The Chase - # 9

A deceiving night,
Impinging solitude,
A shot of tequila in the bar
at the roadside,
eased the parching throat 
and fueled the seeking soul.

She picked up her purse,
Rich, she was, she flew
like a feather
in nothings of the night.

As the black car she always
knew, recognized,
stood at an apartment, strange,
new, suspicious.
She knocked on the door lightly
alcohol taking it's toll,
and she expected her
ring to fall down any moment
in the dungeons.

But the drop was for
her sister
and her husband aided the deal.
for money, he married one
and sold the other.
She never regreted carrying
a pistol.
and that's when she played
colors.
and the color was
RED.

***

PS: And now our (totally optional) prompt. I’m a sucker for a good mystery novel, especially the hard-boiled noir novels of the thirties and forties. There’s always a two-timing blonde, a city that keeps its secrets, and stuck in the middle, a man who just can’t help but rabbit after truth. Today I challenge you write a poem inspired by noir — it could be in the voice of a detective, or unravel a mystery, or just describe the long shadows of the skyscrapers in the ever-swirling smog. After all, “you know how to write a poem, don’t you, Steve? You just pick up a pen and you write.”