"ENCORE" ~ By Christina Vincent ... *The Shadows of Our Noir* ~ AT THE BIJOU

E N C O R E

By ~ Christina Vincent

Jimmy had half of his face covered with his hand, and when he turned around I knew he was trying not to laugh at me. Seeing him do that was my trouble, honey, not anything I mighta done or not done. When the bulls came into my crummy little apartment in New York years ago, I was just sitting there with a butt and a glass of bourbon in one hand and my little Remington derringer in the other, and Mr. No Good Two-Timer all spread out on the bed with all that blood staining the pillowcases. Didn’t even take my smile off when they threw me in the cooler.

            But when Jimmy was trying to hide how hard he was laughing at me? Yeah, that spells trouble for a girl, especially when there’s some private dick on the couch across the way asking about another dead body. I licked my lips and gave him my stage smile.

            “Sweetie, you’re just gonna have to stop messing around and tell me.”

            “We found him dead, Miss Dietrich. His wife saw him leave for work this morning, and then we find him out back behind the newspaper office tonight.”

            I made my eyes real wide, and Jimmy had to turn around again. Nobody made Jimmy laugh like me, and I kinda like that. “Oh, goodness, that’s just… gosh. How awful! What happened?”

            “I was hoping you could tell me that, Miss Dietrich.”

            “I don’t see how she possibly could,” Jimmy said, face all serious again, that sweet accent of his filling up the room. I don’t know what it is about English guys. They never really did it for me until Jimmy. Now I could sit here listening to him read the paper for hours, watching him run those long piano fingers through hair the same color a Hershey kiss left on your fingers if you held it without the foil, not to mention those eyes. You look straight at them, and they’re the palest shade of something in the middle of blue and gray, but you look at him from the side while he’s looking straight ahead, and they’re gold, I ain’t kidding. Jimmy reached for the deck of Luckies on the table and pulled one out. “She was with me all afternoon.”

            “Doing what, if I may ask, Mr. Sangster?”

            There was that smile again, lips all closed and one eyebrow going up. Jimmy was trying not to laugh, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to pretend to take a drink of bourbon before I started in. “Now, Detective, that isn’t a terribly appropriate conversation.”

            The cop looked back at me, but I was real busy inspecting the inside of my glass and trying to stop grinning. “All day, Mr. Sangster?”

            “Hannah’s quite a woman,” he said, all calm and cool and British, and I set the glass down on the table.

            “Any other questions, sweetie?” I crossed my legs at the knees, and the hem of my dress might’ve gone up just a little bit. I saw him staring at my ankles, and I rotated one foot in a circle. He cleared his throat and looked back at me, no kidding around this time.

            “Are there any other witnesses who’ll swear you were here all day, Miss Dietrich?”

            I put the ciggy to my lips and had a nice, long smoke. “No, sweetie, I ain’t that kinda girl.”

            The cop was getting awful red by now, and Jimmy was watching me the way a cat looks at a bird through a window. I was gonna get it, and I didn’t care one little bit. “What brought you to Los Angeles, Miss Dietrich?”

            “What girl doesn’t wanna see Los Angeles?”

            “You see, that’s what I’d like to know.” The detective leaned back against the cushions, all kinds of comfortable now. “There aren’t any records of you, Hannah. Not a single one.”

            “It’s Miss Dietrich,” I said smoothly, tilting my head to one side. He’d done some digging, that was pretty damn clear.

            “Is it? See, I don’t think that you’re really Hannah Dietrich. I’m not convinced there’s a Hannah Dietrich at all.”

            “Ain’t that something.” I tried not to look at Jimmy.

            “I believe our time is up, Detective.” Jimmy handed me his ciggy and stood between me and the man on the couch.

            “I don’t think we’re done here,” he said.

            “I believe that we are.”

            “No, because, see, I read this story about a dame in New York about fifteen years ago. Real pretty thing, with nice blond hair like Miss Dietrich there, only shorter, and the prettiest green eyes, just like Miss Dietrich. Back in ’29. this dame shot her husband with a little Remington derringer, just like our stiff, and then she just disappeared out of jail.”

            “That’s fascinating.” Gosh, Jimmy could sound real, real cold when he wanted to. I was shivering. I took a smoke off of his cigarette, just to taste him.

            “The girl’s stage name was Hannah Clara Santa Barbara. She was a dancer. Frequented a lot of jazz clubs, speakeasies.”

