It was Cold, Damn cold. It hadn’t stopped raining in LA for a week. I pulled my trench coat up around me tighter. But the wind blew the tail up and let more rain in on my backside. I had done something stupid. I agreed to meet a woman on a street corner in the rain, at two AM in the morning. What Was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn’t thinking. After 4 years in the marines in world War two, I had learned a few things. Such as; If you're going to do something stupid, at least stack the odds in your favor. Thus I had my .38 revolver in my trenchcoat pocket, instead of the holster where it usually rode. The rain had sorta let up but there was enough breeze to help keep it cooler, even for LA. The Id in my wallet said, James St.James, PI, But I haven’t been detecting much lately. I was cold wet and tired, and didn’t want to be here. But I needed to pay the bills, and money had been tight lately, Oh, right, that's why I was here, to get a job.
I reached the appointed street corner, lights from the storefront and the little theatre next to the drugstore, reflected off the puddles on the sidewalk. At one point, I saw my reflection in a window. Two days worth of beard covered my face, under my Fedora, and above the tan trench coat. In a lot of places, the rain had long since overflowed into the streets making them a river of car fluids. The streetlight at the corner illuminated the intersection. But it was still plenty dark on the sides along the building. That's where she appeared to have come from. It was like magic. The dame appeared under the streetlight. In her Red leather coat and fedora hat. The hat and coat did nothing to hide her figure. Her red hair reflected in the streetlight. As I closed in to her to talk. She moved ever so slightly. In the light of the streetlight. I saw it. The damned glint of a gun barrel. Just as quickly as I saw it I realized It was pointed at me. I fired. The thirty eight revolver bucked in my hand. The noise was deafening as it echoed off the sides of the building, bouncing off the plate glass windows, and slowly dying away in the night. It all seemed to slow down to a freeze frame. She moved her mouth to say something, But, by than my gun had fired, drowning out anything she might have said. My shot was true. One single round went into her beautiful leather coat. She dropped on the sidewalk, her fedora and gun landing in the puddle next to her. It replayed it in mind over and over again. I’d fired right through my trenchcoat pocket. I knew I’d fired, I felt the gun recoil in my hand. I stood there dumbfounded for a split second, then I realized what had happened. That bitch had tried to kill me !
I didn’t remember making the conscious decision to fire. It had been instinctive.
After a minute I collected myself. I found a pay phone next block over.
Calling the police was not fun. I was already cold and wet, and tired, and now I had shot someone. Fortunately, I knew Detective Robert Clay. We’d met back before the war. He’d helped me out of a jam before, and now I needed him again.
I stood in the freezing rain waiting for Robert and his crew to show up.
It was past 3 am by the time they got to the street corner where the dead woman lay. . Now I was getting hungry as well. Robert came and brought an army of officers. They set about taking statements from me. I gave Robert my gun. I told him about the call earlier today, and how she had insisted that she meet me after hours, and in a secret location. I had tried to press her, but I couldn't get a straight answer from her over the phone. Finally I gave up and said I’d meet her. I went over in detail of what had happened several times. How she had appeared out from the shadows, and raised the gun to shoot me.
It was five in the morning when Robert let me go. As I turned to leave they were putting the body in the ambulance One of them picked up the fedora that she’d been wearing. I went over to have one last look at the woman I’d killed. The hat lay on top the body. In the rain and lights I looked at it. I knew I’d never seen her before. But something was familiar. I couldn’t place it at first. Then it came to me though the fog of hunger and lack of sleep. I’d seen the hat before.
“Robert, I’ve seen that hat before. I don’t remember where or when but I’ve seen that hat before.” The hat was a brown fedora, with several patches of a dark stain on the top of the brim. I headed back to my car. I started my old Ford coupe. It roared to life. It didn’t look like much, but that's the way I wanted it. It blended in with the sea of other pre war cars still clogging the highways of LA and California. But what didn’t show was the V8 motor under the hood. I had it tuned up so it would easily do well over a hundred miles an hour. It was challenge to handle at those speeds, but fortunately I didn’t have to go that fast most of the time. By now the sun was peeking over the horizon. It promised to be a another hot sticky day in LA.
Soon as the sun got up a bit it started burning off the fog, and clouds from last night’s rain. I didn’t give a shit right now. I wanted food and sleep. While most of the early morning traffic was headed into town, I headed out of downtown LA.
Up in the hills. My place was a old bungalow that I shared with my wife Brenda.
It was full sunlight by the time I arrived. As usual, in spite of how tired I was, I backed the car into the drive. Experience had long ago taught me to be prepared. And little things can make a big difference, like backing your car in.
I also took the time to check out the street while I walked up to the front door. I noted the old chevy coupe sitting down the street. I couldn’t see the plate. But once inside,I grabbed my camera. And I took several pictures of it from my front window. Locking the door behind me I found my way to the kitchen. Food was scarce but I did find coffee, and fixings for a sandwich. Not ideal, but I was too tired to give a shit, I needed sleep. Just for a moment I pondered the beer in the refrigerator. Then decided against it. It wouldn’t do to show up at Roberts's office later smelling like a brewery. I could drink later. And I would. Once I’d downed some coffee, and ate the sandwich, which by the way was lousy, but it filled the hole for a while. I made sure the house was secure. All the door and windows were locked. Then I headed for the bathroom. There the clothes came off. Two gun holsters lay on the counter next to the bathroom sink. One was empty, it usually carried my backup thirty-eight revolver , and the other still had my Colt .45 in it. Once I was cleaned up again, I took the gun and the leather to the bedroom. I retrieved a second revolver from the safe. Once I had the guns in order. I secured the bedroom door, and flopped naked down on the bed and slept. The last thing I saw before sleep finally took over was the dame. She kept falling . In a loop in my brain, over and over. Until it finally faded to black.
It was late morning the next day when I finally came too.