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Noir: Act II, Scene?

Jefferson at the bar motioned me over. I carefully stayed out of Maryanne’s sight. I was directly behind ‘Mr. Old Boyfriend?’ and slipped over to my trusted bartender.

“What’s wrong boss,” he started, “You look spooked.”

“Me?” I laughed it off.

“Looks like a hopping night in here, even Mr. Ten Cent anted up.”

“Good, keep an eye on anything unusual,” Why did I just say that? “Oh and get the 1919 Amorone up from the cellar, 3 bottles.”

“Mr. D. coming tonight?”

“Yes.” Nothing slipped Jefferson’s mind. He was my bartender, my mental sparring partner and my bodyguard. His imposing bald black head, strapping shoulders and massive hands made him perfect for the job. He wasn’t a bad barkeep either.

As I leaned on the bar to get a obscure angle on Maryanne I caught a glimpse of the double barreled riot gun under the bar. It was like a 2 lane highway packed with buckshot, long, heavy and deadly.

The clock above my head read eight o’clock. I primped my tuxedo jacket and straightened the bow tie.

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