The Marvel Knights Group presents: Slyde #1

The singer was billed under the name Blue Rose and she was the most beautiful woman Jalome Beacher had ever seen in his life. After a seemingly endless parade of manufactured showgirls, with their coiffed hair and sequined smiles, he had begun to despair that this three-day vacation in Vegas would prove to be a bust – but, suddenly, here she was. There was more than a little of a Rita Hayworth about her, with her wild, russet hair that flared with streaks of gold and the amused tilt of her green eyes, and there was a fullness to her breasts and hips, as sleek as a whisper in a blue velvet dress, that drew the eye and wouldn't let go. There was more elegance and poise to her than all these other artificial dolly birds could even dream of, turning heads as surely as a slap to the face. And that voice? Man, that was the voice of an angel if ever there was.

"I'm in love," said Jalome, as Sawyer Quinn took a seat at the table alongside him. Sawyer glanced across the softly lit lounge of the Moonlight Sonata hotel to where an elderly pianist was accompanying Jalome's angel in a swooning rendition of Glad To Be Unhappy. He grimaced.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, waving a hand. "Good lookin' dame. Now, lissen - "

"More than a dame," Jalome sighed, shaking his head. "You got no class, Sawyer."

"I got class to spare, slick. When God gave out class, I held out both hands, an' one of them was a fist. Now, about this - "

"I mean, just look at her," Jalome murmured, his dark eyes twinkling. "Look at the way she moves, she smiles... even the way she breathes. It's like catching lightning in a bottle, you know? It's just something about her. She's killing me."

"Yeah, well, she can get in line!" Sawyer yapped. "Whaddaya say we quit with the lonely hearts an' get down to business, huh? I gotta job I wanna discuss with you."

Jalome scowled and turned to glare at his companion. They were both of them black, mid-thirties and dressed in tuxedos, although Jalome looked more comfortable in his. He was slimmer than Sawyer, with less of a ridge about the shoulders even though he was still well-built. He was also far better looking, with short hair, lively eyes and a disarming smile, compared to Sawyer's broken nose, scarred lower lip and cauliflower ears. Sawyer had once been a boxer, hence the appearance and an overly developed upper torso. He'd been good, too. Could have been a contender. Until some shmoe had removed both his thumbs with wire-cutters some eight years back. He was still bitter about that.

"I told you," Jalome said, firmly. "This is a vacation. That means no 'jobs' – no heists, no snatches. No costume. No Slyde."

"But - "

"But me no buts."

"But - "

"Go play slot machines, okay?" Jalome barked. "I'm listening to the lady."

"Delilah Malone."

"What?"

"Delilah Malone, that's her real name."

Jalome narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How'd you know that?"

Sawyer smiled, which the scar rendered more than a little menacing if truth were told, but Jalome was used to it. He said, "You ever heard of The Rainbow of Zanzibar?"

"Hope and Crosby, right?"

"Don't be a wiseass, I'm serious. Zanzibar, see, it's this island off the east coast of Africa in the Indian Ocean - "

"I know where the hell Zanzibar is."

"Yeah, well, back in the eighteenth century, there was a Sultan, name of Zou Zou."

"Zou Zou?"

"Zou Zou."

"Zou Zou of Zanzibar," Jalome nodded. "Got it. What's this got to do with the beacon of loveliness whose performance you're currently spoiling for me?"

"I'm gettin' there. Zou Zou, see, he's in love with this peasant girl."

"Zsa Zsa?"

"Shaddap. He's in love with this peasant girl, an' she's obliged to marry him 'cause he's the Sultan, right? But he wants her to really love him back, so he sets out to woo her. Buys her goats an' whatever, you know?"

"Goats. You know this for a fact, he buys her goats."

"I don't know, goats, cows, somethin' like that. It's not the point. Point is, she's all grateful for the goats an' pigs - "

"Pigs too?"

"Goats an' pigs, whatever, but he still wants to prove his love to her before they get hitched. So he gets his people to track down the best jewels they can find. Sends them out everywhere, to Europe, Asia, Brazil, wherever. Takes, what, five years? Maybe more. Five years, whatever. They come back, they got all these jewels. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds. The Sultan, he takes one of each kind, the biggest an' best, an' he has them set into a golden mask. Seven jewels, outta all the ones found, an' gives the mask to the girl, asks her to marry him. This here, it's a true story. The mask gets called The Rainbow of Zanzibar, on account it's got all the colours of the rainbow."

Sawyer sat back, and smiled. Jalome stared at him.

"Did the Sultan marry the girl?"

"What?" Sawyer frowned. "Hell, I don't know."

"You don't know? You tell me a story, you don't know the ending?"

"Ending? What ending? The Rainbow's the ending. The Sultan, he makes this mask with the jewels."

"That's not an ending. The girl realising the Sultan loves her, the Sultan realising that jewels and masks don't mean jack, that's an ending. Happy ever after."

"Damn right she's happy, she's sittin' her peasant ass on a goddamn fortune."

Jalome shook his head in despair and glanced back across at the beautiful redhead – Delilah Malone, allegedly – who was now crooning an effortless Moon River and looking magnificent as she did so.

"Anyway," Sawyer continued, his smile returning. "Here's the thing. You know where The Rainbow is now?"

"Kentucky?"

"No."

"Enlighten me."

"It's here. Or, well, it will be. Later on tonight."

Jalome turned, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Here? What do you mean?"

"See that guy?"

Sawyer pointed. Jalome looked. Five tables to the right of them sat four guys in black suits, drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. They were all tanned and dark-haired, and interchangeable. Wiseguys. Always in Vegas were the wiseguys.

