Night’s dark. Storms happen.
No chance of a cab, so I’m subwayed and sardined ’midst the other sweatydrenched. I climb to the street, head to the match. Professional wrestling. Yes, really.
My client’s friend vanished; she suspects the husband, a beloved babyface. I need to get a look at him. I’m late. (See: dark, stormy.)
A called-in favor gets me on the floor. I push through the crowd, shimmysqueeze to my seat, savor the sightline.
The match has started. Suspect’s in a chokehold. The heel, in momentary triumph, looks up. Our eyes meet. Hold.
He knows something. He wants something. Someone.
So do I.
[100/tart noir/heel/eyes meeting]
Oooh, fabulous! I particularly like all the wonderful s words/phrases (subwayed, sardined, sweatydrenched, shimmysqueeze, savor the sightline).
ReplyDeleteAnd the award for best title goes to....
ReplyDeleteSo clever. So cool. Like Helen, I love your words.
Also love the use of "heel" in this too. And shimmysqueeze has to be the most tart noir word ever.
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