DANGER BROAD - Twinkle Twinkle

Three months had passed since Debbie watched the operative "Beth" walk into the factory in her "construction chick" getup, the orange shirt and overall tucked into work boots. The plant had worked, she pretending to be interested in getting ahead in life, to get out of factory work. She never actually did the work, just walked in the front door and out the back at lunch time, never to return. The supervisor was also a plant and knew the drill.

She was sitting her blue Neon listening to the Beatles A Hard Days Night CD. If I Fell was playing. She took another deep drag of her Lucky strikes and threw it out the window. This was the crappy part of the game, just sitting back and letting things fall into place. But that was ok. If it meant having that blonde floozie out of her life once and for all, the wait was worth it.


The chick had done her job well, getting close to the boss's secretary, Twink. What a name, Debbie thought to herself. Gotta be a fake. Who the hell names their kid Twink? Twink had a sister named Twiggins who was an airline captain and the chick had convinced her that she was really interested in getting "back" into the airline industry, having worked as a baggage handler in the past. Twink and Twiggins, what the hell was the world coming too? Didn't anyone named thier kid Debbie anymore?

The rest had been easy. A couple of greased palms here, a few forged tests there, and construction chick was in like velcro on polyester pants.

Debbie looked at her watch. The Air Tran flight should be landing in about twenty minutes. Time to head on over to the Pink Flamingo.

The Beatles were finishing up Can't Buy Me Love. Oh yeah? she smirked to herself. We'll see.
_________________________________________________________


Maynard's head was throbbing again. Commishoner Oyl was reading him the riot act once again since he left his potato chips all over the squad car. She had sat in a big pile of them and now there was grease all over her black skirt.


He hoped he hadn't hurt the Rookie Sar and Sgt. Canold too badly. He hadn't intended for them to both be doing back flips out the back end of the convertible, but it sure did give the effect he wanted. They handled it like the pros he knew that they were.


He looked over at Commishioner Oyl who was still going "...and if I EVER find any more of those damn things in my office..." He blocked her out again, just nodding his head in apology and letting her go on.


Just the same, he knew it was time to start getting ammoed up for the hit at the Pink Flamingo. Someone was sure to take a hit this time around. He hoped it wasn't him, but rather it was if it came down to him or the girls.


Commishioner Oyl was just about finishing up when he spied the picture on her desk that she had showed him when he was called in several months ago. It was the blown up photo, the one Rookie Sar had brought in for him to examine. There had been something in Danger Broad's Hand that evening at the Granola Bar the both of them couldn't figure out without the closeup.


He looked down at the picture and his heart stopped.


Why hadn't he seen this before?


"...ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME MAYNARD!!!" Oyl was screeching, noticing he had stood up suddenly to look at something on her desk.


"Look, Commish! Look! Look at what she's holding in her hand! We thought it was a pen!"


Oyl was panting she was so angry, her ample chest heaving up and down. She swallowed hard before she was going to begin her tirade again, when Maynard grabbed the photo off her desk and thrust it into her face.


"Look" he said, impatiently now. "Look what she has in her hand!"


Then she saw it.


Could it be?


They looked at each other.


Maynard's smile went from East to West. "Got her" he said. "We got her."


Oyl picked up the phone, still speechless and mentally banging her head against the wall for not seeing it.


"Get me the President" she said. "Yeah. Of the United States."

DANGER BROAD - No More I Love You's

The music of Annie Lennox blared from the open window of the apartment on the 5th floor of the downtown building, set back off from the noon time activity of Main Street.

"No more I love you's........the language is leaving me ........No more I love you's........the changes are shifting outside the world......."


She was known as Sultry Veruca on the stage, but her real name was Madeline Carmichael. Not quite as sexy sounding, she changed her name when she turned 18 and started singing in small clubs, backroom taverns, and little holes in the wall. She never worked as a stripper, but she often wondered what her reaction would be if asked. No one ever did.


Madeline stood before her vanity mirror. She finished brushing her long brown hair and tied it back with a pony tail rubberband, the tail part reaching down to the middle of her back. Her hair was one of her trademarks, among others, at the Pink Flamingo. She tried mimicing the low throaty sounds of Annie. She sounded just like her and decided that would be one of her more popular songs. All she had to do was make up some moves on the stage to go with the words, moves that made her sway and her customers swoon. They were mostly men.


