TheBanyanTree: First Post

[Scott Daniels]

Wrote this for another use, but is mainly an exercise in a noir sort of thing...

Set around 1940.

?Cheese Danish, please.
?Sure thing. Coffee??
That?d be great. Black. Thanks.?
The sliders of the counter slammed shut and she gave a start. Pulling the compact from her purse, she peered at her lips, picking off the bit of cigarette paper she found. I look terrible. She tucked the compact away, controlling her breathing tightly. Reaching over the glass case, she took the bag and coffee, paid, smiling, and left the deli. 
Out in the searchlight sunshine she clipped nervously over the sidewalk, pausing twice to turn toward a shop window, her eyes casting back over her path, trying to see if anyone was following. At the door to Deckard?s place, she climbed the cement stairs, gave one last look around, and clicked open the door. 
Upstairs, she went into the bedroom, taking bites of the roll. She didn?t want food, but felt faint and needed something sweet to carry her. She opened the closet and pulled out a suitcase. Catching sight of a sticker for ?Hotel Nacionale, Havana? she winced. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled the paper lid off the coffee and sipped before absently leaving it on the nightstand to light a cigarette, her hands shaking so that she had to use both to steady the flame of her lighter.

Making love at the hotel the night before, she had felt safe for the first time in months on the run. They had dared to make some plans ? get clearer of the mess, let things settle down, maybe a trip to Havana for awhile. She had given herself to him more completely, almost fallling off the bed to the floor - they had laughed, and it was like dope in their heads.
In the morning she went down to the desk for toothbrushes, came back and found him, throat slit open in a way that made her shut yer eyes tightly now. How unexpectedly strange it was - the smell of so much blood, filling the air so quickly. She felt the rise of nausea all over again. 
She had followed her gut. 
Run.
He had tucked the money under the backseat, hidden in the springs, and they hadn?t found it. Leaving her clothes behind, she grabbed her purse, got into the car and drove until the fuel went almost dry before stopping to compose herself. She found an A&P, bought nylons and a few makeup essentials and kept driving, driving to the only place she could think of.

Stubbing out her smoke, she took another pull of the strong coffee. She noticed a flash of something brassy in her half-open purse, and pulled out the room key. Taking it in her hand, she clutched it to her chest, and began to cry. 
Losing herself in her grief, horror and terror, she didn?t hear anyone else come into the house until she heard him speak.
He was a mouse of a man; soft cap, leather jacket. And a pistol. 
?What do you want?? The words lunged from somewhere deep in her throat, her terror gripping her, mascara running down her cheeks. 
?I?ll get evvyting I need?n a minute, baby.?
The room seemed to explode, she felt a slamming jolt, and everything went black.