Written for Sunday Whirl Wordle.
Here are Brenda’s prompt words:
firm, vice, world, wind, cares, someone,
worth, wound, word, here, seem, spiral
The rain had a grip on the city like a vice, and the wind off the Bowery smelled of cheap gin and even cheaper promises. The name’s Dirk Malone, private eye, and this is my office …. the kind of place where hope comes to die.
She walked in at half past ten, like Bacall wearing trouble and Chanel. “Somebody’s been following me, Mr. Malone” she said, voice quivering like a plucked cello string. “I think they mean to hurt me.”
I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her, watching the smoke spiral toward the water-stained ceiling. “Sweetheart, in this world, everybody’s got someone who wants to hurt them …. or worse. Question is whether you’re worth the bullet.”
She slid an envelope across the desk. Photos. A dead man in an alley, a wound in his chest deep enough to hold a whole mess of secrets. “That’s my husband,” she whispered. “They’re saying I did it. They’re wrong. I’m innocent.” Her voice was low but firm.
I’d heard that word before …. innocent …. from a dozen dames who weren’t. They show up at my office late at night with a story to sell, ruby lips dripping lies that seem like the truth. I wanted to believe this one but her story was too clean, too easy. It felt like the kind of case made to trap a fool, and I’d been called a fool plenty.
“Here‘s how this works, sister” I said, standing, grabbing my coat. “You tell me the truth …. all of it …. or you walk out that door and take your sob story with you.”
She didn’t blink. “The truth’s worse than the lie, Mr. Malone. You’ll see.”
Outside, the city was cold …. cold as ice. Nobody cares anymore.
NAR©2026
#Wordle
This is “Tough Town” by Bryan Adams
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