"A greedy, weak man is seduced and trapped by a cold, evil woman amidst the dark shadows
and expressionist lighting of a modern city"
The noirs of my yesteryear, like the dark corners of someones nightmares, are rich and vibrant but full of dread. I feel as if my personal as well as my professional life is a failure. The cold truth of the matter is, my personal life is a failure because of my professional and my professional life is a failure because of my personal.
I suppose at the time it seemed like an adventure, to take a mans life and to bury his bones, to discard a cold frigid corpse like it was yesterdays flowers. And besides, he was a poor excuse for a man, and when you lay in the factor he had money, it just made things that much sweeter. In retrospect, looking back, i just convinced myself that i was doing society a favor, ( as if i owned it anything in the first place). Everything seemed to fit like one of those old jigsaw puzzles people used to play, and the final piece was set when i laid eyes on you. I saw you standing there, under that lamp post, wearing that vintage dress and fitted midriff belt, cool and composed. And felt a face i knew once before, possibly in another life.
With the touch of your cold hands. All of those tender moments of understanding we shared were put on the back burner in favor of an underlining prowess and determination that undermined even our original attentions. Your hurt me bad, baby. Was i that arrogant and self absorbed to even flirt with the possibility that we could live out our dreams in some decretive and decadent island utopia. I worked at the five and dime, as a hamburger peddler, been brought up through the sewers where the sweat of the working man would dull the senses. You made a real mark. You and your American dream. Real blue color fodder. Well i have some news for you baby, the American dream exists, its just unattainable.
See, i was perfectly content to lay low and let you work your little magic. Id blend in with the curtains and stay comfortably two steps behind. We needn't worry about watered down " i love yous". Your husband needn't worry about his wife. I had the drop on him from the get go. Not even Hammer, who had been trailing me for the past few days had any idea just how potent my ace in the hole could actually be. If we only stuck with the original plan and went through with the sting, you'd have New York by the horns Id ride the fridges of your sucess and your husband would be in a hole somewhere on the side of the jersey turnpike.
Your voice was soft but your words were loud as you proceeded to show me your true intentions, deliberate and without shame. You had no reason. You had no regret. But you had a gun, and i suppose that counts as something. Im a modest man, and i knew the value in patience. Nerves are a dangerous thing. They can get someone hurt. Even as the shots rang out, those nervous ticks, that maniacal laughter used to serenaded the city streets, couldn't articulate the feelings you felt, bottled up, and unhinged all this time for me.
And as the red stuff flowed, your thoughts on me changed. Where once i was just an odd curiosity i now became a tragic reminder that even your mortality could be challenged. See my mind was cleaned good and proper by the realization of one thing. We traveled to the beat of the same drum. We both craved the same things. Our thoughts and needs sailed parallel with each other. As i started to handle your neck, the blood continued to pour. Bele Lugosi would be proud. The gray and grit of the concrete floors blended in seamlessly with the walls and ceiling that enclosed the outside world from your screams. You just couldn't handle yourself. I had to kill you.
About an hour ago i awoke to the sounds of alarms going off all around my building. It was one of those startled wake ups as if the devils had been dancing beside me in bed. For a few brief seconds i felt the chill and echoes of layered noise that rang like the bells and flickering lights of a casino. After the initial shock, it suddenly struck me, they weren't coming. As it really mattered at this point. I was shot. Buy a revolver. At point blank.
I was all washed up.
As the minutes come crashing closer i look at your lifeless frame that lay limp and lazy on my living room floor. What i loved about you wasn't your body, but whatever it was that made it alive. It meant nothing to me now. Why do i always forget the things i want to remember? The television was left on and Meet Me In St Louis was playing. The scene where Judy is singing on the trolley. A song about the thrill and fear of ones venture into the plague called love, disguised as a classic showtune. It pretty much summed up our relationship. What started out so promising ended with your death, and mine on the brick of it. But at least you have me to mourn your memory. When i go, in all likelyhood the only thing ill have are the maggots that will undoubtedly find me before the police do.
