Friday Noir: A High And Lonesome Sound

(c)JerseyStyle Photography_Cutlass_bw_062016

Act Four

They slumped into the Cutlass, out of breath.
The air, which had been warm and moist and heavy, now had a coolness about it.
The giggles overtook them. They couldn’t stop.
His hands shook as he lit the two Winston’s, giving her one.
She took a long, slow drag, a long funnel of smoke out.

“Go! Go! Go! Go!”

He turned the key and fired up the engine, the rumble overtaking the noise of the crickets.
She stared into the canvas bag. She had never seen so much money.
The hot road roared out of the parking lot, headed for the sea.

Where they would wash these sins from their hands.

(c)JerseyStyle Photography_Pool Table_042016_DSCF2949

Act Three

The pool stick snapped, leaving a jagged, ugly edge to it.
That wasn’t what the men had to worry about though.
It was the double-action semi-automatic .45 in her hand.
She was holding it so tightly the pebble grip was leaving an imprint in her hand.
The men couldn’t see that however.
They could just see the pool table light glinting off the barrel as she swept the pistol from one man to the other.
They had let their shotgun, with the 13 inches of barrel dropped off, get to far away from them.

“Move! Now!”

He threw the pool stick down, and started to empty the cash register.
And he didn’t forget the go-bag tucked under the corner of the bar.
The bag, heavy with drugs and pistols and money.

Lots of money.

(c)JerseyStyle Photography_Lounge1_bw_042316_IMG_1714

Act Two

He turned the engine off and lit a Winston.
It was late, there weren’t many cars left in the parking lot.
It was the type of place where bad things happened.
As usual, the ape-handled chopper, with the German cross on the gas tank, was parked near the door.
He looked over at her.
She finished putting on her lipstick, smooth down her hair.
And checked the magazine in the pistol one more time.

“It’s time.”

(c)JerseyStyle Photography_Motel_052016

Act One

The air conditioner in the window hummed away the heat the room.
The chilly air smelled of gun oil
They were tangled in the bed sheets, sticky with summer air and activity.
He sat up to light two Winston’s, giving her one.
He took a long drag to help calm his nerves.
She blew a long funnel of smoke out, rested her head back on his chest.
Her dark eyes, set wide and avarice.

“I can’t wait.”

~ The End

(c) Mark Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | 2016

3 thoughts on “Friday Noir: A High And Lonesome Sound

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