SMELLING GITANES - ALUN WILLIAMS
“You killed your husband.”
She smiled, took a long pull on her smoke, French, I think, then adjusted her posture deliberately revealing a cleavage that would take me a week to find my way out of.
“What makes you think that?” she replied. “I loved him.”
It was my turn to smile. I walked over to the window. Outside, kids played make-believe. We were playing the exact same game here.
I chuckled. “You’re good. If you were a man, you’d be me.” I leant back. She wasn’t fazed at all. She crossed her legs and stared right through me.
“Compliments, Mr Lazarus? I suppose you have evidence...”
“I’ll find it,” I replied. ”His mother hired me to do so. The DA’s office thinks you’re guilty, too, but they’re a little confused by that expensive perfume of yours. It’s called money.”
“And you? “ She stood up and walked over. “Can’t you smell it, too?”
“It’s a long time since I smelled anything so...”
“Dangerous,” I replied. I kissed her on the lips but she didn’t respond.
“You’ll help me beat the rap,” she said. “I mean, I can be very, very persuasive.“ This time, she kissed me.
Later, I studied her as she slept next to me and wondered on how beauty could be so remote. It was an injustice. I called the cops and told them to pick her up. I’d lied about the evidence.
I still smell Gitanes on hot summer nights...
BIO: Alun Williams, 55. Born and still residing in Wales. Member of Crittersbar (writing under maxieslim), Zoetrope and Scrawl (writing as Maxwell Allen) and has had several shorts published in Write Side Up, Bonfire, Twisted Tongue, Skive, The Legendary and various others. Loves noir and Charles Bukowski.
Year of an Indie Writer: Week 29
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