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Black Coffee

Back Coffee –100 Word Wednesday; Week 23


Image Credit Jesse Williams

Black Coffee

Of all the off beat diners in town Alma picked my haunt, Pearl’s.
‘Discrete,’ she said, ’it’s not in our neighbourhood.’
Yea, she’s a dame all right, black coffee, eggs over easy with chilli wings.
Seated with her long stockinged legs swinging, I know her type, a derringer inside her garter.
She nodded at the papers and photo on the bar, then offered to buy me a coffee. How sweet.
‘Just sign,’ she said, ‘or . . .  she’s dead meat.’
The picture said it all; Pearl’s eyes petrified and pleading, mascara running over the taped mouth, body trussed like a turkey.
I agreed, it wasn’t a great holiday snap.
I signed, and I let my lousy wife, Alma, walk away with a million dollar settlement.
Five minutes later, Pearl came screaming in, and she levelled a .45 Magnum at my forehead.
I’ll admit, she had a point.