When Pinky arrived at Hats Rizzo’s apartment, he heard movement through the door. Hats was definitely there. And from what he knew about Hats, the guy wasn’t going to be easy to subdue. Pinky had to get the drop on him.
Armed with only a small revolver he pulled from his ankle holster, Pinky rested against the door and took a few deep breaths. The gun was loaded with flower seeds—a type of bullet that caused flowers to instantly grow from the wounds they inflicted. Not only did the roots cause extra damage when the flowers grew from the target’s flesh, they also left behind pretty corpses after a gunfight. Pinky preferred using this type of ammunition because he felt that it was respectful to leave flowers with those he was forced to murder.
Pinky burst through the door into a tornado of activity. Hats was running through the room, digging through drawers, emptying cabinets, ripping open closet doors. He tossed everything he could grab into a tiny suitcase: clothes, guns, toy trains, blow-up dolls, rubber duckies, ropes of sausage, stacks of money, and a wide variety of hats in all different sizes and colors. He didn’t seem to notice Pinky stepping into the room, too busy shoving his weight on top of the suitcase to force it closed even with all the items hanging over the sides.
“Don’t move, Hats,” Pinky said, pointing his gun at the clown.
Hats looked up at him for a second, then went back to packing. He gave up on trying to close the suitcase and started tying the lids together with string.
“Help me tie this down,” Hats said.
Pinky didn’t answer the request. He’d heard that Hats was quite the clever weasel. He couldn’t lower his guard around him. Pinky opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He realized his gun hand was trembling.
“If you’re not going to help me then get lost,” Hats said.
Hats stood up and could barely lift the suitcase off the floor.
“Why’d you do it?” Pinky finally asked.
Hats gave him a grumpy sneer. “Why’d I do what?”
He didn’t even acknowledge the gun in Pinky’s hand. It might as well have been a banana.
“Why’d you flip?” Pinky asked.
Hats looked at him as if he were crazy. “Me? Flip? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re a rat.”
“I’m no rat. You’re the rat.”
“It was a mistake. They put a hit on my head because they mistook me for you.”
“Are you messing with me? Why’d anyone take me for a stinking rat? I’ve given everything to this family.”
Pinky tightened his grip on the revolver. “Beano Moretti is the one who hired Mr. Pogo to take me out. He said that the clown who is sleeping with Taffy Bozo has been working for the feds. That’s why he thought it was me. But I’m not the only guy sleeping with Taffy, am I? You’re the rat he should’ve targeted.”
Hats looked away from Pinky and mumbled, “That son of a bitch…”
Pinky couldn’t tell what he was on about.
“I’m a made clown,” Hats said. “That prick can’t do this to me. I’m supposed to be untouchable.”
Hats broke open his suitcase. Clothes and money exploded across the carpet as he dug out a sawed-off gumball shotgun.
“Put a hit out on an innocent clown, would ya?” Hats loaded the shotgun. “That prick doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”
“What are you talking about?” Pinky asked, his finger twitching on the trigger as the clown pumped the shotgun.
Hats looked at him. Then he went to his dining room table and grabbed a playing card. “I got it earlier today, not long after you got yours.”
When Pinky saw him hold up the black joker, he lowered his weapon.
“We’re in the same boat, kid,” Hats said. “They sent Mr. Pogo after the both of us.”