New Canadian Noir

by Claude Lalumiere

  His fist props up his tilted head, and he glances about, his gaze coming back to settle on her. “I come for good food, great music, the scent of flowers mixed with the smokiness of alcohol and bass. And for the beauty; the people, the decor, it’s all one great work of art.”

  The drinks come. Diana sips, feels the cool lava slide down her throat, heating up her stomach. The food arrives, then more talk, but Diana’s tongue sticks on words. She’s more used to the language of hands, from carving handles and fixing guns, than the intricately woven language of words. Not that she does not know them but the distraction of smoke and sound and flavours make her words turn to fog before they drift from her mouth. She settles for another smoke and offers one to Johnny.

  He shakes his head. “No, thanks. That’s how I got the name Jawbreaker; always sucking them to quit smoking. Now I’m hooked on them. One habit gone, replaced by another.” He snaps his fingers. The two guys watching the band turn toward him.

  “I think you guys need some air.”

  Reluctantly, the shorter guy agrees. “Uh, yeah I think we do. See you in a few. Come on, Mark. I want to show you something.”

  As they leave, Johnny leans forward, his finger tracing figure eights on Diana’s bare leg. “You have smoky eyes.”

  “Comes from working with guns. They leave their tales in your skin, one way or another. Me, they filled my life. For my care, they tell me their secrets.”

  His finger scratches a trail along Diana’s thigh. She wants to shiver but holds it in, for now. Johnny’s other hand goes to her hair, slides down to caress her neck and shoulders.

  “You make me forget my words. Secrets, your skin holds secrets too. But such a beautiful neck should not be unadorned. It needs something to call attention to its wonder.”

  He leans forward then, close enough that his breath warms her neck and the vibration of his voice on her ears does cause her to shiver. She closes her eyes momentarily as the tremors course down through her spine and to her belly.

  “I want to give you something.”

  A light dew has gathered between her legs. She longs for his fingers to creep under the edge of her dress and twirl the wanton curls of her mound.

  Her tongue caresses her lips, an effort to move the sensations into a more controllable realm. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  A laugh, then he leans back with a tight squeeze to her thigh. “I do, but I give each of them something different.” He pauses, then says, “Come, I’d like to take you for a drive.”

  He grabs her hand and the heat makes her electric.

  A time-jagged ride through streets in a long, sleek and airy car, Johnny at the wheel, Diana tries to hold herself back. His men follow behind. Then she’s climbing behind him up tiled stairs as he tells her the history of the adobe-style building with brick- and sand-coloured terra cotta. He opens the door, pulls her in and has her wrapped tightly in his arms, his mouth seeking hers. His hands are up under her dress, on her thighs and hips, digging in, turning her into the dessert they skipped. Diana wonders briefly about Johnny, but then gives in, begins to knead his buttocks, and pull him against her. Their hips touch and a delicious rubberiness spreads through her limbs. There’s a rap on the door.

  Johnny sighs and looks into her eyes. “Wait just a minute.”

  He steps outside. Diana has long enough to notice the penchant for black and chrome. A stainless-steel look, too much like the cold rooms in a meat warehouse. Chilled, she turns back as the door opens.

  His dark hazelnut eyes look at her. “I’ve got to go – some business I have to take care of.” He pulls her head in for a long kiss. Then, “I want to see you tomorrow, but…” he breathes in her ears, which sets her vibrating, “I want you to suck me now.”

  Diana freezes. The safety’s released, the hammer pulled back. “Why, Johnny,” she drawls, “you don’t need me for that. Any five-bit whore would do it with the same lack of intimacy. If I’m not different enough, you don’t need me.” Inside, worming its way into her thoughts, the realization that nothing is perfect, or as she wishes. Fool.

  His hands clench at his sides, his jaw muscles ripple under his flesh. A softly cursed, “Damn…” then: “That’s not how I meant it. Look, I’m sorry.” He lays a hand alongside her cheek. “I would like to see you tomorrow. Come by the docks, to the Costanza Imports Warehouse. I’ll meet you there, then take you out on my yacht. Quiet dinner and talk only, if you wish. And I still want to give you something.”

