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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Flash Fiction: Noir Story

Chapter 6

I walked into Annie's apartment, rubbing the sting in my cheek. Annie had her back to me, cussing a streak so black that a bottle of lye wouldn't get clean. She walked towards her bedroom saying she had to get ready for her shift. She had on tight leather pants that were cut up the side and a tight white tank top that showed off her curves. You could see the tattoo of her vertebrae work its way out the top of the tank and stretch out to her shoulder blades blending unto a pair of wings. Her jet black hair was streaked with bright red highlights that highlighted the fierce green eyes that burned at me when she looked my way.

Annie was short, but she acted big. Her arms were covered in tattoos, sleeves, a mixture of skulls, flames, and bone that ended just past her elbows and she had more piercings than I had successfully managed to count, today sporting three large rings through her lower lip and another in in belly button. Who knew what lied under those pants. I long ago just accepted that she did these things to get a rise out of me.

I let her rant and somewhere in the mess of swearing and threatening gestures I figured out the real problem. She'd had a private job last night. Sometimes she worked private gigs for heavy rates, those days she would take some muscle with her in case things went to far. I hated those gigs but she would do them anyway, just to piss me off, so I usually agreed to do them. Apparently last night I had fucked up but good and forced her to use Tiny Miller, one of the bouncers at her club, The Lucky Lady. Tiny had a bit of a crush on her and if I hadn't of flattened his nose, he might have tried to make good on it.

I stood there and took the ranting. It was all I really could do at this point. I mean I HAD fucked up. I threw in an apology whenever it felt right to say it and that would spurn another tirade. Eventually she started to wind down though and agreed to let me take her to work. I grabbed her bag an she slipped on a long black trench coat that had seen better days. Once I had bought her a new one but she still kept the old one, to remind her where she came from. We headed out the door and I hailed a cab. I thumbed open a Bronson and we both lit up, the smoke wafting in the cab around her face and I thought to myself how lucky a fuck up like me had to be. If only I knew how bad my luck was about to get.

End of Line.

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