Noir: To The Gambling Table, If You Please

I need to find a new line of work.

The thought kept playing as I watched Nick. Either my job was lowly enough to include watching his back for a bit of dancing or being a PI was so dangerous that even a simple dance could be lethal. Either way, there had to be better work out there.

The oversized slab of suspicion behind the bar was still eyeing me, so I made a command decision, a gamble. With as casual a stride as possible I plopped myself at a convenient table across from a very well adorned woman of loftier age.

“Hello,” I said sweetly, innocently, “Do you mind if I join you?”

To her credit, the old dame didn’t miss a beat, “And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?”

In my defense, telling fibs, save in regards to one aspect of my life, was never a strong suit.

“I could tell you all sorts of fluff, ma’am, but honestly, I’m just trying to keep an eye on my boss over there—watch his back.”

She followed my glance and huffed, “Dancing with Maryanne Stone he’ll need all the help he can get.”

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