Noir: Things Get Small

The fucking Diamond!

How long to hold out on this lie? At this point I didn’t care if she knew. I was getting angry, something that was not good for me. I was stressed to the breaking point. Thirty feet away was a man who held my balls in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t lie to me Vinny, you are really bad at it,” Maryanne leaned in, then leaned back, “you’ve got the Bete Noir, or you have done something with it.” This part she nearly shouted over the din of the dining floor. People at the next table stopped talking and stared.

I grabbed her wrist hard and drew her close, the flatware and plates clinked and the scene grew louder. I gnashed teeth and whispered into her face:

“Oh that diamond,” I grinned, “you failed to disclose it when we got married. I saw it around your neck in a old newspaper photo years ago. Once I got to know what a empty headed, gold digging tramp you were I figured that pricey bauble was wasted on you.”


“Your diamond is with that man there.” I casually pointed at Mr. D.

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