Doll face Confidential

e world would en

t wanted one last word. I kicked it free without breaking stride, my silhouette already framed

floorboards. That night was no different. Men in double-breasted suits leaned into women with names they never planned to rememb

. but I didn't flinch. I never flinch on stage. You learn not t

he chatter didn't stop, not

cket, babe... but that

t voice in Los Angeles, God no, but because I made them think I was singing

in the back to prove I had nothing to hide but the truth. My hair was pinned high, a streak of blonde

the audience. Not yet

t his eyes before I saw him, the same way you feel a spider on your back before i

ur set. Downstairs

d even as I hi

e, just distracted. It was a Thursday. Tips were tight, smiles tighter. I gave them a wi

ur of stained teeth. I passed Loretta in a cloud of White Shoulders and gin, her

all silk and slush. "Try not t

draped it over my arm, and headed down the narrow back s

, sleeves rolled, badge tucked just far enough into his shirt to make sure you remembered it. One leg crossed over th

ybe less light. His face was carved granite, but the mouth gave

aid, like it t

To what do I owe the pleasure? Or is this an

rmth. "Still got that silver t

r. "If this is about

h God bless your memory. No, this one's

guely handsome? Probably owns

raph. Black-and-white. Frank Caruso, mid-turn, candid. His eyes wer

talks to. What he's building. And I

d. Once.

my

ed in. "H

of the old police report. The one with my fingerprints o

d free, dollface; you're go

er to pull the trigger, harder to prove who did. The date was still circled in red pencil, the ink

said, low. "It w

. You told me a lotta things," Rust replied, voice flat as the bourbon

he way he carried tension in his shoulders, in the line of his collar, that didn't scream mobster. H

has what? A map to bur

king. "He's not running numbers. Not dealing i

me? Why not wire one of

as I can tell. He's clean. And that makes him dangerous. Men like that only get close to what they want.

t me to get close to him. Get him talking. And then...

link. "Whatev

sharp. "And

o being Vivian Dumas, prime suspect in the Tremont murder.

asement like a hung jury

do I s

night. He's upsta

t might as well have been but from the name, the man, the threat still ringing in

ing like it wasn't sure I was worth the wattage. I dabbed powder under my eyes with

e wasn't scared. It was pe

one. Deeper red. The kind of red that made a m

nting couch, puffing on a new cigaret

o sell war bonds and get some

date with

shifted just

know

t he doesn't blink enough. That'

to face her. "You're wearing your

k innocent. "Just don't die,

ew something, and she always let it rot i

before she c

glasses, regulars slipping their hands where they didn't belong. The sax player, Charlie, caught my ey

oss the edge of booths, laughing too softly to be heard. I

en I s

y down, like the rest of the world bored him. His suit was dark grey, three-piece, im

dn't

was w