Except for the one woman who had been coming to the club fairly regularly the last month, and she made Madeline very nervous. She never approached her, but just the same, she could tell this woman was studying her. It wasn't a come on, she'd had them before from women and knew how to dissuade them. The woman was blonde and short, nearly a head shorter than Madeline. No, this was almost like she was analyzing her. God, how she wanted a drink. She only craved the booze when she was scared.


It was getting late, and her stomach growled. She needed to eat before she left for work. Thoughts of the blonde woman were replaced with a tuna on rye.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Beth lined her lips with red lipliner, then puckering in the mirror, she blotted them on a tissue. The doctor had made them too full again, she whined in her head, I look like a freakin barbie doll. Oh well, it helps with the get up.


She was dressed in the warehouse gear, the beige overalls covering the orange teeshirt. Her work boots were tied and her hardhat sat on the bed. The two orange flags she would need to complete the effect laid on the bed next to her pistol.


She reached down and checked the .45 one more time to see if she had set up properly. All chambers were filled. She slapped the chamber with a spin and stuck in her holster she had under her shirt attached to her bra strap. Lock and load, baby she whispered to herself. She checked her wrist watch which read 12:30 p.m. Time to go.


Showtime.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Maynard was pacing. What the hell was wrong with these women that it took them so long to change he thought. It's just a damn stake out - what could they be doing in there?


His question was soon answered when they came out.


The Rookie Sar was dressed in a leather skirt that left little to the imagination. She had on a halter top that housed her ample bosom, something Maynard had neglected to notice since he had only ever seen her in uniform.


Gone was the innocent smile. It was replaced with a hard, red lip pout that she had been practicing for weeks. Blue eye shadow covered the lids of her eyes, black eyeliner prouncing the largeness of her eyes.


"What the hell you lookin' at man" she growled in a hard edged tone. The sweetness was definitely gone. Maynard was strangely aroused.


Sgt. Canola exited the room next, and her getup was just as hard and erotic. Leather boots grabbed at her long calves and travelled all the way to top of her thighs. She too had on a mini, only leopard pattern. Her makeup was just as harsh, her blonde hair piled high on the top of her head, wisps falling down around her ears. She met his gaze with a hardness he had never seen before.


"Ladies", he said as he cleared his throat and offered his arms to escort them.


"Oh shove it, Maynard", said Canola in a deep roar. There was silence a moment, before they all burst out laughing. It broke the tension of what was going to be a difficult undercover assignment. They were keenly aware they would have to rely on all the training and skills they had acquired over the years. One of them may not come back.


It was definitely showtime.


"Remember", Maynard said, suddenly somber. "Remember the signal. It will save your life."


WIth that, they all headed towards the door of the apartment building across the street from the one they had been casing for a month.


It was 1:30 p.m. They could hear the music of Annie Lennox wailing in the background.

DANGER BROAD - Pharmacists and Leads

Maynard sat at the bar, the afternoon sun slowing moving across the window of the restaurant, a cool breeze blowing leaves across the sidewalk and up against the glass. Something wicked this way comes, he thought, the phrase jumping into his head, a quote from an old poem.

He was waiting for his contact. Rando was a frequent patron at the Pink Flamingo, and always had a joke or two up his sleeve, in between showing anyone who would buy him a drink card tricks.

Taking a drag on his Winston cigarette while nursing his gin & tonic, he thought about the last joke Rando had told, while at the same time relieving him of a C Note.

A young man goes into a drug store to buy condoms. The pharmacist says "The condoms come in packs of 3, 9 or 12 and asks which the young man wants.

"Well," he said, "I've been seeing this girl for a while and she's really hot. I want the condoms because I think tonight's "the" night. We're having dinner with her parents, and then we're going out. And I've got a feeling I'm gonna get lucky after that. Once she's had me, she'll want me all the time, so you'd better give me the 12 pack."

The young man makes his purchase and leaves. Later that evening, he sits down to dinner with his girlfriend and her parents. He asks if he might give the blessing, and they agree. He begins the prayer, but continues praying with his head down for several minutes after everyone starts eating.

