My Foray into Noir Fiction. Part Four.

Previously.

A few morphine shots later and he was Timmy again. Or so it seemed. "Damn, Timmy. You really should carry more of these around. I used up all you had on you" I said, tossing the syringes behind me in a nonchalant manner which I thought would convey the idea that I was used to giving impromptu shots to schizophrenic nutjobs.

"Whatever, thanks anyway" he said. "So, I heard. You're opening again eh? Well, I've got something that should interest you. And I'm prepared to pay too."

He finished by slamming a two-dollar bill onto the table. I don't know how he did that, he just did. Timmy just had a way of doing things few others could pull off.

"Gee Tim, I'm not so sure. My gas to drive here cost more than that."

A little persuasion would be necessary, it seemed, if I was to get anything out of this. It was an art, like how an experienced angler knows when to move his bait. Avoid the small ones, go straight for the big.

"I know you don't drive," came the reply.

"Oh really."

"Yea."

"And so you were saying-"

But the damage was done. I knew that this moment would be an object of torment for the many sleepness nights to come. How the greatest defeats arrive from the smallest of mistakes, a kingdom for a horseshoe.

"Ok Matt, look here. I suspect my girl is at it again, and I need evidence. Pictures, videos, anything."

"Oh come on, let her go. She's been cheating on you since last year. I thought you'd be the first to know. Or maybe Jim or Carl or Andrew or whatever you become on other days of the week."

In my opinion, there are two things in life that make a man poor, fast women and slow horses. Timmy had both. His venture into horse betting had been a disaster and now Sally was running off with his dough.

"Hey I've got to help her! That man she's going our with, he's a con!"

"No, Sally's the con. Dammit Tim, the only reason she's still with you is because she gets to sleep with a different man every night. She's nothing but a thieving slut."

"Don't you call her that! If you can't help me, I'll find someone who can!"

"Fine by me. I do crime, not girlfriend spying."

He walked out. I sat there alone, sipping up the final drops of my Tall Mocha Frappucino®. The two-dollar bill was gone too. As Timmy disappeared around the corner, I leaned back in the chair and sighed. Damn. Should have ordered a Venti.

The entire series is sequence rather than plot driven. Sometimes an idea comes up and I decide to save it for a later part but for this one, I put all the ideas I had into it, though some were still left out due to context. Don't know if there'll be another one, since the purpose of this whole piece of junk was so that I could use that last line, which expresses the frustration of finishing a less than adequately sized drink.