More noir

It's been a while since part 2, but now the story continues...

Colour Me Noir III: The Victim

The case weighs heavy in my hand,
Contents whisper
Greedy little suggestions,
It feels unwholesome –
Like this dank-walled back-alley,
All damp and mouldered cardboard boxes,
And discarded news-sheets,
Dead-beat inked,
But I gotta wait –

It’s late, he’s later,
Then the tell-tale click
Of slightly limping feet,
In spat-clad patent seg-heeled shoes
On night-wet sidewalk –

He approaches,
Slyly not-quite-smiling
(No doubt those are unsmiling eyes),
Coat long-sweeping, hat broad-brimmed
And shadowing,
Both dark grey like this city’s air;
He beckons, powder-twitch snappy,
‘Give it ‘ere’ –
‘Make with the dough’, he’s told –

We argue but I know
This hell don’t wanna pay his way;
He’s Red-hand Jack’s man OK –
I turn to leave,
He grabs, greasy-palmed,
A shrug – his hand slips from my gaberdine,
Now a push, a shove,
Fingers slip beneath the coat –
Not for the missing roll o’ bills
But a cheap and tarnished gun,
The old revolver fires,
Slug-smoke curls,
Gutted,
I fall blood-hazed – the case pulls free;
Vision dimming, still I see
A woman stop, jaw-dropped –
Who is she?

My story may be done,
But hers not so – not yet – she runs.