The girl leans over and says, "You never told me that you were such a religious person."


He leans over to her and says, "You never told me that your father is a pharmacist."


Maynard winced at the memory. Rando's grin, missing several teeth, was a sight to behold, as he ended with the punch line, while at the same time getting the Potato Chip King to give up his dough. Maynard laughed in spite of himself.

Sultry Veruca was on stage, singing a smoky ballad, something about love on the high seas, or something like that, Maynard couldn't quite make the words out. She sure was a looker. But he wasn't there for that right now, there was business to attend to.

Commishioner Oyl was on his tail to get this case sewed up, it was going on for far too long. The Rookie Sar was getting better and better everyday, it wouldn't be long before she would really be on her own and not need his guidance. Just like a woman, Maynard thought. I teach her everything I know, and then she uses it with some other guy.

Time was running short. Where the hell was Rando?


*******************************************************

Debbie sat behind the wheel of her non descript blue Neon. No more rusty green Toyota for her. The time in the slammer had paid her well, taking the rap for the real perpetrator of the crime against that blonde witch. If only that snitch Maynard hadn't turned at the last minute, it would have all been perfect! The blonde floozie would be dead, she would have her money, and she would be with the man she loved. Now he was gone, taking a job in Utah, of all places. She had to finish the job or she wouldn't get the rest of what was coming to her.

The warehouse parking lot was full of activity, as it was the change of shift, 4:00 p.m. Men with flannel shirts and hardhats, steel lunch pails and green knapsacks, they were headed to their trucks and SUV's, going home to their families, wives, girlfriends, babies.

She sat low in the seat behind the wheel. No sense taking the risk of being seen. She had parked in the far end of the lot, against some trees and overgrown brush, neglected for years and in the same shape as the rest of the building, broken down and dirty. Where the hell was this chick she was supposed to pick up? She was supposed to be the best in the business, in and out of a situation before the mark even knew it.

Then she saw her. The woman saw her as well, making the eye contact sign they had agreed on. The woman bent down and adjusted the laces on her boots.

She walked over to the passenger's side of the car.

She had a tipirillo cigar between her red lips, full from a recent collegen treatment.

Debbie looked at her.

Beth? she grunted?

The woman looked at her. "How do I know you're who you say you are?"

Debbie pulled out a wad of 10 one hundred dollar bills.

"Works for me" she said and put her hand on the door handle to open the door. Sliding into the seat, she turned to look at the abrasive, hard woman holding a picture. It was that of a short petite blonde sitting at the bar at the local restaurant, the Pink Flamingo.

"Meet your new best friend, Babe" Debbie said as she handed the wad of bills to the operative.

She started the ignition and they drove away in silence.



TO be continued...

DANGER BROAD - Can You Hear Me Now

The wrecking ball smashed into the side of the building, bringing down what was left of The Granola Bar, a gin joint that had been around for ages. The original barkeep/owner had gone crazy and shot his wife and then himself in the head. Bad blood was said to have been squirted all thru the place, and it was good riddance the bar was being demolished. There were plans to replace it with a Starbucks.

Debbie stood in the phone booth across the street from the ill fated establishment, watching the last of the bricks cascade down, the dust rising as she thought back to all the discussions she and the man had shared. Although they were more argument than discussions, they were mostly about religion and politics, finance and commerce. He was an intelligent man; too bad he was nuts.

The phone rang. Finally.

"Yeah?"

"Do you see her?" hissed a voice on the other end. "Has she walked by yet?"

"No. Not yet" she answered looking tentatively over her shoulder.

"Well, you know what to do when she shows."

"Right." She smiled as she pictured what she would do to that blonde witch the minute she got her in her sights. Shoot her.

Debbie checked the .45 that sat snugly in the holster right under her left arm. Loaded and ready to party. All she had to do was wait.

"Gotta go" she said to the voice on the end of the phone line and hung the phone back in the cradle. She wished she could just use her cell phone, but these calls had to be on a secure line. Couldn't take the chance of getting caught, you never knew who was listening. Or watching.


