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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Flash Fiction: Noir Story

Chapter 22

I followed Annie and Horner outside and stood beside our borrowed car. It was dark and there was still a hint of rain in the air, casting a dark shadow under the broken streetlight beneath where I was parked. I wanted a smoke, but I didn't want the attention the lighter would bring so I watched as he led her to his car. Annie held onto his arm, and I could hear the trace echoes of her laugh as they walked. Annie huddled beneath her dark coat, her boots clacking on the wet pavement, holding onto that piece of shit's arm.

Horner opened the door for her and the blond in the halter top, both sliding into the passenger side of his two seater. Horner had to be doing okay for himself driving a sweet ride like that, a sporty little red convertible that should have been stripped bare if it was left on this side of the Barrows. That marked Horner as a made man, someone known well enough in Sixx's group to warrant some measure of protection. He darted out of his spot as I slid the borrowed car out of park and began tailing him. I wasn't sure what was running through Annie's mind on that car. She was smart and tough, but Roger Horner was not a man I would want her fucking with.

I tailed the car, keeping my distance, but not letting him get out of sight. I watched the car slid into a parallel spot in front of a set of apartment buildings well outside of the Barrows. Seems my guess about Horner was right. This place was just beginning to see an urban renewal as was just the sort of trendy local an up and comer in the trade might take on. Close enough to the heart of the action to keep tabs on his business, but far enough outside to set himself apart. I slid the Dodge into a spot about a quarter mile down the road and watched in the rear view mirror as Horner, Annie, and the bimbo tittered and stumbled up the stairs. After they were inside, I got out of the car and lit a cigarette. Almost time. Almost.

After a few minutes, my cell beeped a number, A22. That was the apartment she was in with Horner. Time to make my play. I walked up to the building, eyeing the front door. One monkey in a black suit. Big son of a bitch too. I reached up the sleeve of my coat, feeling the weight and grip of the collapsible baton there. Still griping the baton, I walked up to the goon at the door and smiled, letting the butt of my smoke hang from my mouth, calmly asking to see Mr. Horner in room A22. I didn't wait to see if he objected.

End of Line.

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