Sometimes the best weapon in this town is a good glass of scotch and a pretty smile. It’s certainly never failed me before and by all indications tonight would be no different. I’m not saying it’s always easy…but I wouldn’t call it difficult either.

The cab pulled up abruptly.
“This the place, love?” I nodded, passing a fiver over the drivers shoulder and thanking him. I stepped out onto the wet pavement, my stilettos clicked against the concrete. The rain had caused a part of the city that already burned with neon lights, to glisten. Reflected light exploded off every surface it touched. It painted a scene of dazzling debauchery and almost picturesque sleaze. I was in the seedy end of Chicago, 1928, a part of town ruled by the mob; where the booze ran freely – if you could afford it.

I pulled my fur stole closer to me and strode confidently toward my destination; “The Blue Aubergine”. Pushing open a large oak door I stepped inside, disappearing from the street and into a haze of cigarette smoke. I let my stole slip from my shoulders and to my elbows as I walked slowly to the bar. Sitting down, I looked out into the crowd of tables; it was still early, only a handful of people were here. On stage the pianist sat alone, amusing himself with his own improvisations, waiting for the clock to reach ten and the band to arrive. I ordered a scotch and got comfortable.

Within minutes my target arrived. A fallen cop perched, only just, on the righteous side of vigilante justice. Handsome, with the exception of a broken nose, it was clear he was used to getting his way. He walked arrogantly up to the bar, sitting a few seats away from me, and ordered a scotch.

“And I’ll have another.” I said to the waiter.
“That’s an awfully strong drink for a lady.” The man beside me remarked.
“I’m not much of a lady.” I quipped, unleashing a ruby-lipped smile in his direction. He looked at me, long and hard, sizing me up I suppose; then smiled back warily.
“My names Jonathan Vanzetti” he said coming over to sit next to me.
“I know who you are..” I said audaciously, looking up at him as I took a sip of my drink.
“Oh really,” he replied confidently “Well then it’s only fair that you tell me your name.” I looked deeply into the amber liquid in my glass, swirling it slightly, making him wait. Behind me the band started to play. I glanced up once again and replied “Eleanor” willing my eyes to smoulder.

Something in his face lit up as he leant in closer.
“Could I trouble you for a dance then, Eleanor”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be any trouble” I replied, as I slid off my stool. We danced close and the music evolved into a slow jazz waltz. I slipped my hands across his shoulders, resting them there. He smelt strongly of stale cologne and alcohol; that hadn’t been his first drink tonight, not by a long way. At such close range I could feel the bump of a holster, slung over his shoulder, under his suit. I could never understand the male fascination with guns, such a violent and indiscriminate weapon. I could think of much better ways to kill a man.

****

Sometimes the best weapon in this town is a good glass of scotch and a loaded gun. It’s never failed me before; why would tonight be any different. Sometimes it can get messy…but this town ain’t exactly clean.

The cab pulled up abruptly.
“Yeah, this is the place.” I called out, handing the driver the cash. I stepped out onto the wet pavement, right into a puddle. “Jesus..” I swore pulling out a cigarette. I lit it up, the flame from the struck match reflected on every surface. The place sure did look pretty considering the ugly things that go down here. Taking a drag of the cigarette I noticed a lovely lookin’ broad up ahead, going into “The Blue Aubergine”. It might not be all work and no play tonight after all.

I stuck around outside to finish my cigarette and consider my sodden foot. It was just my luck. I pulled a small scrunched piece of paper out of my pocket:

Goes by the name of Eleanor,
Likes The Blue Aubergine.

Shouldn’t be a tough case; a pretty girl with a fancy for scotch and good connections in the cocaine trade. Tonight was the last night of someone else’s case, he’d done all the groundwork but got knifed by a couple o' “Scarface” Capone’s crew a few weeks back. I just had to make the arrest.

Stubbing my cigarette under my shoe I went inside, piercing a hazy curtain of smoke as I entered. The bloke on stage was keeping a good tune on the piano, even though nearly all the tables in front of the stage were empty. Must still be early. I walked over to the bar and sat down. A few seats away from me was the gorgeous broad I’d seen enter the club; I looked her up and down. Blonde hair, red lipstick and little black dress – she was pretty, alright. In her hands she harboured an empty glass.

