Noir II: Femme(ish) Fatale
Sunset Boulevard, drenched in a harsh white neon light. My feet were sore and my head ached. I shouldered my way to the bar. Ernie was making out with Bernice. I caught Rhoda’s eye and gave her a friendly wave. She’s got class—she looks like a princess. I always was a sucker for a good fairy tale.
I was to meet him at 6:30. When we first met, he was a pistol, full of ideals and a natural leader. He was the hot young piano prospect in jazz. Later, at the club, he got tight on brandy, a shot rang out—he claims he was framed. As soon as he got put under pressure, he sang like a canary. Somehow I managed to get the job done: He was paroled after serving nine months of a two-year sentence.
He arrived late. He winked at Nicole as he passed. High-heeled shoes, a platinum wig. The dress didn’t suit him.
“I might have known it was you.”
“I’m quite a good actress, I suppose. Here’s the money I promised you.”
“Say, did you notice any blood?”
“What an unfeeling little brute you are.”