Read Online Noir(ish) (9781101610053) by Evan Guilford-blake - Free Book Online Page B

again. It barely rattled. “Elisha,” she called. “Come in here.”
    â€œThere’s nothing in that file,” I told her again.
    Wilma chuckled and kicked my hip. “Then open it.”
    I groaned again. To heck with picking up the remains. I’d gladly supply the cheese. “Nuts. You open it, you want to see so bad. I don’t have the key.”
    â€œOkay. Elisha: Open it.” She tapped the file cabinet.
    Elisha put one hand on the handle of the top drawer and pulled. Hard. The cabinet rocked toward him, but the drawer stayed closed. I grinned. He let go, took a breath, put the same hand on the same handle, then braced the cabinet with his free hand and a foot. He pulled again, harder. And grunted. The drawer snapped open. I stopped grinning.
    â€œHey!” I said. “That lock was expensive.”
    Wilma looked at me. “Elisha,” she said. Immediately, Elisha took a step toward my prostrate and pained body.
    â€œOkay, okay,” I said quickly. “I get the message.”
    Wilma worked her way through each of the four drawers and found nothing. She turned to me, venom in her squint. “It’s empty,” she hissed.
    â€œI told you that.”
    She walked toward me slowly and raised a foot. I winced again and rolled away. Yeah, I was beginning to feel better but I was also beginning to respect that foot. She might
look
twelve, but she kicked like a chorus girl who’d been working at it for years. “Last time: Where’s da package, Grahame,” she said through her teeth.
    I shook my head. “I—don’t—know.”
    Wilma shook hers. She let her foot drop harmlessly.
    â€œMaybe, maybe he’s tellin’ the truth,” ventured Elisha. Well, well: Stone Mountain not only had a vocabulary but he could think, too.
    The girl whipped around to face him. “
Da trut’?
” she barked.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Maybe I’m telling the truth. Some people do that, y’ know.”
    I braced myself, just in case, but Wilma just stood there. “Da trut’,” she repeated. She spat past me, then looked at her watch. “We’ll be back, gumshoe.”
    â€œThat’s good to know, Wilma,” I said. “I’ll try to have cheese danish next—”
    â€œ
My name is Wilmah!
” she shouted.
    â€œOh, yeah, it is. Do excuse me. Wilma.”
    Her powdery face turned bright red again. “Why, you . . .” she began, pulled a .32 from her waistband, and cocked the hammer.
    â€œWilmer,” Elisha said sternly.
    She looked at him. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the desk fan spinning uselessly. Then Wilma released the hammer and stood, glaring at me.
    I had to laugh. “What’s the matter, gunsel? Scared of a little gunfire?”
    She fired. Amazingly, the bullet missed me and hit the leg of the desk. Splinters flew. I felt the hair on the back of my neck go stiff.
    â€œWilmer!” Elisha said again, a little more sternly. He did not move.
    Wilma lowered her gun slowly, spat, and tucked it into her belt. She buttoned her jacket. Then she swung her leg at me.
    I was ready. I grabbed it and she tumbled to the floor; her derby flew off. I climbed to my hands and knees and was pushing myself toward her when Elisha yelled, “Stop.”
    I stopped. I looked at him. He was holding a .44 automatic, and I had no doubt his aim was better than Wilma’s. I figured there was no use getting on the wrong side of a guy that big, especially when he was holding an automatic that was just as big as he was. Besides, he looked like he only
had
one side, and it was solid concrete. I stayed on my hands and knees. It was an old suit anyway.
    Wilma picked herself up and brushed off her pants and coat. “Let’s go,” she said. Elisha grunted his assent. She glared at me again, grabbed her hat, and stalked into the outer office.
    Elisha