Miss Smoking

The dame was red hot and burning daggers into him from framed eyes, ice in his glass positively sizzling from her glare but Edgar hurled the liquid back, vengefully throwing back every little red hot poker of lust to the slither of hell at the end of the bar. Unsteady step paused before each unsteady step towards the fire ball of feminine perfection poured into the clinging red dress, uneasy swagger a bad hangover from a third rate movie, the bitch artistically propped on the bar and still firing daggers.

The nearest heavy emerged from shadows, all finely presented in a thousand dollar monkey suit, chunky making waves as he waddled from behind Miss Smoking herself, words failing to convey the finer points of persuasion as something from a bad script choked the refined air. Edgar laid his fist on a chin with as little regard as Miss Smoking had for the drink she nursed for show, heavy taking a shortcut to the floor in vertical fashion, chunky repeating the performance blow by blow.

Miss Smoking emptied her glass in Edgars face with ruthless calm, the stiletto heel producing an audible groan from heavy, as her footwear walked across the fleshy attempt at hired muscle on her way to the exit, but Edgar knew he had her when she cleared her throat and beckoned with a seductive swish of the hips.

As she left his apartment the next morning a new heavy met Edgar at the door, as Edgar halted a fated attempt to follow Miss Smoking, it would have been a sad event if he didn’t laugh at the remembrance of every one of heavy’s predecessors he’d seen at his door, the scratches on his back a more pleasant reminder for the next couple of weeks.

 

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