The Last Stop
In every area of life there is tragedy. I never needed to look far. It always seemed to find me. I always wanted to get out of town, take the red eye, and wake up somewhere clean. Instead here I was in L.A. on a dark rain soaked night in a dive bar. The bar was called The Last Stop or at least something like that. The sign was nearly gone and no one cared to remember. I was drinking to forget, leaning heavily on the bar. I had little to my name, a pack of Camels and an old military issue pistol. I lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly.
I had a girl on my mind. She was a lovely creature with long golden hair, a singer. Her stage name was Rapunzel. She belonged to Harry Wilcott and Harry kept her locked up. He was the jealous type and wouldn’t let her be seen. I was a detective but I’d also worked for Harry, been on his payroll. I had learned to look the other way, keep Harry’s interests in mind. Continue reading “Rapunzel, Noir (Short Story)”