“Waiter – scotch.” I said lazily.
“And I’ll have another.” I heard her say, in a sultry, throw-away tone of voice.
“That’s an awfully strong drink for a lady.” I remarked playfully.
“I’m not much of a lady.” She replied, non-chalent, and then smiled. I took another hard look at her; she didn’t look like an Eleanor but it was worth playing along, just in case. I smiled back.
“My names Jonathon Vanzetti” I said, getting up and sitting beside her as the waiter served us our drinks. She looked up at me and with a wicked smile replied.
“I know who you are..” I watched as she took a sip of her scotch. “You know who I am?” I thought, how – we’ve never met.
“Oh really,” I said after a moments pause. “Well then it’s only fair that you tell me your name.” there was I long silence after I spoke. The quiet was filled with the sound of the band striking up at last. The singer’s voice, thick and dark like molasses, reverberated around the room. Then she looked up, the devil in her eye and answered “Eleanor”. Eleanor, of course she is.
“Could I trouble you for a dance Eleanor?” I asked extending a hand
“Oh, it would be no trouble” she answered, following me onto the dance floor.

Eleanor pressed her body nice and close to mine and it was obvious she was unarmed. There’s only one thing more dangerous than a crim with a gun, and that’s a crim without one – it means they have an ace hidden up their sleeve. This was a dame with smarts, whatever she had planned it was going to be sharp.

She put her hands on my shoulders and I could feel her fingertips trace my holster. I've had some strange dates before, but there was no mistaking it, she was casing me. Her pale throat smelt of fancy perfume and her face was all dolled up. The singer’s voice was drowned out by the shrill scream of the brass instruments and the song ended, replaced by one much faster.

“Do you wanna go for a walk” I asked, not intending to make a scene of her arrest. “Let’s have another drink first.” She suggested coyly. We sat back down and she called up the barman. “Break out some of the ‘good stuff’ for my new friend” she said winking at him cheekily and smiling broadly. She turned that same smile towards me and I was hit by how pretty she looked; it sure was a real shame I had to take her in. My Angel.
“Two Manhattan’s” the barman announced “Better than they make ‘em in New York City.” I drank quickly so we could leave, the effect of the drink was warmer than I’d expected.
“That will put fire in your belly.” Eleanor joked in that enticing tone of voice. The drink really did put fire in my belly, but I wasn’t about to let a little pain keep me from doing my job. I ignored it grabbing her hand and going outside.
 

****

The song ended and our bodies parted.

“Do you want to go for a walk” he asked me. In a minute sweetheart, I thought to myself; I have a couple loose ends to tie up first.
“Let’s have another drink first.” I suggested. We sat back down and I instructed the barman to give us the ‘good stuff’. Jonathon looked at me intently, eager to leave. I had a fair idea what his rush was, and as such was in no hurry myself. I didn’t intend to get locked up, not tonight at least.
“Two Manhattan’s” the barman announced “Better than they make ‘em in New York City.” I watched Jonathon guzzle his, in a manner that was less than attractive to say the least. He was another greedy cop, impatient to get his ‘job’ completed and cash his next cheque.
“That will put fire in your belly.” I said aware of the dramatic irony in such a comment. He laughed then grabbed my hand, rushing to get me outside. He looked a little squeamish as we walked through the door and I could tell his stomach was hurting already.

My stilettos clicked on the wet pavement once again. A statement of feminine power with every step. I walked on ahead of him, waiting to hear him collapse before turning back.

****

I let her walk on ahead, her heels made a silly clicking noise on the pavement as she walked. A statement of the ridiculous things chicks will wear to be more fashionable. As she moved on ahead I used the gap between us to let me get the handcuffs and my gun from my holster. I caught up with her as she paused to cross the road at a junction.

****

I felt cold metal against the nape of my neck.

“Okay Eleanor, you’re under arrest sweetheart. I’m sorry but my betters want you taken in.” I turned to face him. He faltered, lowering the gun a little so it wouldn’t be pressed directly against my pretty little chin.

I looked him in the eye; scanning his face it was obvious the man was in a lot of pain. It can’t take long now I thought.
“No…” I said very slowly. “I’m sorry.”

****

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated. “You’ve never had a Manhattan before, have you?” she asked incredulously. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I knew this dame was smart; but she had really got me a treat - I never even saw the waiter slip something into my drink.

The pains in my stomach came to a head and I doubled over. I hit the ground, hard. Right in a puddle.. The last thing I could see and hear were those heels; clicking away into the distance.

Just my luck.