  Her mind fires thoughts like a Gatling gun. Should I even bother? But I want him. I knew better than to hope for more than physical. Go on, take him for a ride. “Perhaps I will, but remember, Johnny Jawbreaker, the only business I get involved in is my own. Don’t involve me in yours.”

  He shrugs and gives a quirky little smile. “Come by at 8:30. All business will be concluded by then. It will only be pleasure. I’ll see that one of the boys gives you a ride home.”

  She waves her hand. “Just call me a taxi. I wouldn’t want to take their time from you.” Nor have them know where she lives.

  Detective Galbraith is picking up his guns and two others for his partner. He brings them in regular as clockwork for cleaning. He leans on the counter pressing fingers to fingers, watching Diana as she finishes wiping the oil from the last one. He smiles and leans forward some more. His broad jaw and light, icy blue eyes make his teeth look larger than they are.

  “What do you say, Diana? I could take you away from all this.”

  He’s been trying a long time. “Sure, Dan. From frying pan to fire, from guns out of action to guns in action. No one points guns at me here.” She wraps the last gunmetal weapon in black cloth and hands them all to Galbraith. “And what makes you think I want to be taken from this?”

  He straightens and tucks the guns away in a satchel. “Surely you don’t like cleaning those smelly, greasy instruments of death?”

  She lets out a smile. “Now that’s only conjecture that they cause death. After all, none of my own have. And have you ever known me to do something I don’t like?”

  “Ah, touché.” He gives her the point and reluctantly leaves.

  She closes up and is at the warehouse exactly at 8:30. This time of night it’s mostly deserted and even more so with the fog that’s settled in, breathing sleepy vapours over the wet dock, white tendrils fingering their way up the metal sides of buildings.

  Everything looks like ink and mercury, the colour seemingly leeched out by the long-gone sun and the hungry tongues of fog. Even Diana has dressed in black and silver – and red lips, a taste of being alive in this still-life night. It’s possible she’s become nothing but a game to Johnny, most likely just another night’s distraction but, she has to remember, that’s all she really wants too. Detective Dan would be steady and reliable, but Diana has always liked working with guns for the danger they hint at; like Johnny. She’s attracted to his mystery. And he has a sense of style, even if his place was utilitarian and cold.

  Her shoes tap a deep staccato beat as she moves slowly toward the warehouse. Her black skirt grabs the dampness and licks about her legs. If she has to run, she’ll toss the shoes, but there’s no danger to Johnny. She has worn neither underwear nor bra under her leather vest.

  At the grey Costanza building, she stands outside gigantic double doors. As if sensing her, a small door to the side opens up and Johnny’s gangly guard beckons her in. It’s dark inside but the doors at the opposite end are open. Through the silvery white light she can see the distant specks of the transport ships waiting in dock. They look like ghost barges, waiting to ferry souls to some unfathomable destination.

  Some fog swirls in after her, reluctantly relinquishing its hold, knowing that it has the entrances blocked. There is one glowering bare bulb keeping the shadows at bay where crates and boxes shyly hunker. Johnny leans against a desk, intently leafing through a ledger. A slight crease has formed between his brows, and a shock of raven hair falls over his eyes. Diana
wonders if she could smooth out that frown.

  Johnny, dressed all in black again, his evening uniform, looks up as she draws near and puts down the ledger.

  “It looks like you’re still working. Perhaps I should leave.”

  He motions his men to leave the building as he pulls her close. “The work just ended.”

  The sound of the big doors being drawn shut rumbles through her, or is it his growl? His scent is tangy, metallic, with the slight sea air and a deeper earthy musk. One hand presses into the small of her back, the other on her neck. He nuzzles her shoulder and ear, then his lips find hers.

  She wants to remain cool, distant, but the heat in her is burning away her clarity. Voluntarily pulled into the kiss, Diana lets her body soften.

