Noir: Cleanup Time

The dried bloody wad of hair on the back of my head had to be remedied. I rose and crossed to the back office and flipped the switch on my private bathroom. The light hurt my eyes.

“What a night!” I took a white hand towel from the rod and wet it. Touching it to my skull hurt and I groaned loudly.

“Mr. Otellio?” A voice from the double doors. “Are you in there?”

“Come, come, who is that?”

I returned to the front office to see my hulking head bouncer Stephen O’Shea. They didn’t make many like Stephen. He was literally a tower of a man, wide and square from the forehead to the jaw and through the wide chest. His thick arms ran down to punishing knuckles earned from countless brawling matches. His thighs were as mighty oaks and feet formed for keeping this box upright.

“Mr. Otellio, I have some things to report, been looking for you for a while…” His thick Dublin drawl somehow comforted me.

“Go on Stephen.”

“A waiter was found unconscious in the men’s room, his jacket missin’.”


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