I needed.

A light through a window above illuminated the dark alley as I walked up behind Ducky leaned over the inside of his trunk.

“How’s it, Ducky?”

Ducky conked his head against the lid of his trunk as he turned. Theatrics probably weren’t needed, but I wanted the gun runner to know I meant business… and to give myself the upper hand.

“Charlie.” His voice quivered like a dead leaf in the wind. Ducky tried to bolt to the side, but he wasn’t the quickest or most agile on his feet.

I caught him by his lapels and tossed him against the trunk. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Johnny who?”

“Johnny the Chopper.” Ducky was known to talk with the slightest pressure so he was the last stooge Johnny would speak to. Still, Ducky had the means of learning what others didn’t want him to know.

“Oh, that Johnny. He don’t go by the Chopper no more.”

“I don’t care about his moniker. I just want the man.”

“Okay, okay.” Ducky held up his hands. “He’s hidin’ out at the Butterfly Club. In the warehouse district.”

I tipped my hat to the man. “Good doin’ business with you.” And I walked toward the street.

As I glanced back, I bumped into a skittish school marm. She was wrapped up tight in a grey suit with an almost tighter bun of blonde hair on her head. “Excuse me, miss.”

I had a hard time seeing her eyes behind those horn rimmed glasses, but she wouldn’t look at me, just kept her attention on the sidewalk. “Pardon me, sir,” she muttered and scurried off.

No skin off my nose. I had a club to find.

I was met with the sultry voice of a canary when I walked into the Butterfly Club the next night. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, and her gams peeked out of a glitzing red dress that sparkled as she swayed to the music. For a moment, I froze in my tracks, mesmerized by that golden voice.

Johnny was in the corner, and he made me not two shakes after I walked through the door.

Curse my wondering eyes. As I cut through the crowd, he bolted out the back. I followed and busted through to the alley.

“Don’t take another step or you’ll eat iron.”

I turned slowly. Johnny had his roscoe out. A jasper like him usually kept his cool, but he looked like a pinned animal.

“Don’t be a daisy.” I took a step toward him. “I ain’t here for you. I’m just lookin’ for a man in your employ.”

He cocked the pistol.

“Sam Malloy. Point me to him and I’ll be on my way.”

Johnny squinted. “No Sam Malloy works for me.”

“But his wife…” I pieced everything together a moment too late.

Bang.

Johnny dropped to the ground with a hole in his head.

“Grab air.”

I knew that sultry voice. And there she was, the canary in her glitzy red dress. The school marm I’d stumbled into the night before. The housewife who sent me to find her husband.

I was right. The best way to catch a murderer was standing next to the victim. I hated being right.

She laughed. “What? Didn’t think a dame could pull the trigger?” She raised her chin. “Neither did Carlo. You’re probably familiar with him as the first boss to drop. I knew him as my beau. I was just another pretty thing on his arm. But I gave him ideas for his business. He implemented them, passed them off as his own, and basked in the praise of his cohorts as I sat in the shadows.

“But I saw what I could do. What I could be. He never saw me coming. None of them did. As each one fell, I gathered the pieces. No longer separate crime syndicates but one. Reborn under a dame no less. I chipped away my marble exterior with bullets to become… the queenpin, if I may.”

“Long live the queen,” I said. “Just one question. Why me? You didn’t need help with any of the others.”

She jerked her head towards the stiff. “Johnny was smart.” Her heels clicked like the ticks of a clock as she strode towards me. “He went underground. So, I hired a gumshoe who cared more about the Benjamins than sense. Don’t tell me you weren’t interested in the coppers’ reward for me.” She shook her head. “You underestimated me, too. Just saw another pretty face.” She aimed the gun between my eyes. “You didn’t even bother asking my name.”

“Alright then. You said you were Mrs. Malloy. Who are you, then?”

She smirked. “Doesn’t matter now. But you can call me the Chameleon.” She cocked the gun. “Enjoy your next life. I know I’ll enjoy mine.”

I never should have left my office that day. I would’ve much preferred to be among the living.

Bang!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Ann Michael Harris is the writer of fantasy stories and working on her first full length novel as well as other projects. She’s been published in various anthologies and with Havok Publishing. In 2019, she won the Untold Picture Contest through Untold Podcast with her piece, The Defeat of Raven’s Swamp. Currently, she is working on a blogged fantasy adventure, Woven Fate, released in segments each month. You can visit her on Facebook or at her website.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook