One Room (fragments from BLACK NEON Memoirs)

"Why'd you call me?"

Cigarette smoke curled around her limp wrist and moonlight slashed across her pale skin in thick black strips like a punishment.

"Why do I ever call you? Because you always come."

She never looked back, never took her eyes from the red neon outside the window. Cliche true, but extremely appropriate. She just smoked and gave me her shoulder.

"Why do I always come?"

"That's exactly why. You always cum." I rolled over and reached for my pack.

"That's almost witty." She flicked ashes into the tiny plastic ashtray on the bed near her pillow.

Our clothes were lost on the floor amidst angry shadows.

"No work?"



"Not today." She took my last cigarette. "You?"

"Corporate guy. Someone wants plans he has for some new car, or computer. I forget." The sheets hiss when she moves.

"Usual? Kill the guy, get the files, bring 'em home?" Can't remember if there's any Gatorade left in the fridge. She always dehydrates me.

"Pretty much your average Thursday." I follow her ass as she crosses past the foot of the bed and floats into the living room.

""Ey, check if there's any Gatorade left."

"I finished it last night." She calls back. "Why, did you want some?"

If I say Yes it'll look weak. "No, I'm good." The Desert Eagle is under the bed where I left it. Quick slide action to see if it's still loaded.

"You still using that noisy thing?" She pads over to the window sill with a glass of water between her hands. I rarely ever catch her without those damn shades. Green eyes like mine, but somehow brighter...sharper? Model thin body and that crazy short cropped hair that wants to go everywhere at once. You'd never pick her for a killer much less a great killer. She can turn it off and on as easily as I can.



Mind. Still don't know her real name. Doesn't matter. That's what she wants to be called then it's who she is. Whatever her mother named her is irrelevant. We all shed that skin if we're lucky. She's lucky.

"Want some company?" I roll onto my belly and rub the gun barrel along her thigh.

"For the corporate guy? Please. You can meet me for coffee afterward." She sips her water.

"So long as it ain't Starbucks." I cast the gun aside onto a pillow. It sinks in heavily, defiantly.

"What's wrong with Starbucks?"

"What right with Starbucks? Five bucks for a fuckin' coffee that tastes like shit? I tell ya for the same price you can have a whole can of Bustello. Real coffee."

"That shit's firewater, babe. Too strong. Makes me edgy." She sets the glass on the sill and pulls the blinds up letting as much Red in as possible. The room becomes a murder scene. Shadows become vicious, furniture looks all wrong. We definitely killed It last night.

"So where then?" I spot my boxers on the floor near the set. I can feel her watching me as I get dressed.

"You gotta shave that patch at the top of your back again, hon. You try Nair like I told you?"

"Tried everything."

"Get it lasered."

"Maybe." I slip my shirt on. Don't like being examined.

"Gonna shower and head out. Get this thing done. Where you wanna meet after?" She pauses in the bathroom door and eyes me from over her shoulder.

"There's a small place on Bleeker near Black Tom's Castle. Real coffee there."

"Such a class warrior." She closes the door but doesn't lock it. I wonder if that's an invite for Round Two.

I'm dressed already. Forget it. Tuck my gun behind my belt and grab my jacket. We don't do goodbyes. Not in this business.
The doorlock echoes in the hall even with all that cheap carpeting.

I'll see her later. Always do.