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| 1920s Photo Shoot3 by Jun TAN |
1927 - Chicago – West Side – Late Evening [continued...]
"Thanks doll-face," I said to Lucy,
lifting my empty glass in a mock-toasting manner.
"Don't thank me Sparky, I ain't the one
trying to swoon you," she quipped.
"And why the hell not?"
"A girl gots to have her standards,"
she returned with a sly grin and a tilt of her head.
"Ah hell Lucy, you really know how to charm
a fella don't `cha?"
Truth be told, I wasn't looking my best that
night. Oh sure, I had my on my regulars – a grey suit and black tie, white
cotton shirt pressed with heavy starch, and a pair of black patent leather
walkers – but I was looking rough. My suit was in need of pressing and
cleaning, and my shoes lacked the shine and luster their quality and make
demanded. Not to mention I was in desperate need of a bath and a shave; even
more reason to be cautious of this broad.
I put out my already smoldering choke stick,
grabbed up my newly acquired swill, and sauntered over to the damper-doll, keeping
my eyes focused on her getaway sticks. I figured a dame willing to lay down a
fair amount of cabbage for a drink for a man ought to buy her a moment of his
time at least. Besides, I wanted to find out what this dame was all about.
Perhaps my luck was about to change for the better.
"Have a seat Mr. Swagger," the kitten
purred as I approached. Her voice was low, raspy, and sexy. Her dark hair was
neatly tucked under a red hat, draped with a black veil covering her face. Her
fancy dress matched her fancy shoes: scarlet red. A pair of black silk gloves
and a sparkling black pocketbook lay on the table beside her glass, which was
full and without a trace of lipstick or fingerprints.
Her ashtray was empty too. This told me she had
not been there long. I didn't recognize her voice, and even though the veil
concealed her facial features, somehow she seemed familiar to me. This
immediately put me on guard, more so than I already was. I took a seat on the
bench across from her and sat my drink down without tasting it.
Cutting a glance at my glass I said, "I'm
sorry, this stiff hooker must be playing tricks with my eyes. Do I know you
doll?" It was difficult to discern her reaction through the veil, and the
dim lighting wasn't helping much either, but I could have sworn she cut a
smile.
"That all depends on who your friends are
Mr. Swagger," she said coolly as she reached for her pocketbook.
Without thought my gun hand slid surreptitiously
to my piece concealed under my jacket. A man in my business made more enemies
than friends; at least the good ones did. Let’s just say I didn't have many
friends.
She let out a hushed laugh diluted with sarcasm
while unlatching her purse.
"No worries Mr. Swagger. I don't plan on
killing you." She pulled out a dainty mirror and some
lipstick. Then, uncapping the lipstick she added, "Least, not yet."
Her hands were steady and her manner was relaxed
and cool as she brought the mirror to her face and began applying the bright
red lipstick under her veil with ease. Her calm demeanor assured me that she
wasn't there to kill me. Then again Belle Starr [1] was a dapper dresser known for having a
steady hand, and she was a ruthless killer. It made me wonder, however, how she
could have seen well enough to perform such a delicate maneuver in this dim lighting, but I suppose
a dame like her had plenty of practice and could have probably dolled herself
up in her sleep if the need arose.
"Well that's reassuring," I said.
"Then I suppose you want to get me liquored up and have your way with me first? I've seen this dance before doll."
She casually put her glam tools away and said,
"You got me all figured out, don't you Mr. Swagger? I suppose that's why
you're the best."
A quick glance at her vowed hand told me she
wasn't married. Perhaps I was going to get lucky after all.
"Has Lucy been braggin' on me again? And
they say ladies don't kiss and tell," I said, flashing a winning smile.
"Who said I was a lady Mr. Swagger? You
should know better than anyone not to believe all what your eyes do see,"
she remarked unflappably.
"So what you're sayin' is that you're
really a worker in roundheels [2] disguised as a lady in glad rags?" I jeered.
"Damn, and all this time I thought you were just crazy about my handsome
good looks and charm." I knew full well this dish was no street worker,
but sometimes you've got to rattle the cage to get the canary to talk.
"I'm afraid you have misinterpreted my
words. I was referring to your professional skills as an investigator, Mr.
Swagger, not your frail liquor-engorged… ego," she taunted, cutting a
glance at my midsection.
Her tongue was as sharp as her wit. By then I
knew this cat was no kitten. I had the tiger by the tail and she was crouched
low and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. I must admit it was arousing.
"My apologies ma'am," I said, tipping
a hat that wasn't there in her direction. "But in my defense it's
difficult to read you with your face covered up as it is. What are you trying
to hide? What gives doll-face?"
"I'm not trying to hide anything," she
was quick to respond. "I am…I'm in mourning."
You didn't need to be a top snooper to see
something just wasn't adding up.
"Well that answers that question. That
leaves who are you and what do you want?" The lighthearted tone
in my voice was all but absent. It was time to rattle the cage some more.
"For now all you need to know is that I am
newly widowed, and I need your help Mr. Swagger," she said demurely.
"I will gladly share more of me once I know I am in your confidence."
I noted the change in her approach, and the
absence of self-assurance and sharpness in her tone.
She was good, damn good.
I'm not a man who likes to mix business with
pleasure and the fact that she knew where to find me, coupled with her roguish
approach had me on edge like a whore in church. I was already in a sour mood as
it was, and to have this dumped in my lap was like adding lemons to prune
juice.
I was hoping Frank would walk through that door
at any moment and give me an excuse to leave. Then again, if this turned out to
be a legit job I might be able to catch up on some bills.
There was Mary to consider.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
[1] Belle Starr was born in 1848 and had a long lustrous
criminal career tied to some of the world's most famous outlaws of the day,
like Jesse James and the Younger brothers. Fittingly, she was also a direct
descendant of the Hatfield family (her mother was a Hatfield), whom were
infamously linked to feuding with the McCoys during that period in time. Belle
was known for being a sharpshooter who liked to dress in the latest fashions as
she rode sidesaddle blasting away with a pair of pistols at her side.
[2] Roundheel was a derogatory term often used to describe a woman who
was short on virtues and was quick to lay down with any man who came along. The
meaning behind the term implied that the heels of her feet were so rounded that
she couldn't stay upright. It was also used to describe boxers who were known
for having a glass jaw or couldn't take a punch.
Michael A. Walker
Defying Procrastination
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