"Which one?" said Jalome. "The one who looks like a Maggia creep, or the one who looks like a Maggia creep, or the one - "

"Bodyguards. Forget them. I mean the little guy, with the rings."

Jalome squinted. "Oh," he said. There was indeed a fifth man at the table, flanked by the other four. He was small and round, bald as a baby lizard, with a napkin tucked under his collection of chins. He was eating a chicken leg, and just about managing to get most of it in his mouth. His fat, greasy fingers were encrusted with diamond rings.

"Amadeus Rocco," said Sawyer, whispering.

"Why are you whispering? They can't hear us."

"This is the Moonlight Sonata. Walls have ears."

"We're not sitting near any walls."

"Shaddap and listen. Rocco owns this joint. He's a nasty piece of work – an' he's got The Rainbow, okay? Picked it up in Atlanta some six years back after he whacked some one-armed antiques dealer who was snitchin' to the feds, an' he's been sittin' on it ever since. Until tonight – when he sells the mask on to Alicia Manfredi."

Jalome frowned. "I know that name."

Sawyer nodded. "You should," he said. "Daughter of Silvio Manfredi – otherwise known as Silvermane. He's gone a few rounds with Spider-Man, with about as much success as you have."

Jalome glared at him, although the mention of Spider-Man caused him to visibly twitch. "What does any of this have to do with us?" he said, speaking quietly himself now.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Well, duh," he muttered. "Tonight – here at the Moonlight Sonata – Rocco will sell Manfredi the jewels in exchange for a cool ten million."

"Dollars?"

"No, peanut M & Ms. Yeah, dollars. Geez."

"And, what? You think it would be an idea to get involved here?"

"For ten million dollars..."

"No," Jalome snapped. "Don't even think it. Don't even. This is Maggia territory, Sawyer. Do you not watch The Sopranos? Having Spider-Man whip me like cream, or having Hawkeye stick me in the butt with a trick arrow, that's one thing. But these guys are killers. They'll put you in a bath full of cement so much as look at you. This is insane. Besides, I haven't brought the costume, and - "

Jalome paused. He looked at Sawyer. Sawyer wiggled his eyebrows.

"Wait a minute," said Jalome, slowly. "You've known about this all along, haven't you? All that sob story back in New York – 'She's left me, Jalome, Tiffany's up and gone, come to Vegas with me and help me forget, sniffle sniffle, yadda yadda' – that was all bull, wasn't it? What happened, you were collecting protection money for The Rose and someone slipped you this Rainbow info instead of that week's cash?"

"Pretty much."

"So, you trick me into going on vacation... you book us in here at the Moonlight... and you brought my costume, didn't you? Oh man, now it all makes sense – that's what's in the golf bag back in the room, isn't it? I wondered how the hell you planned to play golf with no thumbs."

Sawyer nodded throughout, although the reference to his missing thumbs made him wince. Jalome just sat and scowled.

"No," he said.

"But - "

"Not going to happen, Sawyer. You can forget it, ten million or no. There's no way in the world Slyde's going to make an appearance here, tonight or any night. You hear me? No. End of discussion."

Sawyer sighed, and shrugged. "Well, okay," he said. "Shame about the dame, though."

Jalome blinked and glanced back over towards the piano. The redhead had finished her set to a rapturous round of applause, and was sashaying away on a pair of killer heels, her blue velvet dress clinging to a dynamite pair of legs as she moved. Jalome swore he could smell her perfume from twenty feet away. She made her way past one table, then another, smiling seductively as she went, until...

"Oh, no." Jalome's heart skipped. "Oh, now, come on. That's just cruel."

"That's how I knew her name," Sawyer said, apologetically. "That's why I told you the story about The Rainbow. See? It all fits."

Jalome looked on, utterly forlorn. The redhead, Delilah, had slowed to a halt alongside the table where Amadeus Rocco sat with his four bodyguards. She was still smiling, but Jalome could see that the smile was forced. Delilah bent down, hesitantly, to plant a kiss on Rocco's cheek, but in doing so she accidentally jarred his arm and he dropped his chicken leg. Instinctively he lashed out, and slapped her hard across the face. She staggered back.

At the surrounding tables, there was a collective sharp intake of breath, and two or three angry men made to push themselves up from their chairs, aghast at what they had just witnessed. The wiseguys all rose quickly in response, a couple of them allowing their jackets to ride back just enough to reveal the revolvers in black holsters beneath. The uprising subsided as quickly as it had begun – except for Jalome, who was still standing, fists clenched.

Delilah turned, hand pressed to her face, her skin now as red as her hair – especially where one of Rocco's many rings had cut her cheek. There were tears in her green eyes. She looked at Jalome, wild and ashamed, and Jalome stared back. Rocco smoothed a hand over his bald head then picked up his chicken from the table, smiled, and recommenced eating.

"Hey, hero." The nearest of the four suits stared pointedly at Jalome. "It's hard to sit down when your legs are broken. Wanna try it?"

Jalome seethed, his whole body shaking. The wiseguy raised a dark eyebrow, and one of his fellows chuckled. Jalome looked back at Delilah, but she had turned her face away. Slowly, Jalome sat down, and the four suits did the same, casting him baleful glances as they did so.

Sawyer whistled, and Jalome turned to see that his friend was looking decidedly ill.

"Point taken," said Sawyer, hoarsely. "My bad. We'll go find another hotel, an' - "

"No."

Sawyer blinked. "What?"

Jalome met his gaze with steel in his eyes. "I said, no," he repeated. "We're not going anywhere. You had a plan in mind for tonight, right?"

Sawyer nodded. Jalome smiled, coldly.

"Okay," he said. "Then I think it's time I went and changed into something a little more comfortable..."

TO BE CONTINUED...