Kiss of Noir

by Clara Nipper

  I remembered curling into a comma, feeling the first blows, but not much after that. I realized when I felt a boot smashing into my mouth that evil is faster and quicker than good.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I tried to move but it was too great an effort. I opened one eye. The other was gummed shut. Blurry streetlights shone in the dark distance. Sirens wailed over someone else’s problems. Traffic noise told me that I was flat on my stomach in an alley.

  “Jesus,” I muttered through my swollen lips. I tasted the dark iron of my own blood. The asphalt was wet and gritty under my cheek. Garbage smells: rotten bananas, dog shit, bad fish assaulted me further. For a second, I thought I would vomit again, but willed it back. I tried breathing deeply and decided I had at least one broken rib. A large shadow darted. A cat or a cockroach, I grimly tried to smile.

  Little by little, I turned myself on to my back. “Aaaahhh!” I groaned as I lay there, staring up through the buildings at the stars, so far away and indifferent.

  Remaining on my back, I fumbled in my pockets until I found my cigarettes and a wooden match. After my adventure in Tulsa, I had resigned myself to buying cigarettes on the regular. All foolishness of quitting was gone. I flicked my thumbnail across the head of the match and it exploded into tiny fire. I lit my cigarette and inhaled shallow. My crotch felt cold and wet so I touched my pants.

  “Lord God, I done pissed myself!” I whispered, shaking my head, my shaven skull rolling back and forth on the ground. Cleo murdered, me, unemployed and homeless. Life was right on track.

  And there, laid out on my back in the French Quarter, I started laughing. It started out small and grew to a ripe richness, floating out to mix with the traffic noise.

  I eventually stood, and shaking, bleeding, my breathing short and ragged, I limped out of the alley. I unbuckled my wet slacks and left them at the entrance. I found the .38 on the lid of a trash barrel and I tucked it into the waistband of my boxers. My underwear was wet too, but not as heavy as pants, and I had long since stopped caring what I looked like or who saw me. I got to my car and drove to the pawn. I had to find some answers. Not knowing was the snag that kept me from being free. I would give my life for the answer to this one and I didn’t give a flying shit what happened to me anymore. Let the killer come for me too. I tore through the crime scene tape and let myself inside. No one had been here since it happened; the awful scene was frozen in time. I stopped by the fridge and got a beer as fortification. I tried to light a cigarette but my hands shook so badly and my eyes swelled so that I couldn’t smoke. I got a battery lantern from the storm supply closet because even if the power was hot, I didn’t want the lights on, and carrying my bottle, I held my breath and averted my eyes as I carefully stopped over the blood stain to get to the back room. In that mountain of dirt Ellis collected, there had to be something.

  I set the lamp on one of the filing cabinets and looked around. There were eviscerated envelopes everywhere and no blood, so there had been no struggle in here. How would I ever find anything in this wild mess?

  I wouldn’t. I went to the safe. It was securely locked. Damn! I tried to guess the combination. Ellis’s birthday, Sayan’s, mine, their anniversary, the pawn street number. I tried Cleo’s birthday and heard a deeply satisfying click. I swung the thick door open and pawed randomly through the envelopes, willing the right one to catch my eye. My hand stopped on one marked PP. I tore it open and poured the papers on the floor. There she was in all her glory—Payne Phillips. Crooked undercover New Orleans police officer. Drug busts and “lost” evidence and missing property and a very healthy gambling debt. Jesus Christ. And Johnny Fallana gave Ellis all the info. So was Johnny dead now too? I held my head in my hands. Mother Mary, I thought this shit happened only in the movies. Well, nothing left to do but go see Payne for the coup de grâce. I patted the gun and drove by Johnny’s house, since it was close to the pawn, to see what was up. Attached to the trees were pieces of crime scene tape fluttering and flapping in the wind. His house was dark and looked deserted. I called Ellis. “Do you have Payne’s address? Give it to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t do this, Ellis. Gimme her address.”

  “Nora, don’t do anything foolish, hear? The police are all over this thing.”

  “Fuck that! Gimme her goddamn address!”

  “I can’t. I won’t. I gave you that gun to defend yourself, not to kill. Nora, for real, you don’t want to do anything you’ll—”

  I hung up. I drove to Filly’s house and pounded on her front door until she answered.

  “Nora,” Carol said coldly. “What do you want?”

  “We’re going for a ride.” I grabbed her and dragged her to my car.

  “Wait, I’m in my nightgown. I need to lock up.”

  I shoved her in, locked and slammed the door. She stayed put. When I got in, I demanded, “Where does Payne live?”

  “What?”

  I almost slapped her. “Something wrong with your hearing? Where does Payne live?”

  “Is that all you want?” Carol turned red. “I can write it down for you.”

  I drove away with a jerk. “No, you’re coming with me.” Following Carol’s directions, we crossed the bridge from Orleans Parish into Jefferson Parish and Gretna, with Carol needling me for info the entire time.

  “Listen, we’re not playing whiny questions, so just cool it,” I said, pulling up my shirt to reveal the gun butt. Carol fell silent.

  At last, she said, “There it is.”

