{"id":52,"date":"2019-03-10T19:04:58","date_gmt":"2019-03-10T19:04:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/?p=52"},"modified":"2019-03-10T19:04:58","modified_gmt":"2019-03-10T19:04:58","slug":"that-bella-dame-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/2019\/03\/10\/that-bella-dame-part-1\/","title":{"rendered":"That Bella Dame (part 1)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"751\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/173CE6A7-AD8A-4330-8A4F-B608EFE11B0D-751x1024.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-53\" srcset=\"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/173CE6A7-AD8A-4330-8A4F-B608EFE11B0D-751x1024.jpeg 751w, https:\/\/simmichele.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/173CE6A7-AD8A-4330-8A4F-B608EFE11B0D-220x300.jpeg 220w, https:\/\/simmichele.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/173CE6A7-AD8A-4330-8A4F-B608EFE11B0D-768x1047.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/simmichele.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/03\/173CE6A7-AD8A-4330-8A4F-B608EFE11B0D.jpeg 1502w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 751px) 100vw, 751px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>You don\u2019t expect your life to change when you get up in the morning.  You clean what neeeds cleaning, you shave, you dress, you leave behind your sad, dingy one-room apartment and walk through a drizzly grey morning to your sad, dingy office.  You?  Me.  Call me Morty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Willow Creek wasn\u2019t a fancy town, not anymore.  It had fancy parts, but a mook like me didn\u2019t have much cause to be <i>there<\/i>.  Instead, I worked in a three-story walk-up with a barber shop on the first floor and a bookie on the second.  My window looked out over shipping containers and cranes, and Nina \u2014 my old secretary Nina \u2014 always complained about the smell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Not that Nina was complaining anymore.  Last week, she ran off with a piano player from San Myshuno.  She left a napkin with \u201csorry,\u201d scribbled on it, which I figured I deserved.  Now, alone, I opened the top-most drawer of her little desk on a whim.  A few lipsticks rattled around, shades she never wore.  A few strands of flame-red hair remained wrapped around a tortoise-shell comb under some papers.  I touched the hair, and for a moment, I even missed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She\u2019d been right to go, though it stung.  She\u2019d asked, \u201cYou and me, are we ever gonna make it official?\u201d  Nina wasn\u2019t shy, which is one of the reasons I\u2019d hired her in the first place.  A straight-shooter, easy to look at, easy to like.  I hope the piano player treated her good.  Better than I did, at least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I sagged into my chair after flicking my hat onto its hook.  It hung on the tip for one precarious second before flopping to the floor.  Figured.  The files scattered on my desk held nothing but sad stories:  bad marriages, bad investments, bad choices.  Don\u2019t be a private investigator if you want to see the good side of people.  Lucky me, I\u2019d never believed in people in the first place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I tossed back a couple of shots of juice before rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.  One inheritance case was particularly thorny \u2014 greedy second wife, greedy first wife, greedy kids, greedy lawyer \u2014 and I was deep into it when a gentle knock sounded on the office door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGet that, sweetheart?  It\u2019s what I pay you for.\u201d  I snapped the words before remembering that Nina was snuggled off in the city somewhere, happy and well rid of me.  I sighed and barked, \u201cCome in,\u201d though the last thing I wanted to do today was coddle a new client. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A woman\u2019s words cut through the fog in my brain like a searchlight.  She had a voice made of money, the kind that only comes from fancy finishing schools and good breeding.  I jerked my head up and  saw a lady all in red, black-haired and pale-skinned, with vivid eyes and curves like a mountain road.  \u201cYou\u2019re Mr. Goth?  I\u2019m &#8230;call me Bella.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Bellissima<\/em>, at least, the most <em>bellissima<\/em> I\u2019d ever seen.  I snapped my gaping mouth shut and stood.  \u201cMorty Goth, that\u2019s right.  Morty.  Call me Morty.\u201d  She waited patiently through my stammering, as a woman who looked like her probably had to do all day long.  When she sat, I sat.  When she spoke again, I listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sorry to intrude like this without phoning ahead.  But I have a problem.\u201d  I usually would have made some sort of twirl with my hand, a \u2018keep talking\u2019 gesture, but not for this lady.  To her I said, \u201cYeah?\u201d dopey as they get.  My hand itched to stash the bottle of juice on my desk out of sight.  That, or drink it down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThere\u2019s a man.\u201d  She sighed.  Her hands clasped together in her lap.  No rings.  \u201cHe and I used to keep company once upon a time.  But we parted ways, or at least I did.  He didn\u2019t seem to get the message.\u201d She gazed just past me to the rain-streaked window and its wan light.  \u201cNow I see him everywhere.  I\u2019m afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe just shows up?\u201d  I didn\u2019t say what I was thinking, that it\u2019d be a hard message to take, a dame like this saying goodbye.  \u201cWhat does he <em>do<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her perfect nose scrunched briefly as she answered.  \u201cHe begs.  And then he gets angry.  And then he tells me I\u2019ll be sorry.\u201d  She looked me in the eye.  \u201cI believe him, Mr. Goth.  He\u2019s &#8230;reckless.\u201d  A faint hint of red tinged her pale cheeks.  \u201cI suppose that\u2019s what I liked in the first place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><i>Noted<\/i>.  \u201cHe ever raise a hand to you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo, not once,\u201d she said immediately.  \u201cBut&#8230;if he does, someday soon, I wouldn\u2019t be surprised.  He\u2019s very angry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAnd you want, what?  I can tell him to back off for you, if you want.  In a way he\u2019ll hear.\u201d  I wasn\u2019t a huge man, but I\u2019d been in this job for a good many years, and in the army as an angry young man.  I knew my way around a punch.  \u201cI can probably dig up some dirt on him that\u2019ll make him want to leave town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her big blue eyes opened a fraction more widely.  \u201cYou\u2019re that certain he has something to hide?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s human, isn\u2019t he?\u201d  My itching hand made its choice, reaching for the bottle of juice.  \u201cHow about it, Miss Bella?  You want me to make him go away?\u201d  Her gaze tracked my movements as I put the bottle back into a drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI would,\u201d she said.  \u201cMake him go away, Morty.  Really go away.  And I\u2019ll be <em>ever<\/em> so grateful if you do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>(To be continued!)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>You don\u2019t expect your life to change when you get up in the morning. You clean what neeeds cleaning, you shave, you dress, you leave behind your sad, dingy one-room apartment and walk through a drizzly grey morning to your sad, dingy office. You? Me. Call me Morty. Willow Creek wasn\u2019t a fancy town, not &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/2019\/03\/10\/that-bella-dame-part-1\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading <span class=\"screen-reader-text\">That Bella Dame (part 1)<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,9],"tags":[12,16,15,13,14,17],"class_list":["post-52","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-simnoir","category-writing","tag-bella-goth","tag-fiction","tag-johnny-zest","tag-mortimer-goth","tag-nina-caliente","tag-that-bella-dame"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":54,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52\/revisions\/54"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=52"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/simmichele.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=52"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}