            “Ten years ago, Detective?” Jimmy reached behind me for his ciggy. “Precisely how old was this girl at the time?” The way the smoke just curled out of Jimmy’s mouth, the way he stayed right between us… I needed another drink.

            “She was about twenty, I’d say.”

            Jimmy turned around, giving me that little closed-lipped smile. “That would make this pretty thing about thirty-five if that was the case, wouldn’t it? She doesn’t look a day over twenty-one to me.”

            Oh, Jimmy, you…

            “It’s a pity about the young man, but even if my darling girl was seeing him on the side, well… I’m certain you’ve never had any such indiscretions come to your notice, hm? Seems to me that your victim had his fair share of… how shall I put this delicately…”

            “I see your point, Mr. Sangster.”

            “And it’d be a horrible shame if your department were to come under investigation for harassing my darling girl.”

            The cop stood and nodded to me around Jimmy. “My apologies, Miss Dietrich.”

            “I’ll show you out, Detective.” Jimmy kept right behind the man until he was safely in the street, then locked the door and turned to me.

            “Jimmy, honest to God…”

            He finally let the laughter go, those long needle fangs catching the light. “Hannah Clara Santa Barbara, you are an absolute nightmare.”

            “But you love me anyway, honey,” I purred, hooking my fangs on the rim of the bourbon glass. He shook his head and smiled.

            “Aye, love, I do.”

© 2012  Sultry NOIR Author ~ CHRISTINA VINCENT

Cold crimes for  "The Shadows of Our NOIR"  ~ AT THE BIJOU

IMAGES: Ms Dietrich from The Scarlett Empress

CHRISTINA, whisper-shouting the past months in her vibrant worlds: "You guys wanna know a secret? C'mere real close... I'm gonna be featured AT THE BIJOU real soon. Keep an eyeball on me and AbsolutelyKate.

"Hey, callin' on all o' you swell fellas and classy dames... come meet me AT THE BIJOU for a little serving of THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR, where you will see yours truly giving my dear friend with the moxie, Ms. Absolutely*Kate, an EXCLUSIVE sneak peek at some of the characters in my novel-in-progress. You'll only be seeing this'un AT THE BIJOU!"

Absolutely*Kate ~  LASCIVIOUS LADIES and GENTEEL GENTS . . . You're in the enthusiastic joie de vivre of an up and comer where Authors go to soar ~ Ms Christina Vincent, whose name you shall all come to know the more!

CHRISTINA ~ "Thank you for everything that you do for people. You're a shining star, Kate, and you're glowing no matter what the cloud cover outside is like. We're lucky to have you."

A very, very happy new year to all. Here's hoping everyone is surrounded with love and joy this season, and that peace and creativity walk with you hand in hand through the quiet winter. Much affection to all of you wonderful theater-loving folks!

Absolutely*Kate sails with stars.

Will notify the spotlight guy that you are ready for your curtain calls, Lady sultry Stina. Much thanks for tellin' the worlds you dazzle in about your encore of ENCORE ... AT THE BIJOU.

CHRISTINA ~ Sultry, eh? Guess I'd better practice my jazz voice for the stage, huh? Prep the microphone. For Noir Night? I'm thinking poils. Goils love poils.

"Well, if these folks want to see my exclusives, they gotta get a ticket at your theater... because my characters are staying EXCLUSIVELY on your stage or in my library! (That's 'cause I love ya, schweet-haaaaaht.)"

"Naps in the Library will officially compensate Absolutely*Kate for any and all popcorn consumed by card-carrying library patrons."

Absolutely*Kate ~  Shy? Introverted? Not our gal 'Stina. Give the dame a hand folks ~ She's the voice who shouts out so many other authors in their own dances of acclaim to fame. She's a heart that 's bursting at every tip-tap-typing she attempts ... even when she goes scary, Christina's not contrary.

CHRISTINA ~ "Kate, ain't a dame this side of Casablanca that gives intro like you do. Hats off to ya, doll face. "

Christina Vincent

@StinaVincent Capital District, NY 

Storyteller, lunatic, occasional human being. Currently working on a paranormal fiction novel entitled The Occult Consult.

THE NEXT BOOK!

