Tumanny the Shark

This is the last picture of me before i died.

My name was Samuel "Too-Many-Instruments" Pawlin. But my friends called me Tumanny.

This is my story.

I was a gambler. Not just an on the weekends with your dad's pals kind of gambler. A real shady dark room where everybody's got a gun kind of gambler. And i used to win. I mean big, really win.

I had to switch towns quite a few times because of it. No gang bosses like to lose too many times, you know what i mean?

So that was my racket. I'd go from town to town, playing the cards until the big guns showed up. They'd try to take me for all I was worth, real gangster-style.

But they didn't. Even with them cheating, It was like lady luck had it real bad for me, you know? And if you've ever seen a big dumb crime boss cheating at cards, you know it's like an elephant wearing a toupee, real obvious.

So these guys wouold think they were real smart just because they were the big booze bosses in their little towns. I'm surprised more cops weren't wise to them, but they were probably paid real good to keep their mouths shut.

One day it was raining. Real cat and dog style, you know? And i saw this puddle in the grimy street. It was real tiny, like a nickel. Then there was this bigger puddle across the way, the kind a gentleman has to put his coat down on for a hot dame to walk over.

It just hit me. Little puddles only have a little water, right? It was time for me to start hitting bigger towns.

I figured I'd need some sort of disguise or else I wouldn't be able to shark anybody. And just like that, I saw it. There was a perfectly good sax sittin in the alley, like providence or something. maybe the owner was just sittin inside enjoyin a smoke and near forgot about it. I didn't care. I took the trumpet, and looked it over. How hard could sax be? I'd seen a lot of guys playing it, and they didn't seem to have a brain in their head once you talked to them in person. Real boring-types.

So I went to my hotel and started wailing. Turned out to be quite a bit harder than i expected, but i was the diligent type. Straight A's in school and what-not.

I hid out for about a year, practicing on that big flute and asking around to see who had the most loot, who was really loaded. My questions turned me to Chicago. Al Capone's big city. It was nice. Real nice. If I had been any type of a family man, a place I would have like to settle down in. Yeah, me with a picket fence and a little wifey to cook up the turkey.

In that year I'd gotten pretty good playing the sax and I knew just who was loaded.

There was a group of guys, real legitimate-looking on the outside, who owned all the hotels in Chicago. But they were the seediest lowlifes I'd ever heard about. Dirtier than any of the grime in any of the burbs I'd dealt with.

So I kept my ear to the ground, indian-style, for any way to get in. I was hanging out back of one of the hotels, the Lady, when I heard a scuffle around the corner. I crept up behind the dumpster. It was this musician I'd seen playing inside from time to time. He was really good, nimble fingers, you know? he was like pleading for his life and the goon that was out there just wouldn't have any of it. He was hitting the guy with a rod or something. He was turning the guy inside out like a shirt at the cleaner's. The goon looked all around, probably felt me watching. I ducked down lower, until I couldn't see anymore.

I heard the guy begging. The goon said something real low and the musician started crying. then I heard a quick silence followed by the loudest shriek I'd ever heard a man make. It was like the goon had ripped him in half or something.

When i looked up to see, the door was just closing behind the goon, and the little guy was in the alley crumpled all up crying and holding his hands.

I went up to him. He had the most pained look I'd ever seen on a man's mug before.

"my hands, my hands, my hands...," he just kept repeating over and over. I looked. His hands were a mess. I'd never seen so many bones up close, pink with blood.

I tried to get him up, take him to see a doc or something, but he wouldn't budge.

I looked at the rod lying on the ground. It was a clarinet, or oboe, or flute or something. He saw me eyeing it and finally made some sense.

"Take it," he said. I didn't have to ask twice. I could see that his hands would never be able to play again.

"I'll get em back for you," I said.

I felt real bad for the guy. I figured he'd probably gotten in too deep of a debt, or maybe he'd knocked up one of the thug's girls or something.

So there I was with a sax and a clarinet. I learned to play them both. Yeah, that's right, at the same time. I'd hold them both up to my mouth like pan with the flutes, you know?

No one else could do it, and believe me, they tried. I must have had thirty copycats trying to get in my style, but they couldn't, and the big guys noticed.

They set me up for a date to play at the Lady. Yep, that very same hotel. Now, I was a little nervous, but I was playing all my cards right, and I knew I'd take them all for a little spin after my music set.

I just had to impress them with my music and be real friendly-like in person.

So the night of my performance, I was wearin my lucky vest and my flutes were polished up real nice. I showed up at the back door, all set. just ten minutes to show time. The big bouncer gave me a funny grin that I didn't really like, then let me inside. I went backstage and warmed up a sec. I just had five more minutes.

Then this little squeeky kid came up to me with another sax and clarinet.

"Here are your instruments, sir." Sheesh. I could barely make it out from all his hormones.

"I already got em kid," I said, holding up my pieces.

"The boss said you gotta play with these too. He wants to see if you can."

Great. I hadn't counted on this. two instruments was hard enough, but four? I didn't know what to do. I took them from the kid, and gave him a dirty look to send him scampering.

I had one minute to showtime. I couldn't screw up. I stepped forward and the curtain parted. It was like every dame had dressed to kill and dragged her guy to this show. All of Chicago must have been there.

But I was used to big lights and the stage now. I put all four instruments up to my mouth and started playing. I was surprised at how good I was. It was easier than I had expected.

Everyone was so shocked and amazed. I blew em away like a tommy gun!

I finished my set and everyone, all of Chicago there, stood up and applauded. I was on top of the world.

My mind quickly sharpened though. I knew I had bigger fish to fry.

The big scary-looking thug came up to me and said,"The bosses want to see you."

I put on my best dumb face and followed him down some steps into the cellar. I saw a big card table all laid out, and in the next minute, so was I. I was hit on the back of the head with something real hard and passed out.

I came to with my instruments all glued to my hands, and a gag in my mouth. Two clarinets in my left, a sax in the other, and the other sax glued to my chest. I was scared. Real scared.
I couldn't eevn see his face when he spoke from across the card table.

"We know why you're here. We know who you are. You aren't Tumanny, like the kids call you. You're Samuel Pawlins, the Shark."

The Shark. I kinda liked it.

I tried to mumble some excuse as I backed away from the shadowy figure.

"This picture will be an example for anyone who thinks they can take on the big bosses of Chicago."

Then a flash flashed, the picture almost blinding me. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway because right after the picture snap came the gunshot.

And that was it. The best, worst and last night of my life.