Vivian Fontaine: Screen Siren Noir, #4

By F.R. Jameson

One perfect robbery could transform their whole lives, but can they really get away with it?

Life hasn't been kind to former child star, Vivian Fontaine. Her brief taste of fame and the promise of a glittering career are both long gone. What's left are tattered dreams and simmering resentments.

But a chance to alter everything comes her way. Working in a menial role at the failing Motspur Film Studio, she learns that a large sum of money is to be left there for one night. Twentieth Century Fox sending it over as funding for a movie for their latest starlet.

It's cash which, Vivian knows, will be guarded by the usual minimal security. Money just there for the taking!

Enter Bob, her new boyfriend, a charismatic and smart ex-convict. Together, with a couple of friends, they hatch a plan to steal it. A fool proof scheme to get in and out without hurting anyone, and making themselves incredibly rich.

The heist is in motion, what could possibly go wrong?

Vivian Fontaine: Robbery, Death and a British Film Star is a must-read for all fans of hard-boiled crime and film noir. If you love the thrillers of Megan Abbott and James Ellroy, then you'll adore Vivian Fontaine!

• Language: English
• Publisher: F.R. Jameson
• Release date: Oct 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223536376

F.R. Jameson

F.R. Jameson was born in Wales, but now lives with his wife and daughter in London. He writes both horror and thrillers. The thrillers are mostly of the supernatural variety, but are sometimes historical, set around the British film industry. You can find him on Facebook, and follow him on Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest: @frjameson.

Book preview

Vivian Fontaine

Robbery, Death and a British Film Star

F,R. Jameson

Copyright © 2023 by F.R. Jameson

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

To Vicky and Elise, with love, always…

Contents

Epigraph

Prologue

Part 1

2.Chapter Two

3.Chapter Three

4.Chapter Four

5.Chapter Five

6.Chapter Six

7.Chapter Seven

8.Chapter Eight

9.Chapter Nine

Part 2

11.Chapter Eleven

12.Chapter Twelve

13.Chapter Thirteen

14.Chapter Fourteen

15.Chapter Fifteen

16.Chapter Sixteen

17.Chapter Seventeen

18.Chapter Eighteen

19.Chapter Nineteen

Part 3

20.Chapter Twenty

21.Chapter Twenty-One

22.Chapter Twenty-Two

23.Chapter Twenty-Three

24.Chapter Twenty-Four

25.Chapter Twenty-Five

26.Chapter Twenty-Six

Part 4

27.Chapter Twenty-Seven

28.Chapter Twenty-Eight

29.Chapter Twenty-Nine

30.Chapter Thirty

31.Chapter Thirty-One

Part 5

32.Chapter Thirty-Two

33.Chapter Thirty-Three

34.Chapter Thirty-Four

35.Chapter Thirty-Five

36.Chapter Thirty-Six

37.Chapter Thirty Seven

38.Epilogue

Also Available in Screen Siren Noir!

39.Diana Christmas

40.Eden St. Michel

41.Alice Rackham

About the Author

Come on, Peter. We can do this. Don’t be such a little mouse!

Bessie Trueheart, as played by Vivian Fontaine, The Mystery of the Brass Coffin, 1951

Prologue

Vivian staggered into the darkness, the rain lashing into her eyes. In her right hand was the small gun, warm from firing. Clutched under her left arm was the bag, crammed full of all the money they’d taken. She didn’t run, but she moved as swiftly as she could, while making sure not to slip on the newly slick grass. Not far from her – although it was impossible to see anything through the blackness – she assumed Casper was dead.

Bob had surely murdered him. No words had been spoken, no threats had been uttered, but that’s what was happening out there in the dark. Her boyfriend had taken the Swiss and was making sure he was never going to speak again. What else was possible at this point? It was almost a mercy.