Naps in the Library  <------- click & go visit her wild crazy ride of a blogsite ... Shhhh, you're in a library, y'know

CHRISTINA ~ Well, Kate, like I told you backstage, I’ve been missin’ AT THE BIJOU something fierce, so I’m giving it my all now that I’ve come wandering out of my library and back on stage with the great gang here.

These fine folks can find me at Naps in the Library, where you’ll see everything from horror to paranormal fiction to downright comedic nonsense. I’m a gal of many talents. I used to be a supervillain way back in the day, and you can see some links to my work as Lady Unpleasantries up on the site. I’m hoping to eventually rewrite all of those pieces because, as you’ll see if you dare venture that way, my writing style has changed dramatically since then… but don’t we all do everything dramatically?

I’m hard at work on two novels right now. One of them is the finished first draft of The Occult Consult, which is a dark comedy about demons, ghosts, zombies in a liquor store, and home-cooked Italian cuisine all mixed up with a little magic and a cat named Snickers. The second thing I’m pouring my heart and soul into is a story about vampires, shape shifters, and a hefty dose of paranormal science. The working title is The Project, and the very same James Sangster and Hannah Clara Santa Barbara that schmoozed their way into my latest AT THE BIJOU performance are some of the upcoming cast of that little horror/drama. If you keep your eyes peeled, you might see more of my extra special characters popping into the theater to steal your popcorn.

 A*K ~  Another of the gazillion reasons I find myself rather fond of Christina Vincent, is her sensational support of INDIE AUTHORS . . . and now  . . . what goes around -- deservingly, comes around:

CHRISTINA YELPS SUCCESS!

C.V. ~  I won. I’m going to be published.

My short story Inferna won first place in the Bloody Parchment anthology competition, and will be published along with some amazing authors. Read all about it here. Release date to be announced.

As if I needed more reason to dance through the day, first place also means that the fabulous Nerine Dorman will be editing a novel-length work for me. Hm. We don’t know about any novels here, do we…?

This has been such an incredible morning. Waking up to Nerine’s email was unreal. I had to read it three times before I believed it, and then proceeded to flood inboxes and cell phones with excited, caps lock-ridden messages. It’s remarkable to think that it’s beginning. This is my dream becoming reality.

AND NOW I'M BACK ~ AT THE BIJOU ~ AGAIN. It's my encore with ENCORE, our luscious Absolutely*Kate stage-whispered me, before she swooshed me out in this fabulous spotlight of "The Shadows of Our Noir" show. What a cast! What a slew of a crew -- Hey Kate? You writing my dialogue on this paragraph?

Thank you all for being here to share it. I’m so grateful for all of you, my friends here AT THE BIJOU, and to the other writers that will be in this anthology. I’m not going to be able to wipe the smile off of my face for weeks, and I’ll probably be dancing periodically throughout the day.

Thanks be ours, sultry, excitable 'Stina,

We wish your soar the greatest heights!

~ Absolutely*Kate

and the ritzy crew

*AT THE BIJOU*

Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR

   LINK delicious INFLUENCES of ~

                OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

   LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

  

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan 

  

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

 Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner 

Matt Hilton . . .  Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird 

 Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell   

Sal Buttaci  . . .  Kevin j Mackey


 . . . and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . . 

   NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~ 

                          Every-other-day or so, cold crimes . . . jump-jiving January's NEW NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates 

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

 Julian Bramwell Slater ... 

Charlie Wade ... Darren Sant  ... 

Lily Childs ... Walter Conley

Carrie Clevenger ... Daniel Stine  ...  

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year's new NOIR-Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

tempting telling tales of GRIMM TALES' fairytale crime-spree

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ... 

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ... 

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...  

intermittent intermissions by masters of the ceremonious ~ 

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ... 

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . . 

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled! 

  

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

THE WALLS COULD TALK ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ... (#Friday Flash Fiction)

MIRRORING TRUTH ~ Mensatic pic ala MorgueFile

 THE WALLS COULD TALK

~ By Absolutely*Kate

The walls could talk fluently because the mirrors reflected history. Oak framed on a carved wooden base with a white marble shelf in the front foyer, reflections of the unadulterated surprise in the bright blue eyes sighting Peggy Jean's murder by a back-stabbing exwife left an unwelcome impression. The gold-flecked foil paper the new owners insisted on almost seamlessly covered the blood smears which Mr Clean could not.