***********************************************************

Maynard sat in the back of his police cruiser dressed in undercover garb. His nose was itchy, as the white tape holding it together was getting old and raggedy looking.

It had been a month since that jerk running out of The Granola Bar had ran into him and broken his nose. Man, hurt like a son of a gun. Even hurt to chew his potato chips. But it didn't stop him. He sat back and stuffed another few fingers full in his mouth and laughed.

Sgt. Canola and the Rookie Sar were sitting in the front, arguing about who was going to be the bad cop.

"I always have to be the good cop!" whined Sar. "Can't I be bad for once?"

"You'll never pull it off" said Canola. "What, with all that blonde hair, you just can't shake the sweet out of you!"

What I wouldn't give to knock the sweet out of both them, thought Maynard, and not in the way they would have imagined. His throat was thirsty for a drink, a real man's drink like a scotch & soda, not a MacDuff like the two in the front would sample after work. For as much arguing as they did, Canola and Sar were great buddies.

"First we have to catch her in the act, and this sting has been a long time in the making, we can't blow it" Canola lectured.

"I know." Resignation ran through Sar, her body language not hiding the fact she was also bored. "I just want to do something different."

"Head's up" Maynard whispered suddenly, as he jerked to attention, knocking the bag of chips on the floor of the police car. "Here he comes!"

Don the Private Dick had just turned the corner and was heading towards the phone booth were Danger Broad had been surveying the scene a week earlier. He dug into his pants pocket and searched for change - funny he didn't use a cell phone either, thought Maynard.

"He's using a phone booth" said Sar out loud, echoing his thoughts. "What's up with that?"

Even though he motioned to put the change into the slot, the phone had rang before he dialed any numbers.

He picked up the receiver and waited. His hands were shaking and he put the earpiece to his ear, awaiting his orders.

Debbie was going to contacting him. This might be her.

It wasn't.


To be continued.........

DANGER BROAD - Canola

Part 4 of a tongue-in-cheek film noir style series I wrote years ago.
Commisioner Oyl sat at her desk in the police station, amidst a stack full of reports and Most Wanted flyers that needed to be stapled to the board outside her office. She had just come off the night shift and her feet were killing her.

I'd love to take the damn boots off she thought, but she took pity on the other officers. They were certain to get a wiff of the evidence she had spent the last 15 hours working hard.

She stood up and stretched, her long dark hair suddenly falling out of the clip that had been holding it back for most of the late night hours. Arms over her head, her ample bosom heaved up and down as she stretched, exposing her tight midriff from years of exercising and hard work as a cop who had pulled herself up through the ranks. She was the object of desire of every male officer in the precinct, and role model for every woman.

So consequently, she never dated and she had no friends.

Oyl sat back down in her leather chair and hit the intercom.

"Maynard, right now!" she barked, a little shriller than she had intended. She didn't like what she had just read in front of her, stuck on top of the stack probably put there this morning by one of the new recruits.

"Right here, right now, Commish" said Maynard as he entered the office, wiping his hand on his black pants, leaving grease stains in the process. Maynard had a thing for potato chips. He had gotten shot in the thigh during an undercover operation a couple of years back, and three stale potato chip bags stuffed in his pocket has ricocheted the bullet to cause it to only graze the top of his knee cap. He was one lucky cop. It had only intensified his love for the junk food.

"Sit down" she motioned to him, "and take a look at this picture."

She handed him a glossy 8 x 10 photo. It was the picture of a blonde woman standing at the bar of a tavern he had remembered from a stakeout a while back, probably five years. He couldn't quite make out her face, but he rememberd the bar. And her hair. Long, blonde, thick hair. The kind a man could get lost in. The bar was called something like a health food or some other cacamamie craze. What was it he thought, the Ebola, no, the.....

"Recognize the woman?" Oyl asked him. He hadn't really paid attention, he was still trying to remember the name of the bar.....the Gondola? It was on the tip of his tongue, man, he hated when that happened, he started to snap his fingers, as if this would jar his memory.

"It was taken at the Flamingo" she started.

"YESSS......!" he remembered now "The Granola! That was at the Granola, and that bartender was a real pain in the ass, always talking about religion and welfare and something about sign painting......"

"Yeah, never mind that Maynard, she said, impatient now "Do you remember the woman?"

