Never Trust a Woman in a Mask: Part 4

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “How’d you know?”

She tapped her foot on the floor. “Old building. Thin floors.”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “Otherwise I would have heard you walking around. Stiletto heels aren’t terribly quiet.”

“Good guess.”

“Not really. Women who hang around in the shadows smoking cigarettes always wear stilettos. I bet you have a little hat with a veil on it too.”

She smiled at me. Well, she showed her teeth, so I assumed it was a smile. “And I suppose you know what I eat for breakfast?”

“Lucky Charms. You say it’s just for the toy surprise.”

“Close. I’m a Captain Crunch girl.” She walked forward into the light. She was wearing a severely cut woman’s suit with stiletto heels. Dark hair framed a pale face, but the thing that drew my attention was the Desert Eagle in her right hand.

“Huh. I figured you for a snub-nosed .38.”

“It’s in the shop.” She leaned against the wall, gun held level at my midsection. “So, cowboy, you’re awfully glib for a guy with an organ trying to kill him.”

“You’re awfully well-armed for a Dame.”

She laughed. “Well, you kill a vampire in front of the Queen, it tends to leave an impression.” She waved the gun nonchalantly. “Relax. I’m not pointing it at you. I’m pointing it at your gall bladder.”

“How considerate.” I glanced around. “A chair or two would be nice.”

“I only had one left and I didn’t want you walking off with it.”

“That was a gift.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

We looked at each other for a few moments in silence. Ash from her cigarette dropped off, leaving a little clump on the otherwise immaculate floor.

“So,” I finally said. “Are we going to keep up the bad film noir parody or should we move on?”

“Oh, thank god!” she said, kicking off her heels. “Those things kill my feet.”

Next week: Part 5