On with the noir

Last month, I wrote a noir-themed poem - here's part 2, more to come...

Colour Me Noir II: The Witness

Diner double-shift just finished -
Too many dishes -
Home for a well-earned (if illicit) gin;
Take a short-cut,
Cut off five precious minutes
(The boss takes more,
Even from the tips, I’m sure).

Faint fume-edged sounds
Echo down to ground
(Or was that ground-down?)
Level,
A party of swells,
Yeah, that’s right -
Bombshell on the balcony,
Coulda been me...
Ahead, grimy light obscures
(Not quite)
A huddled pair o’ guys
In broad-brim hats,
Little more than silhouettes;
Then a scuffle,
Parenthesised by heated harsh exchanges -
Both step back -
Muzzle-crack,
The bigger one (no gun)
Slides down the wall.

Seconds later,
Suitcase dragged from still-twitching,
Near-stiff fingers -
The Small Man stands,
Draws on a cheap crumpled-packet cigarette -
Its dirty orange glow highlights
Worn silver letters on the case -
J.M.H. -
I realise I’ve stopped,
Not quite shadow-safe;
He sees -
Teeth glint in
An it’s-your-rictus grin -
I kick off my heels and run;
This story’s just begun.