"How could I, I'm only looking at the side view, although there's something about her that looks familar. Maybe the way she's standing or how shes holding her drink. Whats that she's holding in her hand?" He brought the picture closer to his eyes, and squinted, not quite able to make out if it was a cigarette or a pen.

"I had trouble seeing it, too" Oyl admitted, "So I sent one of the new recuits to the lab for a blow up. She should be back any minute."

"So whats all this mean?" Maynard asked. He didn't like where this was going. Suddenly he knee cap was itchy and he needed to sit back. He had sat down on the leather sofa pushed against a picture window. Man, these commisioner types get all the perks he thought to himself. All I get is extra potato chips.

There was a knock on the door as Oyl began outlining what she wanted him to do.

"Here's the blow up you wanted Commisioner Oyl."

It was Officer Sar, a new recuit who was anxious to make an impression. Maynard couldn't stand her. Just what we need he thought to himself, another woman in command. His look was not wasted on Sar.

"Sit down, Sar, make yourself comfortable. This is going to be a long morning, I've had a bitch of a night, and I need a shower" said Oyl, pointing a section of the sofa closest to Maynard.

Sar sat down on the arm of the leather sofa, not wanting to sit anywhere near this Maynard character. He smelled like he needed a shower as well, and his hair was out of control.

Commisioner Oyl sat in the other leather chair diagonal from the two officers. Maynard was an excellent cop, able to blend in with any situation and easy going to boot. His fellow officers respected him, even if they didn't take him seriously. He was the class clown, the village idiot, the funny guy at a roast.

He had never fired a shot from the gun that sat in his shoulder holster.

Officer Sar was a newbie, an opportunistic cop. Young and strong at 26, she could smell them right away. Not necessarily a dirty cop, but one with ambition. It's easy to mix up the two sometimes, but every now and then you got one that really just wanted to get ahead, and would do iot with integrity. She hoped Sar was that kind of cop. She would soon find out. She knew that Maynard would show her what she needed to know to survive.

After Oyl finished filling in Sar about the history of a case Maynard had worked on several years ago, she pulled the leather chair closer to them, so close she could smell their breath. Sar's smelled of onion cream cheese that adorned a bagel she had wolfed down before going to he lab. Maynard's smelled of the tell tale potato chips. Salt & vinegar.

"So you'll be going undercover again, Maynard, as will you Sar. Think you can handle it?"

"Oh yes, Ma'am!" Sar said, standing up. She had listened intently as Oyl mapped out their strategy and their next plan of action.

"That's it then, you two. The Mayor is looking to me to get this sewn up once and for all, before the holidays."

Her next statement was pointed directly to Maynard. "You may not be as lucky this time, Maynard. She gots friends."

"I'll be careful, Commish. Don't you worry."

He wasn't letting no blonde floozie get one over on him. Not this time.


_______________________________________________


"Where we headed?" Sar's voice crackeled into the earpiece Maynard wore. He was walking down the street to the bar he used to frequent so many years before on a stake out that nearly killed him. Sar was in an unmarked car a few feet behind him.

"To the Flamingo, where else?" He answered curtly, coughing into his collar and pulling his shirt closer around his neck. Summer was nearly over and Fall was around the corner. It was getting chilly. Or was he just alittle nervous. He didn't like that she talked so much.

He had grown out his facial hair, but shaved his tell tale afro. He looked like a young Sidney Poiter with a beard.

Nearly there now he whispered, and stopped before walking in through the doorway. A door with no window, it only had a small boxlike opening where a glass pane would have been, reminiscent of the old speak-easys he had seen on television. Right now it was closed.

He put his hand on the doorknob and got ready to push it in when the door smashed him in the face opening the other way.

"Sorry man!" said the man who has crashed into him, nearly knocking him down. He bent down to offer a hand, but Maynard was cupping his nose, he thought it might be busted.

"Do you know when the next bus is?" the man said in a panic, unaware he had just broken the nose of an old drinking buddy.

"Never mind, I gotta get outtta here!" and ran around the corner.

Stopping at the red light, he stood paralyzed when a rusted green toyota pulled up beside him. A cute blonde with sparkling eyes and a cigarette dangling from her mouth leaned over and said "Hey, sport, wanna ride?"

