Say, sweetheart

He wished the night was humid. He really hated the cold.

He pushed back the battered fedora, scratched his head with a pencil and flipped open the green notepad he always kept in his back pocket.

With a glance at the tattered page in his left hand, his mind trailed back to the beginning of the whole mess - back to the moment he first lay eyes on her.

He had been sitting at his desk thinking he should unprop his feet and turn on the heat - the room had grown cold in the hour after dusk- when she breezed through the door. "They told me you'd still be here" she said as the door clicked shut.

He thought back to that moment - him sitting there in that cold room - her words hanging in the air between them...if he'd only told her to take a hike, but he hadn't. He'd always had a weakness for a dame in distress so he had listened politely to her offer.It had seemed so innocent at the time.

A siren began wailing off in the distance. It jerked him back from the past and he ducked into the alley across the street. There wasn't any use kicking himself over yesterday it wouldn't keep him alive tonight.

Putting the notepad away, he patted the left side of his coat to make sure the .38 was still in place. He began to realize he needed a plan to get though the rest of the night, at least if he wanted stay alive long enough to get paid......

(shameless props to "the Maltese Falcon" and "Throw Mama from the Train")