Short Story #44: Noir

Prompt: Write a short story that could be described as noir-y. (Word count: 259)

* * * * * They say fog creeps in on cat’s feet, but neglect the part about it laying heavy on your chest until you half suffocate. Thursday a week ago began like that. The city was fogbound with everything immobilized, incapable of rousing the gray calico that had settled into a sunbeam above, leaving us in interminable shadow.

I sat at my desk, feet propped on a drawer, nursing a single malt and grudge against the editor of the local rag’s crossword. Business was slow and I had nothing better to do than ponder 34-Down: a four-letter word meaning dark. Dark was a four-letter word meaning dark, but I had an idea that wasn’t it.

I was about to pencil it in anyway, for the sake of doing something, when the bulb above the door to the outer office blinked on. I slipped the half-finished drink and the newspaper in the drawer, squeezed a half-inch of Pepsodent on my tongue, and went to see who’d come in.

A pixie-cut brunette paced the worn rug in the anteroom. The carpet had seen a lot of action, and judging from the harried look in the dame’s eyes, she’d seen her share, too. Besides the troubled eyes, she seemed skittish as colt. The long legs slipped into lacquered black pumps didn’t dissuade from the image.

“Hello,” I said, calmly as possible.

She flinched at my greeting but didn’t bolt. I took this as an encouragement.

“Please, step into my office, miss,” I said, leading the way. When I turned back, she was gone.

–30–