She said her name was Rachelle.
She was a dame in trouble. I'm a sucker for dames in trouble. I guess that's why I became a cop. (Ex-cop now, but who's asking.) My ex used to say it was because I got to play with big guns and explosives. That bitch was always right.
She made me from the moment she walked into the joint. I was on my third bottle of gin and staring into the bottom of the glass when dank smoke changed into sweet perfume and shielded glances turned into a sweet smile. She offered to buy me a drink, saddled up onto the seat beside me and slapped the money down on the bar before I said anything at all. We shared a couple drinks and a few hits on a cancer stick.
*****
My head felt like a ton come morning. Maybe it was the morning. Hard to tell. It was raining again. Didn't matter anyway. Was it a dream' A gin-induced dream?
No. Rachelle was real.
She was gone, but her sweet smell still clung to the sheets.
I rolled out of bed, pull on some jeans, grabbed the piece I kept under the bed and tucked it into the waistband. I was down to my last beer, which meant I needed to drum up some business.
*****
The guy had a glass chin. The bastard had a good set a teeth though. Got a few in my hand. He ended up swallowing a few others. Doubt he'll miss them much.
Walked out of the joint with cash in my pocket, new stitches in my hand and a cut above the eye. And there it was again. Not the smell of piss and puke. That sweet smell. Her sweet smell. And there she was, waiting for me. I told her she didn't belong in these parts.
She smiled.
The kind of smile that said I didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but it was okay. I was better off not knowing.
She was a dame in trouble. I'm a sucker for dames in trouble. I guess that's why I became a cop. (Ex-cop now, but who's asking.) My ex used to say it was because I got to play with big guns and explosives. That bitch was always right.
She made me from the moment she walked into the joint. I was on my third bottle of gin and staring into the bottom of the glass when dank smoke changed into sweet perfume and shielded glances turned into a sweet smile. She offered to buy me a drink, saddled up onto the seat beside me and slapped the money down on the bar before I said anything at all. We shared a couple drinks and a few hits on a cancer stick.
*****
My head felt like a ton come morning. Maybe it was the morning. Hard to tell. It was raining again. Didn't matter anyway. Was it a dream' A gin-induced dream?
No. Rachelle was real.
She was gone, but her sweet smell still clung to the sheets.
I rolled out of bed, pull on some jeans, grabbed the piece I kept under the bed and tucked it into the waistband. I was down to my last beer, which meant I needed to drum up some business.
*****
The guy had a glass chin. The bastard had a good set a teeth though. Got a few in my hand. He ended up swallowing a few others. Doubt he'll miss them much.
Walked out of the joint with cash in my pocket, new stitches in my hand and a cut above the eye. And there it was again. Not the smell of piss and puke. That sweet smell. Her sweet smell. And there she was, waiting for me. I told her she didn't belong in these parts.
She smiled.
The kind of smile that said I didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but it was okay. I was better off not knowing.