Twin Cities Noir полностью

She slipped her arm through his and they walked away from the lighthouse, back up the hill toward their reunion.

God never showed his face again. Never made a seventh appearance. The FCC stiffened the fines for anybody interfering with the airwaves. And Congress passed a bill approving longer prison sentences for any person caught hijacking a television signal. But nobody was ever arrested. The case remains open.

EMINENT DOMAIN

BY JUDITH GUEST

Edina (Minneapolis)

Eminent Domain: In law, the right of a government to take or authorize the taking of private property for public use, just compensation being given to the owner.

—Webster’s New World Dictionary

They were to meet at Beaujo’s on France. Kendra wore dark glasses and a black silk scarf tied over her red hair, even though she was certain no one would recognize her; she seldom frequented these chic, upscale wine bars sprouting up like wild mushrooms in her neighborhood. One of them even bore the name Wild Mushroom.

She sat at the L-shaped bar, trying not to fidget or look like she was on the prowl. Even though she was. It’s just an experiment. Research. Investigating the possibilities.

She glanced around the room: no curtains on the windows and no rugs on the floor made it a bit noisy, but for her this was perfect. They wouldn’t be overheard; that was essential. And the lighting was dim, so that no one could say for sure that it was the famous Kendra Schilling they saw that night, dressed all in black, black high heels hooked over the rung of the bar stool.

No, not dim; that wasn’t precise. She prided herself on the accuracy of her descriptions. She was a writer, after all. Soft, murky lighting. Yes, that was better. Making everyone look a little more chic, a little less desperate. Were they desperate? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she was. She tapped one perfectly manicured nail against the rim of her wine glass containing Trentadue Petite Syrah…inky, big, and powerful with intense blackberry syrup and ripe plums, leather-like aroma. She had ordered it purely for the fancy lingo.

Glancing at her watch she took in the cast of characters, wondering if she might have overlooked her fellow assignee. Was that the right word? Perhaps accomplice would be more accurate. For surely that’s what they were: accomplices. Partners in crime. For a moment she thought of quitting while she was still ahead. She’d wrestled with her conscience all day, balancing need against self-respect. No, she’d come this far; she wouldn’t wimp out now.

I’m tall, he had told her over the telephone. Blond hair and brown eyes. I’ll be wearing a brown leather jacket with a red carnation in the buttonhole. Nobody in the bar fit that description. But she knew he’d come. It was still early; the salesclerks from Chico’s and Anthropologie had already quaffed their beers and left; the après-movie set had yet to arrive.

At the end of the bar sat a pale girl wearing a paisley dress two sizes too small for her. She was hunched over a plate of fried calamari. Hunching and munching. Could be a useful phrase in the short story she was working on. In fact, she might just lift the whole scene, excising the rather plain-looking old man sipping a glass of oily clear liquid (Absinthe? No, that was illegal, wasn’t it?) and reading the Edina Sun.

“This seat taken?” a voice asked at her elbow.

Tall. Blond. And yes, the red carnation in the buttonhole. “It is now,” she said, taking the hand extended toward her.

“I’m Hiram.”

“You’re younger than I expected.”

“Did you specify an age?” His smile was friendly, curious. “Because you could have. Not that it makes any difference. We all do pretty much the same thing.”

“Do you?” She looked him up and down thoroughly. “How many of you are there?”

“Lots.” He slid onto the bar stool. “More every day.” The bartender glanced down the length of the bar, and Hiram raised one finger. “Wine cooler, please.”

Uh oh. What kind of yahoo was this? She half-expected the bartender to laugh in his face, but he brought out a bottle of Bartles & Jaymes and set it in front of Hiram.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Hiram apologized, and glanced at her nearly empty glass. “Another for you?”

She shook her head. He was a handsome young man, not that this was any requirement. In fact, it couldn’t matter less to her what he looked like. That thought made her shiver slightly.

“Something wrong?”

“I’m just not sure exactly what I’m doing here,” she said.

“Not nervous, are you?” He looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t be. We’re just talking. Nothing’s written in stone.”

But she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. Was she going to be able to go through with this, after all?