Lady In Red: A Dirk Malone Story

Written for Sunday Whirl Wordle.
Here are Brenda’s prompt words:

siren ~ chanting ~ startled ~ pulse ~ sighs ~ night
basket ~ answers ~ heart ~ shape ~ badge ~ stay

Rain hit 43^rd Street like bullets ricocheting off a tin roof. My office smelled like an old ashtray, yesterday’s coffee, and discontent. Across the alley a window was open, some late movie playing …. Bacall’s voice drifting …. a combination of sensuality, danger, and smoke. I got a soft spot for broads like her.

Then I heard the siren, and under it, heels on the stairwell, climbing fast.

She came through the door without knocking. Seems dames like her are always wandering into my office at all hours. Dark hair, darker eyes, a red coat sewn on like sin. My pulse did something it hadn’t done in years.

“Mr. Malone.” Her voice had a low, musical quality, almost like chanting. “Someone’s been asking questions about my husband. Now he’s dead.”

No sighs, no tears …. just facts, cold as a morgue slab. Grief doesn’t usually arrive that composed.

She produced a small rectangular wicker basket and placed it on my desk; it was full of letters tied with string. “I think whoever killed him wants what’s inside.”

I read the top letter and saw the shape of things fast: a blackmail scheme, a business partner with sticky fingers, a debt paid in something other than money.

“Somebody found out he was skimming,” I said. “Somebody who didn’t like sharing.”

Her eyes didn’t flicker. “You’ll find who did it, won’t you, Mr. Malone?”

Something behind my ribs …. whatever was left of my heart after too many years in this racket …. told me she already knew the answers. But you don’t turn away a dame with a basket of secrets.

“Sit down, doll. Stay a while,” I told her. “It’s about to be a long night.”

Next day, I hoofed it uptown to an address the dame gave me and flashed my badge at the doorman for a name. Cole, he says …. the husband’s business partner, motive as wide as the Hudson. I found Cole behind his desk an hour later. He didn’t run. Said it wasn’t about the money …. it was about being forgotten. Cry me a river, buddy; every killer’s got that same speech.

The cuffs went on. The lady in red watched from the doorway, composed as ever, like she already knew how the reel ended. Funny how these dames don’t even pretend to be startled.

“Thank you, Mr. Malone.” She touched my arm and vanished into the rain.

Back in my office, I poured two fingers of bourbon and let the radio play. Across the alley, the movie’s hero was walking off into the fog, alone, the way they always do.

NAR©2026
#Wordle

This is “Bogie & Bacall: Key Largo” by HollywoodClassical33

Wordle 770

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