Snoop

Leaning on the side of a wooden bar, a half a glass still filled with rum and coke, he stands vigilantly, watching the crowds of people swinging and dancing to a popular jazz band. The bartender wipes the counter behind him and the man in black looks over his shoulder and removes his cigarette from his lips.

"Hey Joe, what do you know?" The man in black asked, his voice chilling but full of charisma.

The bartender looks up and picks up the drink; he pours the contents of the cup down the sink and begins wiping it with a clean white rag, "Just another day Jack. You want your regular?"

The man in black nods his head and puts the cigarette back into his lips, "That'll do just fine, Joe. Thanks." He flicks a dime on the counter and turns back to watch the crowd and a group of men dressed in pricey attire entering the small dance club.

The bartender turns around and pulls down the top shelf liquor after tucking the wet cloth in his back pocket. He begins pouring ordered drink. He looks over to acknowledge an order request from a woman in red. Her dress sparkled against the spinning light.

Her lips were blood red and her eyes were deep blue. A flaring amount of folded blonde wrapped on top of her head was mounted with a small red hat with a quill feather spanning out. Hair rolled down into curls which hung below her ears. She leaned over the counter and exposed luscious supple breasts, her fingers fold on the counter and she wore a bright silver bracelet.

"I'll take what he's having." She peers at the man in black with a narrow and determining glare. Her tongue rolls below her top lip and she undresses him with her eyes. She smirks and moves to settle on a stool some distance from him. She crosses her legs so he may see her exposed thigh peering from the dress's cut.

The man in black catches everything, he doesn't smile back. He only tips his black rimmed hat down towards her. It's slightly slanted to the side of his head. The cigarette still dangles from his lips and the smoke catches the ceiling of the rim, rolling from either side and he exhales. He looks over at the bartender.

He raises his right arm which rested on the tabletop and flicks his fingers, "Her drink's on me, Joe."

The bartender slides the man in black's drink to him and leans over to whisper in his ear. The bartender's lip itches the stranger's cheek, that grey burly mustache was going out of style, "Hey Jack, Be careful, she's taken by Steel Jaw George."

"Don't worry about it Joe, just get her the drink," He replies back as calm as he was before. The name Steel Jaw George was known throughout the city as one of the most ruthless men in Chicago.

The man in black turns his attention back to the group that entered just moments earlier. They found a table to seat seven in the back where they could see everything. A heavy set Frenchman bellows a heavy laughter as the others chuckle gently, almost as if they were forced to. They lean over towards the center of the table and one of the men turns his eyes to the man in black.

The stranger seated with his back against the edge of the bar looks to the group and raises his head a little, his eyes dark under the shadows of his hat. He removes his cigarette and flicks the long stem of ashes to the ground, the white ash showers to the floor like small snowflakes during Christmas Eve.

He takes a sip of his drink and then lifts from his seat. He adjusts his trench coat and places his left hand into a pocket. The other hand pulls the butt the cigarette from his lips and he flicks it aside. It bounces off a wall and drops into a trash can. The stranger goes towards the Frenchman.

One of the henchmen from the Frenchman's table slides out from under his chair, and he walks toward the man in black. He steps into the dark stranger's way and places a hand on his chest, "Wait a second Sleuth." He peers ominously at the man in black.

"Get your filthy hands off me Snow-bird. I'm not here for any trouble." His eyes are still on the fat man. The table stopped chuckling, and all of their eyes point to the snoop. The man in black notices a few hands disappearing from the surface of the table and sneaking underneath.

"Well, you sure have a way of finding it!" The henchman says with a smile of gold teeth. His face is battered with scars from countless bar brawls. He's stout but no bigger than the detective.

The man in black looks at the hand on his chest and turns his head to glare at the man in his way, "I'm going to tell you one more time, scram pigeon."

The man doesn't heed the man in black's warning and presses his hand harder on the sleuth's chest. He shakes his head, "Best you go on about your way there, son."

The man in black grabs the henchman's wrist and quickly turns it around. He curls and spins around and instantly, the man in black has the henchman's neck clamped by his forearm. His hand pulls from his pocket and the victim can feel the distinct cold touch of a barrel pressed against his spine.

The man in black whispered in his victim's ear, "We're one big happy family." He presses the barrel of his gun against the man's spine and forces him to walk towards to the table.

"It's been awhile Francini," The man in black says.

The fat man leans backwards, "What the hell do you want from me, Gum Shoe?"

The man in black shrugs, "I just want to talk about Linda Malone. You know her don't you? I heard from a rat that she was popped by one of your good fellows."

Francini shakes his head and chuckles, "You've got nothing on me jack. I'm not going back to the pen for something I haven't done."

"I've got enough to throw you in the pot for a double three-spot, Francini," The man in black barks back, "But you can avoid that crop if you just tell me about Linda Malone."

"Alright, snoop, we'll talk, then." The fat man leans back and opens a small box. He pulls out a thick cigar an one of his fellows is right there with a match lit for him. He puffs a few times and clouds of smoke rise around the loud dance club. No one has noticed the incident yet. No one but the woman in red, that is.

She's watching the man in black and now she's dreaming dirty thoughts of him. She opens her purse and pulls out a long black straw and places a thin white cigarette at its end. She leans over to the bartender who was more than happy to spark it for her. She licks her lips again and she asks for the sleuth's name.

"Jack Silver, Private Eye," He said in a whisper, "Best to avoid him, he's nothing but trouble!"

She leans back against the bar and exhales a silver stream of smoke. She grins a bright rack of pearly whites framed by her bloody lips, "I like that in a man." She continues to watch him and indulge in curiously guilty thoughts and pleasures.

"Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Francini," Jack Silver asked the fat man, his temper growing short. He can tell from the look of the henchmen that this was not going to turn out good. Their hands were under the table where he couldn't see them, and Francini had a terrible grin on his face.