~ ~ ~

The main washroom at the top of the mahogany staircase held remembrance. Grandpa's pride and joy had traveled mountainous miles from militia days out West to find a welcome home. Hung high from where he pounded through crumbly pale blue-white plaster, a foldout shaving mirror opened and extended down to three oval surfaces. Grandpa liked to see all the sides of every situation he looked into. When folded back within itself to close, the back side revealed a burnished golden and red painting of the Southern Cheyenne chief, Wolf Robe. On the other side stared back a shy but mischievious rendering of the proud warrior's wife. 

Grandpa relished his daily gentleman ritual of clipping and trimming following the swift stir of Pear's soap to a foamy alchemy in his chipped pedastal shaving mug. I was just a little tyke at the time, but Gramps would kick the seat closed with one foot and plop me down if I promised to be real quiet. He muttered how dignity should last longer, sang bits he recalled from what he called his courting song, "In The Evening By The Moonlight", then settled into rueful reminisces of the sad massacre at Sand Creek in Colorado. "Now Johnny, Wolf Robe's tribe was peaceful, they meant no harm. The open plains stretched before them, around them and there was plenty land for every man. You didn't speak out against the U. S. military mission of the day but it just didn't set well with me shooing people from their homeland. The Southern Cheyenne had good hunting grounds at the upper flow of the Arkansas River. That's where I met Wolf Robe, hunting. He was skillful, wasted no motion. I halted my horse, signaled my admiration. He too raised open palm, approached me with no fear. Back in '76, he showed no fear also when he hitched up the Cheyenne tribe with the Sioux to defeat Colonel George Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn."

"But Grandpa, we learned in school our government moved the Indians to Oklahoma, making one reservation of Indian Territory. Did your Chief Wolf Robe have to surrender?"

I ducked just in time when he flicked a full stipple of foamy Pear's cream from his wooden brush in the direction of my insensitive noggin. White blobs smacked residue blotches on the pale blue-white plaster and Grandpa left it there all week 'til Grandma came around with her Saturday scrub brush. He liked lasting impressions, Grandpa did.

~ ~ ~

LOVELIGHTS?  MorgueFile

"Oh Johnny, OH Johnny," languishing Lizzie moaned softly. My fingertips were playing tease and tender under soft lotioned Honeysuckle skin right where her creamy breast swooped. I lowered my sensitive noggin into a nibble of a nuzzle at the nape of her neck. I was skillful. I wasted no motion. That cuddly cat moaned more as I primed her primal purr. A slew of those girlie scented vanilla candles she was bringing around more lately flickered now, catching a hundred flame lights in the prismatic bevel mirroring Mom and Pop's hand-me-down maple dresser. Funny. Liz was my old flame, the one who got away, and now . . . the one who'd rambled back. I took her back and didn't look back. If I did, I would've seen what I gazed at each night before I slipped into a jumble of dreams. A red Revlon scrawl, "LIZZIE LOVES JOHNNY BEST OF ALL". How many nights, in how many ways my fingers traced air, just above each letter, not willing to mar the will of the wall's lingering sentiment. How many nights now will my fingers trace real sentiment into my lady? My sigh blends resonance into her moan. I tug her to my side, let fingers further glide, catch fire flickering, this time from white hot heat in her bright blue eyes. For not the first time in my life, I wish I could see all the sides of every situation I look into. The better to leave a more lasting impression.

If I had an Indian head nickel of old Chief Wolf Robe for every time I wondered at the return of the luck of my joy, I'd be an enriched man, learning me the words to croon "In The Evening By The Moonlight".

I'd do it with dignity too.

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 6 ~ ~ "I SEE THE LIGHT" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

~ PRESENTING OUR

   MYSTERY*MATINEE ~

 "THE PRINTS

AND THE POPPER"

  

FROM WHERE WE LEFT OFF

 IN LAST WEEK'S CLIFFHANGER

 *AT THE BIJOU*

CATCHING UP ON CLIFFHANGERS?

JUST CLICK EPIC*SODES BELOW ~

Epic'sode 5: "Lucky Shot"...Epic'sode 4: "Hi Jinks"   

Epic'sode 3: "Groping Against Grope"... Epic'sode 2: "Clot Thickens"

 THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER

 

~ ~ EPIC*SODE 6 ~ ~

"I See The Light"

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and

Harry B. Sanderford

"That was Kate just chatting? Chatelaine AT THE BIJOU?"