A smile of relief spread from ear to ear when he realized who it was.

"Canola!" he said. "What a sight for sore eyes!"


To be continued.......

DANGER BROAD - Questions

Debbie sat slouched down in her green toyota, rusted in the back, with a broken tail light.

I'll have to get that fixed she thought. Don't want to get a ticket and draw attention to myself. She was parked across the street directly in front of the rectory. All the years of waiting and planning had cumulated to this moment. She could see a woman hustling to get up the front steps, a long walk from the street to the top of the stairs.


The woman was standing at the door, holding it open with her butt, hands outstretched as if to greet the nun lumbering up the walkway.


"Now, now!" she could hear the bitch say in her sing song voice. "What ever it is we can handle it together, you and me and God!"


Oh, I have to take her out now she thought to herself. I can't stand it any longer. She's gotta go.


She reached down between her legs and pulled her 54 Magnum out of her left thigh high leather boot. Her head still down, she reached under the seat and pulled out the clip to stick into the chamber.


Lock and load, girly girl she murmered. Today's a good day to die. And I'll finally get my money and blow this tax laden, politician bloated, street fighting, school failing town.


She slowly lifted her head and saw the woman with her arms around the Nun, who was now sobbing uncontrollably.


"I just want to teach the little bastards" she cried "but they won't listen to me, they keep wanting to learn how to do yoga, and I'm a Math teacher, dammit, a Math teacher!"


The woman the Math Teacher in her arms and held her like a baby, stoking the back of her long brown braid.


Okay now, don't move whispered Debbie, as she aimed her gun between the eyes of the sickeningly sweet church lady. Hold still right there she uttered, barely speaking. She pulled back the trigger, a loud click echoing in the green toyota.


Steady,,,,steady......


"Hold it, Debbie." She felt the cold steel of a rifle pressed against the back of her neck. "Don't move."


It was Maynard. She thought he had been asleep in the back seat, hungover from a party they had both gone to at the private dick Dingleberry's house.


The gun was pressed agains the back of her neck, and he was ready to pull the trigger when he heard his boss.


"Freeze!! FBI!" It was Commisioner Oyl, the young upstart who had taken the department by storm and had made quite a name for herself. This would be quite a feather in her cap, capturing the Hit Woman Debbie, and right in the act, no less! She could envision that vacation in the Bahamas now, dipping her feet in the ocean, washing away the stench of her smelly feet from far too many late night shifts.


"Good job, Detective Maynard" she yelled as Maynard released his grip on the trigger. Debbie jerked her head back and caught him off guard. The gun went off. "No more potato chips for you my turncoat friend!" Debbie yelled and started to run.


"What the hell is going on over there?" yelled the nun as she noticed all the cop cars pulling up around the green toyota parked across the street. They saw a blonde woman trying to run away from her car, only to be wrestled to the ground and handcuffed, her arms behind her back.


"Sgt. Canola, get this woman in the back of the paddy wagon, and call an ambulance for Maynard" ordered Commissioner Oyl.


It was only a flesh wound, as the bullet had richoted against the three stale potato chip bags he had stuffed in his pants pocket. He would be okay.


"Wait! Wait!" yelled the woman as she ran across the street to finally face the person who had tried to kill her. She recognized her as the woman she had seen many times before, in Wegmans, in Victoria Secrets, in the laundromat.


"Who are you and why were you trying to kill me?" She asked the woman, tears running down her freckeled face. "Why do you hate me so much that you would want to kill me?"


Debbie looked at her for a moment before she answered. She thought about how her lover the radio talk show host would murmer her name every time they were together. How sometimes he would yell out her name in his sleep. "Lovely, Lovely why did you leave me?"


"My name is Debbie" she said. "And you stole the heart of my man. He only stays with me because I look like you. Your ex husband paid me over the years to learn your mannerisms and to kill you and take your place. I belong with him! He's mine! He's mine!" she cried as they led her away to the paddy wagon.


"Wow." Said the woman as she watched them load up Maynard into the ambulance. "Bad Karma, honey. He's not my man, I'm into musicians, not radio talk show hosts. She could have had him. All she had to do was ask."