  Johnny pulls back slightly. His fingers search out the zipper of her vest and pull it down, then trace whorls over her breasts. His other hand dips into his pocket and pulls out a strand of nearly two dozen loosely strung pearls, ranging from ten to thirty carats. They look oily in the light; grey, whitish-silver, black. The pearls seem at odds with themselves, like oil and water, formed of confrontation. Johnny presses their cool spheres against Diana’s cheek, then slides them down her neck and between her breasts. His lips follow the cool trail, heating it like cometary fire.

  She can’t help but hold on to him, her nails digging in as the sensation increases. Diana tries to hang on, not yet give in.

  He kisses her, his tongue slithering into the cave of her mouth, filling her, heating her. The pearls, following like hungry children after his fingers, crawl up her thigh, burrowing under her skirt and toward the moist downy juncture of her legs. Diana sags into Johnny, suddenly powerless to do anything but let his fingers complete their task. Then his fingers search out and slide along the wet folds of her flesh, seeking her own pink pearl. So slowly that she almost dissipates into fog herself, his fingers slither into her vagina.

  Diana attacks his neck, nipping at ears and throat. One point of contact is not enough. She wants to burrow into him too, to swirl into one large man-woman pearl. Her hands skim over his body, coming to rest on his fly. She releases his erection and strokes the warm skin.

  Johnny’s fingers have stopped seeking mysteries and have begun to push each lustrous pearl into the tide pool of her molten vagina. As each pearl is pushed deeper into her, Diana cannot help gasping, filled with the tantalizing knowledge of his audacity, and the seductive indiscretion in wanting all those pearls to make her one great fleshy oyster. As the last pearl is slipped in, Johnny stops, and then pulls out one.

  It is like a bottle being uncorked and Diana sags against his warm flesh, her hands pulling him closer. Tremors ripple through her. She wants to be pried open, to feel his penile blade move into her and nose among her cache of pearls. There is wetness in her; and sliding down her breast, a tincture of sweat and lust and fog.

  Johnny still leans on the desk. Diana is about to push him back and climb on top when there is a sharp retort on the metal doors. His brown eyes open wide, like the car-seeking deer’s, then they slit as he barks out, “What is it?”

  “Trouble, boss. Blues. Gotta go now.”

  Johnny sighs and gently pushes Diana back. Her skirt slithers down her thighs to hang demurely once again. She sways, uncertain if she can stand on her own. Turning back into muddy shadows, Johnny presses his erection back into his pants and cages it once again. He straightens his shirt and jacket, and then passes a hand through his hair. A jawbreaker, a sugar pearl, appears in his hand and is thrown into his mouth.

  “Sorry about this. I’ll have to leave the dinner and yacht for another night.” He reaches briefly between her legs and gives a tug on the one dangling pearl. “This isn’t what I want to give you. Tell you what. You hang on to them until I see you again. I’ll collect them then and we’ll see about that yacht ride. I promise an evening you won’t forget. Soon.” One last kiss sears her lips.

  He turns and walks off, out the door and into the swirling fog. Diana finds words begin to well up in her but there’s nowhere for them to go. The heat that burned away her clarity now forges new thoughts and something harder within. She zips her vest and digs frantically for a cigarette. It takes several strong drags until she feels she can walk steadily. The warehouse is nothing but a shell; Diana leaves through the door from which she entered.

  It’s a slow stroll back along the dock, the heavy feeling of the pearls swirling in her making her deliciously languorous. Stars now stare through the weakening fog. Diana discerns a tall, broad-shouldered figure walking her way. At the edge of her sight, along darkened warehouses, she sees movement, stealthy and furtive.

  Detective Galbraith approaches her. “Diana Speers. Not your usual haunt here.”

  “Dan,” she acknowledges, letting the smoke out slowly. “You already know I don’t have a usual haunt, or you would have run into me before this.”

  His blue eyes narrow, shadowed only slightly by the brim of his hat. “You weren’t meeting anyone here, were you?” At her raised eyebrow, he continues. “Well, I suspect I’ll be finished here sooner than I expected. Perhaps afterward you’ll allow me to buy you drink.”

  Diana drops her butt and crushes it under her shoe. She lets the last smoke leave her lungs. “Sorry, Dan, but I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  He sighs. “Well, perhaps some other time – when I’m off duty.”

