A gunshot echoed through the New China Arts like a starting pistol for a nightmare.
Screams rang out. Glass shattered. Security ducked. Tommy's entourage went for their weapons. Someone tripped, and someone else was trampled. Bang. Another gunshot. Then two more. One of Tommy's men went down.
The crowd surged like a wave breaking its banks onto Bayard Street.
Lillianne scanned for Eddie, but he was already gone. Swallowed by the tide or vanished of his own accord, she couldn't tell. Her head throbbed, the bullet inside pulsing like a sonar ping.
Meanwhile, Eddie took to the streets, just as rain began to fall. His heart slammed against his ribs as he ducked into an alley. He was now a hunted man, with a price tag on his head. A gunshot cracked the air, chipping brick inches from his skull. He fell back, stumbled, then took off again. No time to see who fired at him.
The rain turned the neon signs of Chinatown into bleeding watercolors, as Eddie latched on to a fire escape and climbed up three flights, across a rusted grate, and over a wet rooftop. He paused, breath heaving. Pulled his gun.
Three bullets.
He crouched low, checking the street below. A shadow lingered—too steady for a drunk, too casual for a cop.
Another shot rang out. Eddie returned fire, hitting metal.
Then a car screeched to a stop.
It was Jimmy down below. Eddie whistled from the rooftop. "JIMMY!"
"Get the fuck down here!" Jimmy shouted.
Eddie didn't hesitate. He scampered down the fire escape like a hellcat, then swung his body weight off the last rung and onto the pavement. He slammed into a line of trash cans, careened into Jimmy's car door, and got in.
Inside, the windows fogged with breath and rain.
"Word's out," Jimmy said, peeling onto Pell. "Every psychotic punk with half a gun and a quarter brain thinks wasting you punches his ticket into Tommy's good graces."
Eddie scanned the sidewalks. "You think Tommy gave the order?"
Jimmy spat out the window. "Didn't have to. They're doing it for free. That painting turned you into a bounty."
"I'm not leaving without Lillianne."
Jimmy snorted. "Listen to you, man. What, you love her now or something stupid like that?"
"Yeah, maybe." Eddie stopped cold, looked Jimmy straight in the eye, and said, "So what? I’ll admit it, I got it bad for her."
"You're crazy, you know?"
"You told me not to, but I did it anyway. Had you said 'go on, do it,' I wouldn't have done it. So it's your fault."
"You wanna run that by me again?"
"I've always been that way! Doing the opposite of what I should do! We all got flaws; that’s my flaw. Besides, you don't know what it's like being in love with a woman who knows she can die at any moment and embraces it like life itself, Jimmy!"
"Eddie, stop talking, you're not making sense. Yeah, she can die at any moment. Meanwhile, if she lives, you could be paying alimony to her for the rest of your life."
"But I'm drawn like a moth to a flame!"
"I'm getting you outta here," Jimmy shouted. "I told you she'd cost you."
"You told me, Jimmy. You said it!" Eddie’s voice cracked. "But when I tell you Lillianne is the hottest woman who has ever lived, I’m not exaggerating.”
He leaned forward, eyes wide, hands trembling like he was still feeling the scorch. “She’s insatiable. This is like sleeping with Satan’s little sister. Her body doesn’t just throw off heat, Jimmy—it emits, it radiates. I swear to God, I thought I was gonna wake up with second-degree burns.”
He paused. “And those eyes... Jesus, those black holes she calls eyes? They don’t just look at you—they audit your soul. No hiding. No charm. No B.S. SHE SEES THINGS, JIMMY!"
“What’d you mean—she sees things?”
“She knows if you’re lying, she knows you’re telling the truth. There’s no wiggle room!”
“Romantic. Just so we’re clear: you’re in love with that,” Jimmy said drily.
“Yeah. When you look past the space-heater succubus with the X-ray guilt vision,” Eddie said, voice softening, “there’s a real woman there. Real vulnerabilities. Don’t forget—she’s got a bullet stuck in her head. When she orgasmed in my arms, Jimmy, I thought she was gonna implode. I said my fuckin’ Hail Marys.”
"Should've never brought you down here. You’re losing your grip! You used to be level-headed. 'Eddie, I need you to shake down some gimp who owes me money'—'Sure, Jimmy, no problem.' 'Eddie, do some pick-ups for me on Amsterdam'—'Anything you need, Jimmy.'"
Eddie stared out the windshield. "How the hell does this happen? I wasn't there that night. You know I wasn't there! I didn't even know her! How do I end up as the would-be assassin she painted?"
Jimmy chuckled darkly. "It's a Taoist curse, is what it is. Ever hear of mirrored time? Parallel moments? Taoist folklore is full of weird shit that don't make sense. Lillianne gets shot in the head, and she lives. Does that make sense? In what world? An event of that nature throws all of the mechanisms of predictability and logic into disarray."
"What's that again—Tao?"
"Yeah, ‘The Tao,’ it's Chinese for how everything is connected.”
“So everything is in disarray but connected.”
Jimmy sighed. “I get exasperated trying to explain things to you.”
“You just said …”
“Eddie, Eddie, listen. Maybe you're not the guy who pulled the trigger, but you rhyme with him. You echo. When you stepped into Lillianne’s life, you tripped a switch. Time is not linear, and now you're looking back into a fractured mirror. It's not you, but it's your destiny."
“So, I’m not the guy, but it might as well be me. Okay, now you’re not making sense."
"Course not. Because you're looking for answers in Chinatown when you should be running!"
Jimmy hit the brakes. Red light on Canal. "You want sense? Go back to Columbus Avenue. Here, you get prophecy. You get karma. You get ghosts."
A car pulled up beside them.
Jimmy's eyes twitched. "Shit."
Gunfire tore through the window.
POP. POP. POP.
Jimmy collapsed, blood soaking the dash. The car veered. Eddie grabbed the wheel.
He swerved to the curb, jumped out, heart hammering.
Another shot whistled past.
Eddie ran.
Behind him, Chinatown howled.
End of part four
© Michael Arturo, 2025
Michael Arturo is a playwright, screenwriter, and fiction author who also writes random essays on social and political issues. He was born and raised in New York City. His plays have been produced in New York, London, Boston, and LA. He also created the Double Espresso Web Series from 2010 to 2014. Vimeo.com/espressodes
To support his work, please donate, purchase a subscription, leave a comment, or follow. Thank you.
Buy Me A Coffee
Support by hitting the like button or leaving a comment.
Share this post