Except, it was easy to envisage Bob might be too soft hearted to carry through with the act. When the time came to commit, he wasn’t going to put his hands around his friend’s throat and squeeze. True, two people were already dead because of Bob tonight. But she doubted he had the rod of steel in his spine, which would allow him to kill his friend at close quarters. He didn’t have what she had.

She had killed for the first time tonight as well. But she was obviously less shaky about the fact than Bob.

Of course, if Bob didn’t do the deed, it was more than likely Casper was going to die soon anyway. Bob could leave him to bleed beside the road. But whether he chose to do the necessary himself or not, he’d be coming after her before long. He’d return to the car and find her gone, and then he’d plunge through the darkness in pursuit.

And when he got to her, one of them was going to die.

The intimacies they’d shared didn’t matter anymore, nor the sweet nothings they’d whispered to each other. Only one of them had any chance of walking away from this. He must have realised that truth too.

Before long, Bob was going to try to find her. And if he did manage to run her down, then she was going to have to look him in the eye and pull the trigger.

Part 1

Chapter One

The pub’s name felt somewhat appropriate in hindsight – The Hanged Man . It was tucked away in a back street a half a mile from the centre of Chertsey, Surrey. Actually, back street gave it a sophistication it didn’t quite deserve. It was really a country lane, and more than one drinker had found the wheels of his car stuck in literal mud when closing time was called.

However, no one knew the pub as The Hanged Man. Everyone called it Ruby’s, after the landlady, who was big and busty and didn’t give a fig what the licensing laws said. That’s why so many people liked the place, and travelled out of their way to go there. At two in the morning, it would still be serving booze to customers who were in such a sorry state they spilled as much as they drank; while playing a record player loud enough to make everyone at least tap a foot.

Casper had invited Bob to join him at the pub. The two of them had been friendly for a while, but the fact still surprised Bob. They made an unusual pair. Bob was a striking man. Tall, dark, broad shouldered, with a narrow waist. The frame of an athlete. He was good looking too. His high hairline didn’t mitigate against his looks, it seemed to enhance them. To draw attention to the languid beauty of his heavy eyelids, the sharpness of his features and the pout of his lips. The dimple in his chin making him even more distinctive. Casper, in contrast, was best described as doughy. He was short and round and perpetually sweating. The man favoured white suits, which he might have imagined hid the stains of perspiration, but it didn’t work. He frequently – certainly after a late night in his cups – found himself dripping through the material. On those occasions, one could also imagine his boot polish hair dye was also running, and the man was melting. He wasn’t, by any measure, handsome. His face was an extension of his body, round and jowly. And with his accent taken into consideration as well, he may have been mistaken for Peter Lorre’s more corpulent brother.

So physically they made an odd contrast. Then there was the fact Casper was one of those men who liked men. Not that he’d ever told Bob as much, but it wasn’t hard to deduce. Even these days, with the Welshman Roy Jenkins having changed the law, it wasn’t something you went around confessing. But Bob didn’t care. He’d come across worse when he was inside. Seen worse too.

The two of them shook hands and greeted each other fulsomely. Casper was European, he always greeted fulsomely. He claimed to be Swiss, but no one genuinely knew whether to believe him. It was a regular thing to make Nazi jokes in his direction. He gave the impression he hated it, but he must have been used to them.

Glad you could come, my friend, said Casper, hand on his shoulder. So delighted you’re here.

Casper had brought him a rum and cola, and the two of them grabbed a small round table in the corner. Both of their stools were rickety, and the table was stained by a thousand spilled pints. The ashtray before them had already overflowed, which suggested the landlady didn’t clean the bar area often. Casper was the rare man who didn’t smoke, and Bob flicked his ash to the floorboards. He had a feeling no one was going to mind.

It’s a bit of a trek, said Bob.

Yes, it is. Casper nodded, but smiled at the same time. However, as I mentioned on the telephone, this place doesn’t shut. The perfect destination then if you don’t have to awake early in the morning. His eyes – blue, but washed out – fixed on his friend. You don’t have to rise with the dawn chorus, do you?

