Cigar #2 from Huzza.
From the files of Jack Diamond.
It was a dark night in the city when she swayed out of my office, leaving an envelope full of cash, the smell of sex in the room, and a cigar on the table. I sat down to smoke it, thinking about the case.
This cigar looks nice. It’s well made, cold draw is good. I light it and enjoy some slight sweetness.
Sweet like that dame. She came in a couple of weeks ago boo hoo-ing about how somebody whacked her old man. He was some suit bigshot. She thought it was a hit. Wanted me to find the killer. Man, this broad was a looker– fancy looking blonde with the most amazing gray eyes I’ve ever seen. She told me she would give me a wad of cash for solving the case. She let me know she would give me something else too.
I’m getting a little chocolate from the cigar and some really nice cream. Maybe there’s criollo in the blend, some chocolate flavors lingering in the shadows ...
My first stop on the case was Muggsy’s place. Muggsy’s is the type of bar nice people don’t go in. At least once a week more people go into the place than come out. He has a special trashman on the take, see, who doesn’t open any of the bags and doesn’t ask questions. If there was a hit on the guy, Muggsy might know. He’s called “Muggsy” because of his face. Mug like a catcher’s mit that got left out in the rain after the game was called. Ugly just for the sake of being ugly.
The cream is still around. I'm really digging this cigar.
Muggsy told me that he didn't know anything. He knows I don't care about his business, so I couldn't figure out why he would lie to me. (I've known Muggsy since we was kids. He used to stutter. To this day, he has to slow down when he's lying or he'll start stuttering. Muggsy was talking
real slow that night.)
I went to the suit’s office asking around, trying to find out if he had enemies. They all hated him, glad he was gone. Said he was a real heel.
Second third of this cigar is continuing like the first. The sweetness and cream take the stage, stealing the spotlight. Bread notes creeping in, like footsteps in a dark alley. A little chocolate in the background like a distant echo of trouble. Hard not to puff too fast. Like smoking a roasted marshmallow. Burn and draw? Perfect.
I was stuck on the case for a while, so I decided to go back to Muggsy's and find out why he was lying to me, squeeze somebody around there hard-like. That type of thing can go south though, fella can find himself getting taken out with the trash doin' something like that, so I was packing heat this time, carrying the .38.
After hanging out for a while, I saw my mark. Larry Fingers. Smilin' scumbag would dime on his own mother to save his hide. I waited for him to leave and leaned on him hard in the alleyway. Once I saw the sweat on his forehead, I knew I had him. I showed him the picture of the suit, and he tells me that the guy came in a couple weeks ago, had some hot dame on his arm. I asked if she had gray eyes, and he said “yes.” I asked Fingers what night of the week they came in, and he said it was a Tuesday. He remembered cause it was a slow night, and they stood out.
Then the sweat started beading on my forehead, and I started regretting the lifetime of bad decisions that led me to taking the case.
The third act of this cigar is solid as a rock. Construction, burn, draw, smoke production, all top-notch. I feel like I should know what this is, like chasing a lead in a labyrinth of deception. A little more leather, adding to the mystery. Didn't want it to end, and neither did the cigar.
I am wrapping up this final bit of the cigar thinking about the report I gave the dame. I said that somebody from his job probably had him whacked, but I couldn’t figure out who.
This was a real primo cigar. Dame had good taste. I’ll give her that.
Epilogue: So why’d I do it? Why’d I throw the case? Cause Fingers said they came in on a Tuesday.
Trash man comes on Wednesdays.
Crazy broad had her husband wacked and paid me to find the killer knowing I’d figure out she done it. She knew she could take my report to the coppers. They would ask around at his office a little, then give up. Lazy bums aren’t going to try to solve a case I can’t crack. She walks.
Why not turn her in? Cause a broad like that is a whole lot of sexy and even more crazy. If she got let off, pleading insanity or somethin’, I’m looking over my shoulder the rest of my life for the guy she hires to whack me. I’m not doin’ that for some suit I never met.
Nah … you want to know the real reason I done it? Those eyes. And cause broads like that, see, they don’t pay attention to guys like me. Not
that kind of attention.
And cause she gave me a good cigar.
Edited by user
2 years ago |
Reason: Not specified