And she walked away, whistling an Irish medly she heard once at a party.


*********************************************************


"And thats the end of the story" said Alan the bartender, wiping the bar down with his wet rag. The sultry, titian-tressed, southern sexy singer Veruca sang a smoky ballad behind them. Alan had turned Debbie in, tipping off the feds and had made out like a bandit with the reward money. He remodeled the bar, named it The Granola and now had quite an array of affluent clientle.


"She used to sit right there, smoking her Lucky Strikes and slamming back her scotch. She was a hell of a woman."


Who, said the pimply face newcomer, Patrick. "Debbie?"


"Nah" smirked Alan.


"Eileen. She'd stop here after church and shoot the breeze with me, have a few and talk about how she fooled them all. She was the real Danger Broad all along."


"Whoa" said Patrick, clearly impressed. "You never know, do ya?"


"Nope" said Alan. "You never know."


....to be continued

DANGER BROAD - Awakening

She looked out her living room window and saw the young man standing on the corner. There he is again she murmered to herself. Eating potato chips and dropping the bags on my lawn.

Why doesn't that guy have a job?. She pressed her face closer to the glass, trying to make out his features. I wonder how old he is. Maybe I could get him a job at the rectory, cutting the grass or trimming the hedges.


Her job at the church afforded her the opportunity to do nice things for people. She was a church lady, a "goody two shoes" most people thought. Ha. If they only knew. But she loved her job and she loved bringing people closer to God, or at the very least, a higher power, if that's all they would accept. She would have to help this poor man, if not for himself, but at least to get him the hell off her lawn.


She lived in the house by herself, a recent divorce claiming most of her finances and energy. All she did right now was work and sleep and write. She loved to write poetry. She wasn't sure if she was any good at it, but it gave her peace. That's the most she was looking for right now, was peace. And quiet. Her children grown up and on their own, she had waited for that moment when she knew they would all be able to handle it, especially her husband.

"I need to go on my own now" she had said to him.

"I've taken care of you long enough. I need to take care of myself now, all right?" Although it really wasn't that simple, he didn't seem to be too upset. It was almost as if he expected it.

So she gave her children all her furniture and he moved to Wyoming.

She sold the house they had all lived in together and moved to the house on the corner, two streets over, a smaller version of her previous residence. A tiny piece of the familiar, yet something totally new and different. A place that was completely hers.

It was empty. She had taken a mattress and a desk, two bureaus and all the pictures. Her computer and stereo were old, he didn't want them, so she took them too. She was able to purchase a tv and a kitchen table, and also brought with her most of the dishes and the linen. She was all set. She could fill in the empty places later.

What was harder to fill was the empty space in her heart.

She had gotten involved with a saxaphone player, remembering old feelings of romance and lust. He worked alot and wasn't in town much. This isn't going to work she thought, and cut her losses. It was exactly what she had left.

But she was tough. She would move on. There was a cop and a couple of firemen that had asked her out before the musician, but she wasn't ready, still a little gun shy. But not anymore. The musician had broken her open, she was ready to rock again.

She wished the guy on the corner would move on. Looking out the window again, she noticed he was just about to move on, spying one long leg getting into the green car driven by a blonde woman. There was something vaguely familiar about the way she held her head, as she swung the car around to face the other way, passing the house again to go onto the main road.

I've seen that face before, the woman thought to herself. She looked in the mirror and checked her makeup one last time before going outside to pick up the scattered potato chip bags left on her lawn.

"Where have I seen that face before?" she said out loud, to no one but the face in the mirror.

I know that face.



To be continued............

DANGER BROAD - Welcome to the Jungle

As a joke a few years ago, I wrote a tongue in cheek Film Noir series titled "Danger Broad." Someone asked me to drag her out again, so here she is.

The bar was dark, a stark contrast from the early morning sunshine she left behind as she entered the tavern and sat down on the stool. She always sat there.

It had been a long night, spent under the covers with a private dick she usually hung with after doing business. Don or Dom Dingleberry or some fruity berry name like that. She could never get them straight. All she knew was that she was thirsty and didn't have time for breakfast. Or would this be dinner?