Bob shook his head. No, I’m off tomorrow.

Good. Good.

Bob glanced around the pub. Any chairs and tables had been moved from the centre, the record player was turned loud, and there was a dance floor. The music they were listening to was far heavier and more modern than anything he would have gone for. (Perhaps it was that Jimi Hendrix bloke.) But those boogying seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were some old codgers who must have been pushing forty out there.

So, who are these girls you wanted me to meet?

Casper coughed. Actually it’s girl. Singular. I thought it was going to be two, but the second one got back together with her boyfriend. They do that a lot, it seems. It must make for a very discombobulating life.

Okay, said Bob. Who’s this girl you wanted me to meet?

She’s on the dance floor. Maybe you’ll recognise her.

Recognise her?

But Casper, rather than reply, purred with satisfaction.

Bob scanned the dance floor. Taking in the young and the old, the men and the women, hunting for someone he might recognise. No one leapt out as a person he’d seen before, but there was one woman who caught his eye. She was short, blonde, and particularly sexy. And when his gaze had fixed on her, he realised she’d been staring at him. Carelessly, on being caught, she laughed and turned her gaze elsewhere.

The music changed from Jimi Hendrix (or whatever it had been) to She’s a Lady by Tom Jones – which at least had a resemblance to a proper tune.

He continued to watch the girl. She was moving well, hands in the air, swaying her hips, but dancing with no one in particular. Indeed, she seemed to be sashaying just for him. Even in her heels, she was clearly not much more than five feet tall – so more than a foot shorter than Bob. She was curvy, with a round bottom and an impressive bust. The tight black skirt she wore accentuated the former, while her ruffled blouse did little to hide the latter. Her face was hard, but undeniably beautiful. Slightly round, with full lips and blue eyes, which were a tad too far apart. Her hair was a short blonde helmet, which shone under the lights. The fringe swept across her forehead, as if she was Twiggy.

As she followed the rhythm, she stole glances at Bob. But the instant the two of them locked gazes, she turned with a laugh to herself.

I see the two of you have noticed each other, said Casper.

Bob nodded. You’re right. She’s attractive. Normally I go for taller women. It hurts my neck to bend so far. But yeah, she’s good looking.

But do you recognise her?

You said that before. Bob blinked, as the girl turned flirtatiously from him. Should I?

I feel certain you have laid eyes on this damsel before.

But if Bob had, it didn’t immediately come to him. As she moved, he couldn’t take his eyes off her – but it was lust, not familiarity, which was holding his attention. Lust she was expertly stoking.

Of course, there was more than one red-blooded man in the pub that night. She’d just spun coquettishly from Bob’s gaze, when she found a pair of hands on her hips. A young pup with spots who can’t have grown far from short trousers, trying his luck by coming behind and hoping for a shimmy.

The irritation was immediate and obvious on her face. Expertly – as expert as any young, attractive woman on a dancefloor had to be – she spun from his grip, with such grace it might have been choreographed in advance, and put two feet between them. That should have been it. The pup should have retired to lick his wounds, or to try it on with one of the other (less attractive) young women there. But no, he went in for a second try.

Big mistake.

His hands reached for her, and she avoided them by moving into him. Yet so quickly, both his palms slid past her curvy but slight frame. As she did, she delivered an upper cut which smacked him full in the chin.

Either he was drunker than he looked, or she punched much harder than Bob would have thought possible, but the pup toppled off his feet. Clattering to the floor with a thud which made the record player jump. In other venues, this may have caused a pause in proceedings. The landlady stepping in to sort matters. In Ruby’s, it elicited a cheer from the patrons. The pup’s friends then helped him get a safe distance before he made more of a fool of himself.

Bob stared at her openly, with both admiration and desire.

Tough, smart and not taking any nonsense from the boys who surround her, said Casper. Are you sure you don’t recognise her?

Bob’s lack of