  I parked and put the pistol to Carol’s head. “All I need you to do is go in there with me. Everything is okay, but you need to do as I say.” Carol nodded.

  We rang Payne’s bell and she opened the door without a word and without surprise. My blood turned to poison at the sight of her. She closed the door behind us and we all sat in the living room. I held Carol close, the gun barrel poking her kidney. I flung the envelope at Payne’s feet. “There’s what you killed Cleo for.”

  “Huh?” Payne sipped from a cocktail.

  “Does everyone have a motherfucking hearing problem?” I brought out the gun. “Admit it to my face.”

  Payne raised her chin to Carol. “Why is she here?”

  “Insurance.” I cocked the pistol.

  “Don’t do it!” Carol cried.

  “Shut up,” Payne said. “Nora, I didn’t kill Cleo and I already got what I need.” She reached under a couch cushion and withdrew an identical envelope. “So you’re all wrong.”

  “Open it. Ellis outsmarted you.”

  Payne tore open her envelope and moaned as she rifled through the thick sheaf of blank pages. Payne started to grab the envelope at her feet.

  “Do it and you’re dead.” I said.

  Carol whispered, “Come on, Nora, use your head.”

  “Confess,” I ordered Payne.

  “Fuck you.” she replied. Then Payne drained her glass. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because I said so. And you know you want to.”

  “Payne, did you?” Carol said.

  “Fuck both of y’all.” Payne dove for the envelope and I shot a bullet into her couch. Carol screamed and covered her face.

  “You think I’m playin’?” I shouted.

  Payne met my stare. “No, I don’t think you’re playing. But I’m not either.”

  “Then it looks like there are some hard decisions to be made.” I grabbed Carol by the hair, pulled her into my lap, and put the pistol against her temple. “Your move.”

  Carol began crying. “Payne, tell her what she wants to know. Please, Nora, don’t do this. Payne, help me! Nora, don’t, please.”

  Payne calmly put a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, took a drag, and on her exhale said, “All right, I did it. Satisfied?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied. “That makes everything better.” I released Carol and shoved her to sitting up again. “Why?”

  Payne shrugged. “Ellis was being a hard-nosed, tough-ass
ed bastard and everything was beginning to crumble. I just needed a little more time, a little more scratch…” She shook her head at the near miss of her fortunes. “So I went to get what’s mine and he got in the way.” Payne spread her hands apologetically. “I thought he was Ellis, I swear.”

  “That’s sweet.” I snapped. Carol continued to weep softly. “Shut the fuck up!” I bellowed at her. “You kill Johnny too?”

  “Nope. He set me up, so he’s taking the fall for all of this. I made sure his house was loaded and lousy with evidence so that even a rookie beat cop could find it. Hell will freeze before he sees daylight.” Payne chuckled.

  “Okay, thanks.” I stood and held out my hand for the envelope that Payne still held. She shook her head. I raised the gun and hit her across the mouth so hard, I felt a jolt of pain in my shoulder. I saw a white Chiclet tooth go flying. I removed the envelope from Payne’s loose grasp. Then, with an eagle scream, I emptied my gun into the couch cushion next to Payne. God, that felt good! Then I jerked Carol off the couch and jogged to my car. Carol balked at getting in.

  “Oh, relax. I’ll give you a ride home.” I was twitching with adrenaline.

  Carol got in and I heard Payne’s front door open.

  “Shut the door!” I yelled at Carol and then jumped in the driver’s side and took off as I heard Payne start shooting at us. “Stay low!” I swerved crazily, hoping Payne wouldn’t hit a tire. As a police officer, she should have excellent marksmanship, but who knew how drunk and sloppy she would be tonight. We escaped with only auto body damage. I shoved Carol out of the car at her house and sped away without comment.

  I drove straight to Ellis’s. I called ahead, waking him up. In a whisper, he agreed to meet me outside in the street.

  “There’s your killer.” I handed him the envelope. “And you better do something about it or you’ll be dead before sunrise.” I gave him the gun back. “I killed her couch, so I will ditch this for you if you want me to.”

  Ellis shook his head and pocketed the gun in his dressing gown.

  Epilogue

  I was thirty-six when I left the big city for the Big Easy. They say New Orleans is like a woman—beautiful, deceitful, and deadly. All I know is, I had to leave Los Angeles on the run and the Crescent City beckoned like a broad on her back. To me, Louisiana remained a country all its own. Half water, half land, half light, half shadow, half evil, half good, half beautiful, half frightening. But mostly I remembered the food and laughter.

  About the Author

  Clara Nipper is a writer living in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Her book Femme Noir was released in September 2009 from Bold Strokes Books. She is currently working on a new murder mystery involving a horndog homicide detective, tentatively titled Murder on the Rocks. Clara’s hobbies include fanatical gardening, candy-making for her artisan company, Andy’s Candies (www.andyscandies.org), and skating as a jammer assassin under the name Catnip for Tulsa Derby Brigade (www.derbystrong.com). Clara also enjoys wrestling plot lines into reluctant submission and collecting particularly creative rejection letters. Contact Clara at www.claranipper.com.

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