 

"If you mean the dame who runs the movie-house next door under the guise of gall and gusto and brought a dilapidated theatre to a recharged life with extra wattage juicing uptown spotlights -- the one who ups the ante of bottom-line businesses by urging ticket sales on talent's tales to stellar showcases of Double*Feature Tuesdays and Thursdays plus Weekend Matinees -- the dame who just dashed? Yep, that's Kate. Wonder what her hurry out of here was?"

 

"You get anything for a plush plug to her posh place with a smooth soliloquy like that to newcomers?"

 

Anthony Venutolo, ever astute profiteering proprietor of the local Lucky Shot Bar & Grille  grinned the grin which globally conveys an in-the-know slice of Yeah, y'know, then added a twist to his own splash on the rocks, "I get a decent percentage and she sends thirsty traffic back my way. That's how this town runs ~ on give & give. So what are you in Hazeltown for? What's your story? Say, you seen that hustler gal Kate was shooting pool with? She was just over there by the remains of the seemingly bottomless Mexican Martini pitcher."

  
Several leaning Lowenbrau cans took a tumbled topple behind the savvy owner of The Lucky Shot. A soft breeze stirred saloon air. Across the room, the soft spill of a gal under a green felt billiards table felt a tug on her sleeve that just wouldn't leave the percussion in her mind to its own rim shots.

 

"You feel that breeze?", muttered the Kozel beer sipping solo patron of a warm afternoon in Hazeltown. "Well mate, make my pleasure bourbon now and allow me to introduce myself. Paul Caracas, InterNoir."

 

"InterNoir?"

 

"Rather like you Yanks' concept of Interpol, but a pre-strike crime investigation branch comprised of those in the know of Noir."

 

Drying martini glasses in counterside contemplation of a good evening crowd, Anthony V was intrigued. "So you talkin' writers? You write about some crime in progress? This some get-good-material flim flam for fictionists?"

 

"No, no, no ~ on the contrary. We're an up and up thought-evoking provoking group called in when a chain of mysterious occurences begin their beguine. We change the observation of the crime scene to plausible twists, turns, plots potentially underway. Ostensibly, that's our way."

 

"Interesting. Who do you work for? Who hires you?"

 

Caracas one-fingered an affirmation to leave the bottle, sipped thoughtfully, judged well, and looked up into Anthony's seen-a-lot-of-life gaze. Solemnly, "Why the highest bidder of course."

 

"Ahhhh".

 

The Phantom of the recent can-can show themed to make an apparition appearance apparent to one of BIJOU's prime patrons, Carrie Clevenger, silenced his own spirited exhale. This spiffy dressed feller, puttin' on his smooth talking to Ant was going to be hot-shot news to Ms Kate over AT THE BIJOU, most likely mid-hip-deep in the pile'up of murder, mayhem, disappearing acts, bloody trails sinking in and the keystone ~ cops all amuck at what was usually a light and laughable hangout for lively townsfolk plus those passing through, tipped off by the affable Lucky Shot barkeep. Best to head her off at the pass on this one once he made an accomplice out of the no longer passed out Carrie. There. Better. She was comin' round after going 9 rounds to see if liquor loosened the lock on what she realized she knew, wondering if others did too. Don't know why the other BIJOU folks sometimes dub her bravado actions scary. Wish more were like her. Open. Wary.

"C'mon, walk with me girl ~ THE BIJOU needs us. NOW! C'mon Carrie ~ here's what you do. Leave a tip for Ant and smile him up so all is solid copacetic. Then, if you can jostle the feller on the barstool as you turn to leave, I've got a ghost of a chance for a reach-and-grab, but you'll have to take and tuck my pass-off under your linen blazery garb, got it?"

Carrie took this in with not much time to do much else, hazed as she was in Hazeltown from the MexiMart pool shoot which hadn't ended up the way she had set it up. "Barkeep," she endeared with a slow-mo wink at an Anthony worth plenty of more lingering lookovers, tendered a few bucks and then tried out her luck at The Lucky. Spun to the left toward the door, let her sandal foot catch her leg to the leg of the stool of the man of the moment, some Euro-looking type from what she'd seen in movie castings. "Sorrrrrrry sir", tumbled breathless as charm on a spree as she caught her balance on his sleeve. Mmmm, nice material, class. 

