[9 of 11 ] Havana was hot like a drum skin in Club Tropicana on a Saturday night. He ran up the stairs of the pensione. His breath heaved & sweat ran from his brow. Even his hands felt wet. On the fourth landing, he looked out the balcony. Across the street below, the one-legged man stood under the lamp post & smoked. He had a peg leg below the knee & tapped the stump. He paused, resumed tapping, paused & tapped. Hammer’s hand slipped off the door knob as it turned.
~ series by Jere Fletcher, (c) 2011
[10 of 11] Lucy’s Rambler was not at Idlewild’s international arrivals. Hammer wanted his Studebaker back like a rodeo bull wants out of a pen. He threw himself into a cab. His ankle still throbbed. She had done him no favors. The driver had a tattoo on his neck. The cab careened on to the Long Island Motor Parkway. Hammer pulled out the envelope from his coat & gingerly slid the stiletto blade to pry open the flap. The driver eyed him in the rearview mirror.
~ series by Jere Fletcher, (c) 2011
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