  Diana gives a little wave as she moves slowly away from the dock and Galbraith.

  Dan Galbraith has been hanging around a little too regularly. Diana doesn’t mind too much. He continues to bring her work and has asked her to carve handles for one of his favourite pistols. She hasn’t yet relented to a drink with him; he’s a little too bright. But maybe she’s starting to notice some tarnish.

  The shop door jangles; Johnny saunters in grinning as if he’d just seen her yesterday. He does a quick glance around but remains calm. It’s been a few weeks, and he never called. She finished the handles on his gun about a week ago. They’re perfect, one of the best carving jobs she’s done yet. The ivy is lifelike and camouflages rather than obscures the animal on the handles.

  Johnny leans on the counter and smiles at Diana, a jawbreaker clacking against his teeth. “Hi, beautiful. I believe you have something for me.”

  Diana pulls her hands from her pockets. “I certainly do.” She pulls out a piece of black felt and places it on the counter.

  “Just wrap them up. I can look at them later.”

  Diana is aware of Galbraith’s piqued interest as he leans near the door, though nothing in his stance has changed. She hadn’t counted on him being here when Johnny showed up but it works well enough. There is no danger for her here. Her back to the counter as she gets the guns, she comments, “I always like my customers to see my work before they leave, to make sure they’re satisfied.”

  “I’d still like to take you for that yacht ride,” he murmurs at her back. She hears him leafing through his bills and laying some on the counter.

  “I still prefer to be paid in cash,” Diana retorts and turns and lays the guns on the counter in front of Johnny. She scoops up the bills, writes his receipt and lays down his change. He frowns briefly. “Oh right. Isn’t there something else you have for me?”

  Diana checks her workbook. “Why, I don’t think so,” she says sweetly. “These are the only ones you brought in.”

  “But—”

  “Like I told you before, I never mix business with pleasure. Now, was there any time you can think of where you or I have not been conducting business?”

  Johnny doesn’t look back at Galbraith but his eyes shift slightly. Then, as if the shadows were momentarily banished, his eyes widen. His lips pull down. “No,” he says begrudgingly.

  “Well then,” Diana smiles, “I believe these guns are the last of our current business. I think you’ll find them to your liking.”

  “Sure I can’t interest you in dinner and a ride on my yacht?” Johnny almost pleads. F
ine pearls of moistures have appeared on his brow.

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t mix business with pleasure.” Diana holds the guns up for Johnny. “Are you satisfied with these?”

  He nods, then as she begins to wrap them he realizes what the carved animal is that’s hidden among the ivy, rooting at the heart he requested. He stops her hand from wrapping them.

  “You asked for an animal that represented wildness and fit in. I thought a pig did that well. Fitting into the domestic farm but wild and free in the ivy forest. I knew you’d like it.” Diana hands him his parcel. He just stares at her. Briefly, she thinks anger flashes over his face and then a begrudging respect. He walks toward the door quietly, glancing briefly at Galbraith.

  Not many pull one over on Johnny Jawbreaker. Detective Galbraith looks at Diana, trying to fathom what just went on.

  Dan leans onto the counter. “I’m off duty tonight. How about one drink?” He holds up his index finger. “Just one.”

  Diana cocks her head to the side, then nods.

  Once you get what you want in your sights, aim true. That’s what her daddy had always said, and Diana had taken it to heart in more than aiming guns. Johnny Jawbreaker pauses at the door, then leaves, knowing that Diana’s aim was true.

  CHOKE THE CHICKEN

  Shane Simmons

  The carnival, as it always did, as it always would, came to town. It was late spring, and the air was still cool. The snow was long gone, and the mud it left behind had had weeks to bake under the sun and transform into solid ground. Solid enough to pitch the tents that would house clowns and animal acts, and anchor the steel rides that would twirl and pitch and whip riders around with all sorts of nausea-inducing contortions. The setup was long and arduous, lasting days. When at last it opened its gates for business, the fair would spend a single weekend doing its very best to pick the pockets of everyone in town before packing up and moving to the next vacant field in its seasonal agenda.