She pulled out her pack of Lucky Strikes from her handbag, sticking the last cigarette in the pack between her lips and jutting her jaw towards the bartender, who had a match and a smile ready.

"Regular, hon?" he said as he lit the end of it.

"Scotch. Neat. And don't skimp on me this time, Alan, its been a rough night."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Working that case still, huh?"

"Yeah, its been a long couple of years, but I think I almost got her nailed."

She'd been tailing this chick for years, a slight petite woman who walked fast and talked even faster. She was her meal ticket out of this hell hole. But it had to be clean, and it had to be quick. That was the deal, or no payment.

The barkeep laid the glass on the coaster next to the ashtray she had stolen from the hotel room. Alan was cool, he let her flop in the back sometimes when she was between receiving payments and was low on cash.

The bar was empty except for an old man sitting at a round table in the back and a young black man in the corner. It was, after all, only 10:00 a.m. and the others wouldn't be arriving until the lunch break, when they could steal a game of pool and down a few beers before heading back to the factory.

She eyed the man sitting in the corner, watching the t.v. intently.

"You playing the horses again, Maynard?" She yelled out. Why you waste your money like that, brother, you got a better chance of winning at the lottery!"

"Yo, baby, how's it hangin?" Maynard shouted back to her. "I'll be right over. Keep that seat next to you warm, you sweet thang."

"In your dreams, babe, in your dreams" she laughed as she took another drag on her Lucky Strike and slammed back her scotch in one gulp.

"Hit me again, pal" she said, her head starting to pound. She didn't drink that much, but when she did, it always gave her a headache first. Then the buzz would kick in and she would be able to think again, the fog lifting.

Realizing he had lost his 50 bucks, Maynard got up and walked over to the Blonde woman, now lighting another cigarette and motioning to the bartender to hit her again.

"Been staking out her place on the corner, just like you asked" he said as he sat down on the stool next to her.

"She leaves the house the same time everyday, gets a cup of coffee and picks up a paper at the corner. Same time everyday, you could set your watch by her. Man is this chick boring. I thought I'd add a little excitement to her life, dropping my potato chip bags on her lawn every now and then, see if I can piss her off. She never seems to get angry though, just kind of watches me leave and then goes to pick em up. Too calm for me, I tell ya. Creepy."

"What!" she said suddenly. "She's seen you, Maynard?" Maynard could see the gun in the holster underneath her blouse, pushing one white breast over the side, her chest heaving now with anger.

"Well, ah.....yeah..., but it ain't like I'm gonna stick on among the rest of the brothers" he stuttered. "Ya know? I ain't nothing special looking and I always wear my blue hat. She ain't seen my face too good, no ma'am, not too good at all."

The woman looked at him and realized he was starting to perspire, drops of sweat starting to drip off the side of his close cropped afro.

"Well, be careful man" she said as she stood up and drained the rest of her scotch.

"She must be getting wise to me, because she's started to look at me when I pass her at a stop light or we happen to be in the same diner. I can't let her see me. I have to kill her without her knowing what hit her, thats the deal. If she talks to me, I lose it all."

"Okay, then, babe. Jeez, don't be mad" he said as he started to get up too.

"I'm not mad, Maynard. Just be careful."


Maynard relaxed alittle, his shoulders aligned with her. He was a tall thin man about 6 ft, and she was standing right next to him.

"Ok. What's this chicks name again, anyway."

"Eileen. They call her Eileen. Can you think of a less sickening name?"

They stood up and walked to the door together, when the Bartender Alan shouted out to them.

"You guys be careful out there, ya here? Especially you, missy."

They waved, not turning their heads around as they left.

They man sitting in the back who had been watching the whole scene from the corner of his eye got up from his table and sat at the bar.

"Say, buddy" he said to Alan as he plopped himself down on the stool. "Who was that blonde broad, anyway."

"Stay away from her, Rooster." he answered. "You don't wanna know her."

"I don't wanna know her" he said. "Just her name. What's her name?"

"Her name?" he said as he started to wipe down the bar, and dumping the cigarettes out of her ashtray. He didn't even like to say it out loud. You never knew who could be watching or listening.

"Debbie" he whispered. "Her name is Debbie."




To be continued........