She held a cigarette, between two of her red tipped fingers, the others wrapped around a glass of bourbon, its amber surface placid, unlike my head. The cigarette burned long, but she didn’t ash it.
She was the wife of my old client, soon to be his widow, and now, the lover of my new client.
“What’s a matter, Jack? Don’t like the company?” she said.
“It’s not you,” I said.
“Good.” She put the cigarette to full lips and took a long drag, still not ashing it.
The motel room had two beds, black and white striped comforters, a phone in the middle, wallpaper yellowing. We sat on the patio, its privacy screen hiding us from the rest of the world, which was fine, but I was getting sick of walls.
“You probably, think I’m awful, don’t you?” she asked, letting the smoke dance above her. “If it matters, I’m not.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do, Ma’am,” I said. She was a siren and I a sailor.
“Don’t call me that. Call me Jane,” she said, and her green eyes flashed.
I threw back my drink, and its heat crawled up my chest into my cheeks.
The phone rang, and I crossed the room to answer it, the receiver's plastic clammy in my hand.
“It’s done,” the voice on the other end said. It was Sam. I hung up.
“Well?” she asked.
I nodded.
“He’s not good for me, you know,” she said, manufacturing a tremor. “I’m scared, Jack.”
I stayed quiet.
“He’s just like my husband,” she said, “sometimes I feel he doesn’t love me, like this was all a game to him.”
My heart beat faster. She was good. I tried to focus, but she took another drag on that damned cigarette.
“Sam?” I asked, but I already knew.
“Who, else.” she said, finally putting out the cigarette, never having ashed it once. She lived her whole life like that.
I fingered the pictures in my blazer, the ones her husband had hired me to take, the ones her lover, Sam, had paid triple to keep. As I fidgeted with them, my fingers brushed the firing pin that belonged to a .38 special snub nose revolver, and I smiled.
“It was never about the money with you,” Jane said. “You were helping me the whole time. Weren’t you?”
“You got me, baby,” I said, I laid it on thick, too thick, but she didn’t notice.
She crossed the room, her spiced perfume reaching me first, and drew me close, close enough to kiss, but we didn’t. Her green eyes pools, and for a second, I swore I could make out their rocky shallows.
“When Sam comes, don’t let him take me,” she whispered, making me lean in.
“Let’s leave now,” I said.
“And leave the money?” she asked, her lips brushing my ear. “Let’s take the money and run. Mexico. Just me and you.”
The door opened behind us, and she pushed off me with a breathless - “Help!”
Sam charged, but he was too slow and not a fighter. I laid him out with a single, well-timed jab. I bent and picked up his brown leather bag. It was heavy, full of cash.
“Stop,” Jane said, her mercurial voice gone cold, “drop it.”
She had the .38 special on me, and I knew it had come from under the pillow, because I had found it there earlier.
I slipped my hand into my blazer. She pulled the trigger. The gun clicked and I smiled.
“To what could have been, right baby?” I said, and tossed her the firing pin.
I pulled the door closed behind me and she raged, pulling the trigger repeatedly, the gun impotent.
***
It was three hours later and 100 miles away, on a train headed North, when I dared check the bag. Inside, was a rat's nest of newspaper shred. I laid the pictures on top the nest, zipped it up, and tucked it neatly beneath my seat. Go figure.
You're very good at imagery. Your descriptions are very precise, evocative, and efficient.
My favorite line was:
“Who, else.” she said, finally putting out the cigarette, never having ashed it once. She lived her whole life like that.
because it was brilliant how you illustrated her attitude towards life with a casual, physical mannerism.
Congratulations on a short fiction, beautifully written, and I look forward to reading your future work.