 

Swell, The Phantom had made his swoop. Carrie doubled over, took the lateral to her linen lining. "G'day Gents!"

Out under the light of day, Phantom telepathed his say, "You get it?"

 

"Got it. Saaaay, how'd you ask me that? Do that again?"

Hustling up their steps up towards the front steps AT THE BIJOU, The Phantom side-mouthed ~ "Well, what IS it? I had to go for the slim package, but that gent's genuinely packing.

 

"You mean -- "

"Yes Carrie." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kate saw that the incoming call was from Jeanette and could hear background noise but not her friend. She hit the redial after hanging up and was immediately connected to her friend’s voice mail. She left a message for a call-back but had an eerie feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Kate had learned not to ignore these feelings and that is why she left The Shot . . . well, like a shot. Quizzing Carrie on what she figured for Phantomy feelings would have to wait. She double-timed it back towards THE BIJOU and when she spotted the ambulance and fire truck just pulling away and the police cruisers that remained, she picked up her pace.

Sugar spotted Kate coming quick and she and Zelda rushed to catch her up. Laurita leaned into the fast femme filling-ins, saw that Joey had a leash of a hold on Jinx and followed the ensemble in the rush of no hush through the mahogany double doors AT THE BIJOU.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Eddie was somewhat hesitant to reveal Miss Kate’s secret to Detective Davenport but it was either that or face explaining their way past all the cops up front. He decided he was just going to have to trust him. “This way!” he said and shouldering his pack he led him back inside through the secret wallway. No stranger to doing his own detecting undetected, Leon had to give the boy credit for stealth.

They emerged from the secret passageway to find the theater empty. “Where’d everybody go?” asked Eddie.

“My guess is Constable Phillips and his boys are up front stretching yellow tape. The Prof is probably headed to the hospital and your new projectionist to the morgue. What do you know about him anyway, this uh, what was his name, Sparkler?”  

“Sparky, Sparky Denton.” Eddie replied.

“Right, Sparky, how long has he been AT THE BIJOU?”

“He’s new, well was new anyway I guess. He just started last week, filling in for Chester while he finishes up his community service over in Alice.”

“That’s right, ol’ Chester. I read about that in the Holler.” 

The Hazelton Holler was the local newspaper. Aside from reporting breaking news like that of Chester Hookem’ Hanks being arrested for fishing drunk without a license for the fourteenth time, “It ain’t the three dollars and twenty-five cents,” he told anyone who would listen, “it’s the dang principle of the thing!” The Holler also kept citizens abreast of school lunches, church socials, Garden Girls meetings and maybe most importantly, the movie schedule AT THE BIJOU.

“Hookem’ just can’t resist them fat cats over in Alice,” Leon remarked with his trademark chuckle.

“So where should we start Mr. Davenport?” Eddie asked steering them back to business.

“Well Jun… er, Eddie I mean, I think we better have ourselves a look around the projection booth and I need to know everything you can tell me about this feller Sparky.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jeanette might have sat there and cried were she not fit to be tied and the fact that she already was, only served to make her madder. She wanted to scream but she knew it would do her no good. So she focused her fury on her confines. She no longer felt the pain when she yanked her arms against the ropes. She pumped back and forth, lunging forward then pulling back like a girl on a swing pumping to go higher. She felt the chair rock and she built a rhythm with each tug. The front legs cleared. She now understood the exhilaration of a foolish schoolboy balancing his desk for attention. Upon settling back she leaned forward bringing the back legs up. She was rocking now and when she arced backwards again she twisted with all her might, balancing briefly on one rear leg before toppling over sideways. 

The crash slapped her head to the floor and dazed her a bit. It also loosened the arm of her wooden prison. The ropes had gone slack and she was able to work her hand free. Triumph may have been postponed but it was only sweeter for the delay. Before even freeing her other hand she yanked the gag from her mouth and pushed the blindfold up from her eyes. Even without the blindfold it was too dark to make sense of her surroundings, the only illumination a horizontal slit of light below what she knew must be a door. As she struggled to free herself completely, she focused on this sliver of light. Her passage out. Her escape.

Just as Jeanette untied the last rope from her right ankle, her beacon blinked out, only to be replaced by a new vertical and widening strip of light. This time Jeanette did scream.

* C * L * I * F * F * H * A * N * G * E * R * !

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Please return to next Saturday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "