Noir: Dressing for Dinner

In my apartment, I stripped and stepped into the shower. Streams of hot water poured over my head and down my back. Whatever awaited me at the Topaz couldn’t be better than this, I thought.

I pulled my grey suit out of the closet. It was wrinkled and the material was wearing in places. Not ideal but it would have to do; I had nothing better.

It didn’t feel right to put the holster on for my dinner with Maryanne but something nagged at me. I picked up the phone and dialed an acquaintance.

“George, it’s Nick.”

“How ya doin’, buddy?”

“Good. Hey, you move in grander circles than I do. What’s up with Maryanne Stone? I haven’t kept track.”

“Christ, Nick, I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say her name again. You knew she’d married Randall Stone. They divorced recently and she’s already remarried to Vincenzo Otellio, the owner of the Topaz. They’ve had some very messy and public spats.”

“Thanks, George.”

I hung up.

What the hell was she up to?

I slipped on the holster and jacket, then called for a taxi.

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