Some Enchanted NOIR

By T.T. Thomas

Two women, one a detective, the other an apparent felon and fugitive from the law, strike up an edgy romance that leaves one of them short a thousand dollars. But that’s not the problem, is it? By the time she finds out the whys and wherefores of Roberta Blue, Detective Delores “Duke” Avante is also missing a big piece of her heart. Losing a grand starts looking like good news.

This short story tribute to the Noir and Hard-boiled genre and eras of crime writing of Vin Packer (Marijane Meeker), Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler comes with an O. Henry twist.

Includes an excerpt of the author's most recent full-length novel, Mistress of Mogador.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bon View Publishing
• Release date: Mar 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780986260018

T.T. Thomas

T. T. Thomas is the author of: House of Bliss (Novel) Mistress of Mogador (Novel) The Girl With 2 Hearts (Novel) A Delicate Refusal (Novel) The Blondness of Honey (Novel) Vivien and Rose (Novella) Two Weeks At Gay Banana Hot Springs (Novella) Short Stories: The Moravia MontClare Vampire Series        Vampire Vexed (Short Story)        Vampire Impious (Novella)        Vampire Bohemian (Novella) A Woman of Dark Intention The Guy In Frankie's Hatbox, Bread and Butter, My Second Stupid Suicide) T.T. Thomas writes mainly historical romance, historical rom/com, historical fantasy and New Adult for lesbians and all others.

Book preview

1

Roberta Blue’s Story

May 2, 1981, 62 degrees, Chicago

Looking back on things now, I realize that some guys have all the luck. A little more luck and a little less lust would have made a difference in how things turned out in the beginning. Yeah, well, if the Sox could play ball, they'd win the pennant, too. When pigs get airborne. They just lost four in a row.

She was tall, she had deep auburn hair and she looked past me like I wasn't there. I was staring at her hard, and my thoughts were saying things her well-manicured hand would smack. Only problem was, her mobility was a little limited because Sullivan had her in cuffs. She stood there like the Statue of Liberty without the flame held high. She was an ice sculpture in a tailored suit with a skirt that failed real nice at hiding her long, shapely legs. Yeah, she was the ice queen, all right, but her makeup wasn't running all over her face from spilt tears, and her lips didn't tremble in fear. The only clue I had about her heart was the cold, hard glint in her eyes. It was going to take more than a pair of handcuffs to give this lady something to cry about. I wouldn’t have believed you if you said I’d find out.

Finally, she turned her head toward me, and the look on her face could have been an abandoned smirk or a deserted sneer, but it didn’t look like it was headed toward polite inquiry.

What's your story? she asked, sounding like she didn't want to hear it. She had the kind of mouth toy soldiers like me go to war for. I was about to respond with something clever, or ignore her completely, when Sully opened his big Irish mouth.

Duke, he said, gesturing with his thick hands, I got my motorcycle and the lady here. Will you be wantin’ to drive the bike back to the Station, or can you drive the prisoner in the company car and get her booked? ‘Sposed to keep women prisoners in the company of a woman, but they haven't been enforcing that. Plus, being Saturday and all. Up to you.

I threw my cigarette on the ground, shoved my hand into my pocket and looked at the bike. It wasn't shiny, was far from its virgin run and had a backfire that scorched the roaches and scared the rats right out of the garbage cans. But it was a powerful bike, a fast street screamer that got everybody looking. It was the kind of machine you like to think you're controlling as you squeeze the